Happiness is only real when shared

I must have used this quote by Tolstoj from "Family Happiness"many a times. In the whole idea of God, community, self discovery, emotions, love - I have always found the concept of shared life ever so captivating. Having spent most of my teen-age years as a misunderstood-self-condemning little nerd, I discovered in the deep sense of community an incredible release of warmth and energy. Needless to say, those years of solitude taught me invaluable lessons regarding self-management and contentment under all type of circumstances. However, in as much as it taught me of to be well by my-self, it also showed me that with other(s) it is better, everything is better.

There are times when solitude and asceticism are still to be preferred and sought after - like fasting in preparation for an event which requires higher levels of commitment than our routine life - but on our day-to-day life having someone by your side caring and sharing, and loving and looking after is so precious. And for all this, I am truly grateful. Everything is more beautiful with you.

"I have lived through much, and now I think I have found what is needed for happiness. A quiet secluded life in the country, with the possibility of being useful to people to whom it is easy to do good, and who are not accustomed to have it done to them; then work which one hopes may be of some use; then rest, nature, books, music, love for one's neighbor--such is my idea of happiness. And then, on top of all that, you for a mate, and children perhaps--what can more the heart of man desire?" - from "Family Happiness" L.N. Tolstoj.

No Need For A Melody

I guess you could say I have been known to watch a fair ammount of movies in my day. Popular culture teaches us that films are a great way to interpret and analize reality without even having to live those experiences in first person. Some may call this escapism. Blaise Pascal, XVII century philosopher, talked about "the vanity of divertisement", those out of consciousness activities we engage in in order to, as a matter of fact, avoid reality. It may sound harsh, but through out the years I have begun appreciating this theory. I always seem to relate specific times of my life to a song, a sound, a bit like as if I needed a soundtrack to my emotions, yes, like in a movie.
A couple fo days ago, my itunes random selection brought to my ears "Sometimes you can't make it on your own" by U2 - that song,man,it totally captured a specific time in my life and by simply hearing it I somehow re-lived the same emotions I felt back than...like in a flashback. All this brought me to think this may actually be the first time of my life when I feel lucid, when like a person who has been fasting for a long time you manage to see your self from the out side, like some sort of out of body experience and see yourself and you are exactly how you had always hoped you'd become. Imperfect, with a past filled with mistakes but true, honest, sharp, happy, with no need for a melody, maybe just a wee accompainment. Loving it.

Quiet as a tornado..

Pretty much anyone who knows me,knows me as the most effervescent single girl they have ever met. I have had a few romantic stories. Some of them have changed me profoundly..influenced me into being the person I am today...with some regrets,of couse,as all of those stories did, eventually, come to an end. I love my life, despite all of it's quarky flaws and wrongs. I love being free to like and eat and listen to and watch and read what I like when I like where I like without having to be reliable on or responsable for anyone else. Guess that's called "being in your twenties and appreciating singleness". I have a few highly trusted friends, a zillion acquaintances and I meet dozens of people on a daily basis whom I share life and have fun,and cry and laugh with them but then, I keep a whole inner me secluded home for me to find when I get back..and that seems to be when the fun really starts..when I take my make-up off,put my trackies and my favourite music on..put off lights, light up candles and scented oils and get engrossed into reading,cooking,painting,writing, or merely speculating on the news or some random thought. My sister and her fiancè say they can totally picture me in a couple of decades living with a whole bunch of dogs, sporting long white hair in a dusty country house full of books. Suddenly, someone then walks into your life. As quietly as a tornado, he doesn't sweep you off your feet but worse: he can read you so well to put your foundations down. And you still have no idea of how he did it. And suddenly, even if you have a few trusted friends, a zillion acquaintaices and a few dozen strangers to talk to you wish to hear no-one's voice but his..Unfortunately, he is the one person you have asked to stay out of your life because it scared you how much he got you inside and because,somehow, the mistakes and hurts of the past haunt you worse than a ghoast. I miss you.

As you said, "It's been raining since you and I". Yesterday the sun came out again, but why is it you won't get out of my heart? I miss you.

Impulsiveness and the Power of Hindsight

I am impulsive. I always have been. I got out of bed at 3 am to write this. I must be impulsive.
When you are little, lack of experience, a mystical curiosity for what's out there and a wonderful sense of spontaneity brings you to writing silly messages on a piece of paper to the boy sitting next to you in class..to buzz the intercom at a stranger's place and run off as soon as they answer..to run naked in a field..roll yourself in the snow..spontaoneity. Then one day you "grow up", you become an "adult" and on your way to becoming a woman/man,adulescence,certain attitudes become un-cool and things you should restrain yourself from doing in exchange for make-up, French kisses and high heels. I never cared for those sorts of undefined social agreements and cliques. Instead, I have always prefered to stay as care-free and spontaneous. However there are certain moments in one's life when you realize that it is time to grow up. It is time not to speak everytime you wish to do so (even when it's irrelevant or inappropriate). A time when you should keep your impulses under control.

Unlike the widespread stereotype on postmoder women, I hate shopping, especially for clothes. (I swear I am honest and I ain't lying!!) However sometimes a girl has gotta do what's she's gotta do and I too shop. A few weeks ago I had seen this wee coat I had fallen in love with. But, as I had not enough money on me, I set my mind on going back later on that week to get it. I never got around going back to that shop until this afternoon. I was so excited about that coat when I had first seen it, but as the time had gone by, my interest for it diminished and, when I saw it again this afternoon, it looked aweful to me. The colour was different,the material looked bad and I had generally lost interest in it. I am beginning to love the patience,or you might want to call it "laziness" I am developing in taking time to think before acting upon my emotions, without having lost on that awe-filled sense of wonder and spontaneity for life. So I am just going to get some snow and roll in it! As for moving in with someone..that may take much,much longer!!

Feeling all grown up..Feeling so small..

Scarlet

I often find myself reminiscing about my childhood. Maybe because it was a carefree, happy period of my life – the best dare I say. Possibly because deep down I am disappointed with the way I have turned out to be as an adult…do I really match up to the woman I dreamt of becoming as a little girl. Maybe I just find it hard to accept the fact that, in reality, I don’t seem to have changed that much. Tonight, for instance, I feel lonely and rejected like that one time when I walked over the lizard all the boys were playing with, thus ending the ‘game’, I guess. They hated me at that particular moment and made sure I knew about it too. Fair enough everything was soon forgiven and forgotten, but their refusal upset me a great deal. I remember I cried for hours…even ended up vomiting on my parents costume-made silk sate. They weren’t impressed either but, like today, they were understanding of me. Parents. Shortly after the lizard episode, we were climbing up trees again, but that period in between my peers rejection and one of them knocking on our front door whilst the others were waiting on the landing trying to look the least mischievous they could (useless attempt must say..), hurt me, like this self perceived distance is hurting me now. Even though we are not climbing up trees anymore, I am still waiting for