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a tattoo ... to never forget!

"... in general, women have to do everything twice as good to be judged at least half good.

Fortunately it is not so difficult!"

Emma Bonino
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"Come away with me", November 22, 2010

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"E'già a miracle that we talk about" inner journey

Come away with me, Monday, November 15, 2010
Saviano intervention controversy

E 'again Monday, and while the public post this item Saviano tells a different story (that of mafia infiltration in the disposal of waste) is spreading in the room ...' ear and the eye of the TV on the PC screen.

What does have three medieval knights with the Mafia?

When I saw the image appear three medieval knights behind Saviano, I wondered if this second episode of "Come Away with Me " born under a bad star too much controversy, and the well-known young writer (when I think that is only a year older than me makes me shiver!) would abandon the socio-political themes that made him famous, for avventurasi in an interesting (and certainly more sure) treaty in history.

history spoke true, but what a story!

in our roots, our laws, in our past we find the answers to the great because of this, in mythology is always an element of truth.

Mine was a belief rooted in the study of school anthologies, "the story of the Mafia is relatively recent and organized crime was born in early 800, parallel to the robbery, one of the first challenges of unified Italy. "losing battle, it seems, our ancestors Risorgimento.

not know the law of three English knights : Bone, Mastrosso and Carcagnosso, which represent the fictional tradition of the three major Italian criminal organizations: the Sicilian Mafia, the Camorra bell el '' Ndrangheta in Calabria . Above all, I had no idea yet Today these mythological figures were mentioned during the rites of membership, along with the Saints, and even to Madonna, all in order to put their lives in service only of the honor of "society", inflicting the sentence to a life of flight, hiding and unhappiness ... practically a ergostolo.

Saviano put his finger on, describes the precision with which the mob elaborates its hierarchical systems ... I know that companies would pay to have a plan so accurate! In my ignorance, the Godfather was the top organization - holliwodiana Marlon Brando was in the vision at the top - while I discover with surprise that over the Godfather there are at least another five or six levels of hierarchy.

I was born in that beautiful stretch of land leading from Venice to Padua, famous for its eighteenth-century villas, but especially for the so-called "Mala del Brenta ", which enjoyed its "peak" between the end 60s and early 90s. I have no historical memory of this dramatic period, except for the memory of the ambulance and coroner's car, still on the bank near my house, while the people murmured: " have found another dead Band of Felix Manor ".

naively I admit that my image of Mafia is that it from films set in the States (various "Godfathers" "The Untouchables", etc ...), which for me were already full of cruelty and ruthlessness. Saviano teaches that the American underworld is considered "soggy," not strong enough, so forget the rules, regardless of hierarchy, need to be "purified" with a return to basics.

Finally, I can not skirt the issue on the statements that have sparked a political controversy that seems endless. Spoken dell''Ndrangheta, how the mob has exported his business to North , particularly in Lombardy, in Milan, where the Rho Central Station, the infiltration of organized crime, supported (as always) from the centers of power corrupt, does not even count. Can thus think that the gangs are a problem unique to the South?

South, States, North: the three vantage points from which you started this blog are intertwined when it comes to the great problems of our country. It 'a virtuous (or vicious): from personal to global, from local to national, from micro to macro.

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Enza: Discover

" Vitangelo Moscarda That is the story of a growing awareness gradually formed. The knowledge that man is not one, and that reality is not objective. The protagonist moves from one considered for all ( One ) to conceive that he is nothing, ( None ), rising awareness of himself that the individual takes in his relationship with others ( hundred thousand ) .

Me: Mom you know I made a blog.

Mom: A what?

Me: A blog! A page where he and two friends we write of our experiences, we exchange ideas and talk about what goes there. Go aunt who makes you see ... ok? hello to tomorrow night!

Mom: Last night we saw the computer (where was it first? Hidden?) And I read what you wrote. Mah!

Me: In that sense, you do not like?

Mom: No, but ... I do not ... because writing things so personal?

Me: Maybe because I am good ... maybe because they are so personal!

Mom: But are not you ashamed a bit '?

Yes, but I think that we should not "ashamed" of a little ashamed. I want to be a bit 'different from what you taught me, I want to cry if I'm sad, I want to prove to people I love, my weaknesses.

Remember, when as a child my father told me that I was wondering if things crying I would never obtained?

Do you remember how angry when growing challenge him with his eyes, never shed a tear?

Do you remember when he stopped to tell me what I should and should not have to do?

I wonder if Dad would be equally proud of me if sometimes the tears I've signed me in the face.

The blog is a challenge. Out of myself so that I could accept.

accept that listen to others is not a gift that belongs to me. Accept that maybe they really un'egocentrica selfish and worse as some people say.

'm talkative, I speak without taking breath, as if afraid that at some point my partner might get distracted.

I always need to explain, as if to apologize for what I feel, as if seeking legitimacy to my health or my happiness.

I can accept that I have a fear of flying without shocking how many are surprised by my "change."

You taught me to be strict with myself, to be proud and you wanted to see me only the strong, that without memories of the worst days.

But sooner or later you come to terms with everything and then I want the freedom to understand who they are.

I am the daughter who has accepted or rigid education that has made its way without any problems?

have a little sister 'pimp and confusing or that it would give my life for you?

I am the niece, cousin exuberant, affectionate and adventurous or those with a smile for everyone and so on?

are sunny and nice woman or standoffish and prickly?

I'm the best friend or what to avoid?

are his wife were looking for or that you never wanted to meet?

's why I decided to take a trip in my life, into my world and that of others, to address what I am and what I wanted to be, to cry those tears I have often kept inside, to learn not to be ashamed of my weakness, to show the "other face" to accept that an "alien life".

Yes, Mom I'm ashamed because discover is sometimes painful but cathartic, and if someone does not like to say .... So if you think it is.

Cristina: Sometimes I cry

Sometimes I cry

I feel a great need!

Sometimes I cry

to wash the mud

of anger and resentment

the unknown and yet my heart.

Sometimes I cry

desperate but remain anchored to

a thought that makes me the black heart.

Sometimes I cry

and dig up the past,

hopeless

the wound remains open.

Sometimes I cry

and consequently turn off

any glimmer on

of a future not spent.

Sometimes I cry

then have available for the care

dear this neglected

loved the warmth of a smile.

Sometimes I cry

but for the rest of the time I smile and live!

When everything seems huge, insurmountable, which crushes us and make us useless, do not turn away his eyes from those who are close to us every day in our lives and our reality and helps us, if not solve, at least to scale and to make lighter our problems anywhere in the world we find ourselves.

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The sense of the arms.

We are children of love cold. That's not
said .. .. bracketed tempered by hot meals, clutter on the bed sheets, colorful games to be exchanged .. read backslapping.
We crossed eyes who knows how .. and who knows how many hands touched yet ... .. yet .. we stayed there.
with the idea .. .. and the desire to brake.
The expression of our feelings is blessed by the power of our body.
We have the great opportunity to introduce ourselves .. great read without speaking. The
-called non-verbal communication. " Exactly. Non-verbal.
Then I think about the seriousness with which many people take the mix .. .. .. misunderstand the exchange. .. And I think that one of the biggest brakes that prevent us sometimes to give life to our inside.

Blessed be the embrace. As suddenly .. and perfect selvage boards dry and firm.
glimpsed a dark with our only the eyes .. or .. parties harmonics in the chaos of our lives.

Blessed be the chance we have to do it. We are here ... here.
We look absently, lost in the minutes that solfege rhythms that almost no longer belong .. in which they often do not recognize ourselves .. and we believe that even they are chosen by others.
for us.
Blessed be made to accommodate our arms .. .. and keep.
And even our fear .. in doing so. The strange thinking that leads us to keep us in front of someone who does not know .. .. in front of our mother to our father.

We are always here. and we still have the opportunity to do so.
not you write more .. we want to embrace. We do. Do not expect
that there is one day to another place and another time ... The sense of the embrace
.. engaged in the washer of our arms to close.

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The Virtual Ocean

Cristina: It is remarkable how children

Today is Wednesday.

And like every Wednesday, if it does not rain here and fortunately it rarely happens, I have an appointment for a few months now with my engineer, for lunch.

We meet halfway between her office and our apartment and then to the Riviera Village , practically the center (euphemism for real towns or districts of Los Angeles) Redondo Beach.

em'incammino at noon I go out to the summit along the road along the ocean. The sky is a bit 'cloudy, the wind is strong enough to ruffle the sea and create, on the shore, rocking a frothy and noisy.

Way as usual, minding my own business but always with an eye toward the ocean, as if to breathe a bit 'and sometimes with the wind, does happen.

And as I go the eye catching movement and a dark spot in the water that almost instinctively recognize: the dolphins !

I do not know what it is, perhaps because of them only ever seen on TV or in aquariums, but each time I see them as free in the open sea and close to the shore, however, enter and exit the water with that their unique style and I feel like a little girl inside of me exclaimed in a loud voice the dolphins!

looks good, there is one, not two, even three did I say: what a show!

And I smile my way and walk the lighter and happier.

But today there's more: my smile is shared.

struts at a medium pace, no hurry and I almost passed a bench on which sits a woman whose age I could not define but which I feel younger are getting older. I'm thinking of the dolphin and she says, with a slightly high voice, almost to want to prevent escape and to ignore his call: "There are dolphins now."

I stop suddenly and surprise me around for two reasons, first because I realized, despite my English for survival and the latter because it seemed I was reading my mind. We exchange a few words about it and we salute each for going our way.

I like to think that she has felt for some time back child and has not survived to share his astonishment , the innocent children who marvel of nature to normal.

A walk to remember in November.

Enza: "Notice the gentlemen travelers who soon will begin crossing the Atlantic Ocean."

L ' ocean ...

I met an autumn afternoon, when I asked my aunt to take me to the sea, felt the need to find my size, to curb the effects of the frenzy that I was overwhelmed by the day I set foot on American soil.

remember the expression between amusement and melancholy of his aunt when he exclaimed: "O my God , but here the sea is not like in Sicily . I replied that the sea is sea and the ocean was at most only bigger!

un'isolana are born in a hot month and my skin is full of salt.

My sea, until that day, was made of simple things, a heady blue and reassuring. When the tourists were leaving, and the sea began to prepare for the winter, I loved to sit on the beach nestled between Capo Milazzo and Capo Tindari, at the foot of the hill on which lies the shrine of the miraculous Black Madonna. In the distance, if the day was right, you could see Vulcano, Lipari and imagine the lives of the inhabitants of seven of the most beautiful islands in the world.

In those moments I felt imprisoned in her anxiety eagle, torn between the very strong desire to continue toward the horizon and to remain anchored to its nest.

The first time I saw the ocean I felt an incredible emotion, I missed my breath.

My eyes could not contain that image, it was hard to grasp the nuances of the water and I was seized with a sense of loss. I had gone over the horizon and my anxiety had turned into fear of not succeeding.

By the time I understood and accepted that I belong the category of Sicilian offshore .

There is a definition which the Sicilians are divided into two broad categories of reef and offshore .

of rock are that if you move away from Sicily, the second day of the start to have withdrawal symptoms, it lacks a number of things and the third [...] day must absolutely return.

open sea are those that make their sicilitudine a kind of personal wealth and use it to live a different life. In Sicily we come back because it is in their heart, but still choose to projected on another horizon .

My life now is like an ocean, full of colors inaccurate, as most of its unexplored waters. I try to survive between low and high tides, not to get lost in the depths of his deep, sometimes I feel at the mercy of the currents and winds as strong as other only the ocean can be.

not forget never my sea , I will be rocked by the waves whenever I need to find the truest part of me.

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birthday!

a few minutes we will celebrate the traditional rite of the birthday party in office ... Unfortunately you are too far away to share with me (and the whole crew gathered here), pastries and pizzas :-(
why I dedicate this small space in our blog ... to virtual birthday!
Thanks for the good wishes! !

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Halloween: on this side and beyond the ocean

Enza: Halloween Capitoline

"Sorry Dominic prepared something special for Halloween, I do not know ... maybe a menu of pumpkin or some typical dish of this party? Sa comes to visit my childhood friend from Veneto and I would take her out to dinner! "
" Oh, but printed in Rome mica in New York. "

And how he's wrong? Want to "du bucatini matriciana "with the" hair of the larvae moldy Dracula ", not to mention the 'vulture quartered herbal haunted" instead of Mr. "the lamb chops?

Despite the heart of the Capital has consumed the party of "Allowin - sign post next to a van that was selling pumpkins on the Cristoforo Colombo - more cool of 2010, where VIPs mascheratissimi, seem to have crossed the black carpet of the Aquarium, converted from an old church, complete with a pulpit, altar, holy water and religious, to access the 'Heineken Halloween Night , I do not "really know me prudent de nothing."

For my first Halloween in Rome I had the feeling that the city was under siege more from the "land of the living " from that of the dead. The rain, in fact, has not stopped the crowds of tourists that each cost wanted to bring back images of many other tombs, altars and holy water and shoot one of the most beautiful in Rome, what you can admire the Arch of Septimius Severus.

And so my eve of the feast of All Saints I passed to the 'Old Brewery Peroni, cannelloni of the house and eating pork shank with roasted potatoes on All washed down with a nice cold beer. The brewery opened in 1864, after that came close to the factory in Vigevano, the first that Mr. John Peroni opens, choosing Rome for the sale of beer in bulk to the public. After a nice mug of beer my friend and I had already forgotten The risotto with pumpkin!
Both, however, we had a little 'nostalgia of our childhood.

In Sicily, the Feast of the Holy followed by that of the Dead are a focus.
the night of October 31 you leave the table set with food and wine as a sign of welcome for the dead who want to come to to visit the living, while the day after the turn of the children search home canistru u "that the dead have certainly left during their visit notturna.Il" basket "is nothing more than a basket full of delicacies, where they can not miss the "bones of the dead " sweet made with flour, sugar, cloves and cinnamon, and Martorana fruit, which is the famous sweets made of marzipan.
a child with my cousins, for the occasion, were sleeping at grandma's house at dawn and we were all competing to find his basket, marked by a ribbon of color. The funniest thing was the exchange of marzipan sweets that followed, my prickly pear instead of a chestnut or a strawberry instead of apricot. But this year the luck of the ladybug I have not Martorana given to anyone.
Who knows! I decided, I'll suggest some recipes to Domenico, who knows if there is room for a bit 'of Sicily in his restaurant!!

Giulia: Halloween, from macro to micro

The Tg says that this year was spent in Italy more than 400 million euro to celebrate Halloween, the pagan festival more and more Anglo-Saxon of our calendar.
My receipt says that I have spent € 7.53 to prepare for the event. The expenditure includes: two types of gummy candies, licorice and jelly beans. So too, in my small, have contributed to the attainment of an absurd figure.

When I think back to my first Halloween I can listed among the most traumatic experiences of my life.
I remember the evening of October 31 to five or six years ago, when in front of my door has presented a handful of witches, zombies, Dracula and miniature.
remember their sad reaction when they realized that my hesitation before the insistence of their request: "trick or treat?" Was due to the fact that I had no food in the house worthy of the name of "sweet".
remember that it offered them not without shame, a packet of chewing sugarless gum, pretending to be cowed by the possible consequences of the "joke".

year, but I've done caught unprepared by the night of All Saints: candy and plastic faux-carved pumpkin with light interior (bought on sale Nov. 2 for five or six years ago) were ready to accept scary ... too bad the little pilgrims, however, that it was raining too much and too strong, so the wise parent-have well-thought not to release the little children of the neighborhood.
Halloween 2010: filed without special notes.

Cristina: Halloween seen from the South Bay

The Romans used to say "Semel in years Licet insane."

Wise saying that in the States at the Halloween party I could readjust to "once a year is permissible to be horrified." Without going to disturb the sensibilities of some or many do not know, just do not like the macabre and distressing condition of this festival: the dead in their wake most horrible appearance every year, the same day, making an effort to get out terrible from land or from their concrete tombs.
And 'maybe this immense effort and the knowledge that the words "RIP" on their epitaphs will never be a reality, to make it so unbearable to the eye? Why to see them hanging from the balconies of the houses of the Strand of Hermosa Beach, or see their withered arms out like thirsty flowers gardens with lawn, they look really desperate ... looking back, rather than horror and fear, tenderness and compassion inspire me most.

the weekend preceding the day of great celebration, walking along the ocean from Redondo to and then Hermosa Beach to Manhattan, as well as enjoy the beach volleyball players of more or less good, but surely all California-style, or at least as we expect them to us, raised on bread and Hollywood (the stereotypes are like proverbs, they always have a grain of truth): tall, short hair for men and long blonde hair and mostly for women, athletic body with my deep envy, compared to net the immense expanse of sand, the pride of the South Bay, I could almost journalistic spirit, please note the extravagant decorations set up for the night of "trick or treat".

Many gardens, disregarding the rules of the town-plan have literally created impromptu graveyards infested with giant spiders plush. Some courts have been equipped for the perfect barbecue with the dead ... Ossetti he sure will not fail, and the most timid, or perhaps the most romantic exhibited only a few carved pumpkin.

At the end of the road or at least the one established for the day from my husband and I (if you want you can travel about 40 km walk along the coast, sore legs and blisters permitting) arrive at Manhattan Beach where he is playing the "Pumpkin race" with a lot of judges formalissimi and rigorous. Race pumpkins arranged in the most extravagant for the occasion, created in real time by participants with the tools provided by the laboratory of the organization: the pumpkin and wheels more. Some dart like torpedoes, other less fortunate not simply make the track gradient (a stretch of city street) and their spherical rolling just enough to say with satisfaction: at least I tried!

There are so many children , all masked and fortunately with the costumes including our classic carnival: no horror for kids!

We come back with your feet a little 'sore (after we walked for over 3 hours) the sun is setting, but we can not admire the beautiful colors because it is unfortunately the drizzling of the rain that I'm dusty and so to use an umbrella, especially here, I feel like an idiot, but in the end you dunk from the head down.

In the following days and before the fateful October 31, turning the streets of Redondo I came across, in witches, horror film characters in some pet friendly. I was about to return the greeting of a skeletal hand protruding from the window of a moving car if I had not jumped in fright, and I avoided instead of strings, for reasons of physical safety, the female version of Edward Scissorhands to supermarket, where I had a strong temptation to buy the cupcake for Halloween; beautiful, orange, inviting ... but then my conscience kept me healthy, sigh!

last year taken from the euphoria of the "newly arrived who must now dive into the local traditions, we equipped with lots of sweets for the children and we have waited for their passage to the fateful request: trick or treat?

But no one knocked on the timetable set (we have learned that children in going from house to house have a curfew at 9 pm), of course, we live in an apartment building armored practically, how could we expect unannounced visits? Blessed innocence, some might say! Save if we tell the honor in our hearts we hoped that children who live in the palace? For the record, this year we just let it go.

And finally, I can not tell you about " chopped " a program that I follow with interest on the food channel : four chefs compete against each other shots recipe invented on the basis of a basket of ingredients surprise, from appetizers to desserts. Want to know what the episode aired the week of Halloween? Are you sure? It is not suitable for weak stomachs: the heart of lamb for a starter, black chicken, dentures draculine rubbery mushrooms pests of corn grown in Mexico that I can not repeat the name (the Mexicans consider it a delicacy ... de gustibus!) for the main course and dessert for grasshoppers (in English seems to suck less, but these grasshoppers .. . for food are very conservative!) red hot peppers, and something classic that I have stored having regard to its banality. The comments of chefs throughout the race? "It's disgusting!".

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Our first pack ...

The first case of Cristina: the intricacies of memory

" who has no memory has no history."

Lately, it will be advancing age, this adage is the mantra that makes me at least once a day to do memory exercise: what I ate the day before yesterday, the names of my old classmates high school, the surname of a former colleague, perhaps known only by his nickname, the name of a street or square of cities visited in the past, and more. Simple things but they help to remove some 'rust to neurons of the memory.

Today is the first suitcase made from round one: total emptiness!

Maybe hypnosis would get some results or may not remember because it was not memorable, and therefore has no right to belong to my story.

Oh no, here there is the challenge! I'm lazy, I say it all and then some 'must be true, but I never give up so soon ... basically I just think, I do not have mica run the 100 meters (in that case dropped immediately without remorse, of course).

Provo with the technique of association of ideas and thoughts freely (some would say brainstorming, but I have no storm, the worse or better, I would say, a nice cool breeze of early spring): will arrive somewhere sooner or later, right?

Indeed something slowly emerges. Let's see, the word "autonomy" is beginning to be insistent, almost annoying.

Want to see what I have to go back in elementary school to find the memory of my first suitcase made by yourself? Yes, because as I did the tasks alone (unspeakable horror these days), I did my research and the jobs of Easter and Christmas, Mother's Day and Father's alone, I do not want to be done even from the first bag alone? No, it can also be because I traveled a lot in that time; times were difficult and my family could not afford holidays or other (we were a single-income family quintet) for which there was limited to visits to relatives and outings during the day.

But I associate that word to the trip (because otherwise I would have a suitcase?) And then I convince myself that if I remember the first trip I'm forced to remember the first suitcase. For consistency and accuracy (I am a bit 'picky , as they say here in the States) I try to go back in time and so I find myself thinking about the first 2 days of school trip: the third high school, half Assisi.

I know think that will also be the first trip worthy of the name, but certainly not the first case alone dall'indizio easy to calculate the age at school, and instead I have to deny, it was not. And from then all the others. My mom certainly did from the supervisor, any integrating my forgetfulness, but the choice of clothes and the rest was absolutely necessary to me as well as their arrangement inside the case, even if it was not a case in itself, but only a brown bag inherited from my older brothers.

In my first microcosm shoulder then nothing special, just some clothes and the need for personal care e. .. notes and course material that every good student goes on a trip below. Memory of things was written? No unfortunately, I could try to do some deduction and launch into some erudite quotation, but I do not like cheating: as You Like It!

The first case of Enza: first flight from Italy!

" Leone is related to the color orange, symbol of dignity and nobility of spirit."

Orange is the color the working bag full of cards and disappointment, I drag behind to persuade or convince, I represent something in my company, and orange is the color of the Leatherette big suitcase that I started preparing way back in August 6, 1993.

The candles for my nineteenth birthday I would have extinguished two days later, far away from my family, but despite this my greatest wish is coming true: an entire year Boston, to mother's sister's house, to study English and finally know the 'American way of life .

loved not interested in the preparations, and so before every trip I just leave things on the bed that were not to miss and the game was done, my mom would have thought of everything else.

But this time was different.

That case had to be large enough to contain the emotions that I was leaving, the pain of that last year, fears, personal and professional failure of my father and my mother's hopes for a different life at least for me. Years later I realized that that trip was the first of a series of leaks that have characterized my life, running away from what I can not change and to places that do not know reach.

did not have a suitcase in a position to deal with a transatlantic flight, and so my grandmother gave me one of many that the daughter " miricana " systematically left at the end of every trip to Italy.

Aunt came from the United States with huge suitcases, the time a hug, some tears of joy and then everyone, young and old, attend what had already become a real ritual: the ' opening suitcases.

While "men" pretending to distance themselves, when they watched with keen eye, there were those who, like her grandmother had a place of honor in the first lines, who sat on the stairs, and who was space between the packages, but everyone was waiting anxiously at the time.

Suddenly here before us the " new world", we could smell it, see savor the colors and flavors.

And what if my grandmother would never wear any of those too bright colored clothes made up for his appearance, the day after I came to school fair with my giant pack of Crayola colors!

Thus, of a mixture of emotions hovering in the air clothes, toys, kitchen tools and a miraculous endless amounts of creams and soaps, and while the aunts were fighting it all: "This is good for me " " What you say is my size? "Grandpa exclaimed astonished air: "There pariah who does not d 'aviumu cà Sapün .

the evening before departure " by Soru miricana " the laughter gave way to bright eyes, the excited voices and frantic in a short time they had to fill the gap years distant past, now became sad and no one had the courage and desire to help her aunt to close her suitcase.

grandmother's house was all a bustle with friends, neighbors and family that you had to say goodbye to my aunt and uncle, each with a gift.

These were the years where you do not yet know the meaning of "flight", the Twin Towers were still one of the most beautiful sights of New York, and Italian immigrants could hold in their suitcases tastes and smells of their homeland , taking care not only deliver food unknown to Americans.

And then there were those who wore "a ricotta 'funn," who "in passuluta Liva, who, like my mother, a crocheted doily, but never failed the usual frame with the souvenir photos of the Sicilian family, in exchange for the American relatives in front of a beautiful car surrounded by a thick blanket of snow.

I had dreamed of that world, I had breathed for years and receiving wanted more than anything else ... and now he was there, just nine hours of flight.

In the orange large suitcase with my few clothes - from shortly after the clothes I was going to buy with the shopping cart - I put the letters from friends, Italian music and a favorite box where my family, each in its own way, I a good trip.

In that case, and then forever in my life, I had reserved a special place with a small note written in haste from my paternal grandfather, who advised me to always look ahead even in difficult moments, when nostalgia was this was to want to go back.

The nostalgia I "fucking", after that year I came back el ' America for me has again become an unattainable goal.

The first case of Giulia: summer in Belfast

"Hello, Mom. Hello, you steal a minute ... just wanted to ask, in your opinion, what was the first bag that I got really alone? "

(long silence)

" Well, perhaps that of the week ago when you went to the conference in Milan. "

Seriously, my relationship with the preparation of the luggage is easily explained: if one part I love the idea of \u200b\u200bthe trip, which has now become an integral part of my DNA, so that, in order not to miss an opportunity, I support (lied) that he Always ready suitcase under the bed, the other live act to pack in a perpetual state of indecision between the syndrome of the nut and the tramp ... the eternal dilemma between essential and superfluous . The result of this uncertainty is manifested in the continuing search for the right advice on the use of a particular item of clothing or footwear on the amount of bear with me (" these sandals look great with that dress, and then weigh up to 5 gr ... .! "), and the patience of the people involved is proportionally reduced with increasing my age and the number of cases processed.

Despite so that setting up the classic trolley represents more to me than the result of a teamwork, personal initiative that I tried to focus on the moment that marked my emancipation to "independent traveler".

Summer 1994: I just finished the first year of high school. To improve my English, it was decided that I spent a couple of weeks at the host family of a colleague of my father, Belfast.

I was excited because, despite having already traveled without my parents, for the first time I flew alone and I lived in a typical Irish family. I was determined to demonstrate from the outset that I had trouble to get by, then, to the detriment of my mother's insistence, the preparation of cases occurred, as it were, to my peril. So alongside the inevitable Levi's 501, sweatshirts and raincoats, took place in the suitcase miniskirts, tank tops and dresses to Lolita, all without taking into account that the temperature in August in Ireland differs by at least 15 degrees from that of the Po Valley the same period.

The result was disastrous: a hair touched the broncho-pneumonia. The my host-mother, a teacher of Gaelic at the University of Belfast and mother of five children, took care of my ailments with homeopathic medicine, or plant compounds with disgusting, and a period of enforced rest in the room, all hung with posters Take That and East 17, which I shared with her teenage daughter, Claire.

raffreddatura But perhaps one can stop a girl of fifteen years to discover a foreign city? The answer is obvious ... of course not! Those were unforgettable week in Belfast, and how right-thinking people would say, a real opportunity for growth.

Perhaps only a few months later, thanks to the success of the song Zombie The Cranberries, I could share with me who was standing near the contradictions and the feeling of tension, cleverly disguised behind a lively and commendable hospitality, that characterize the inhabitants of a region accustomed to war : armored vehicles with soldiers on a war footing along the streets of the city, the curfew imposed by my host family, the roar of the bomb blast in public schools that was behind the house ( that I have carefully refrained from telling my parents for fear that forces me to return), the prohibition in some neighborhoods ( it's not safe ").

At the end of my stay in Ireland I was fully aware that, with my suitcase all wrong, bring home a piece of history , of \u200b\u200bwhich I was a bit 'part too.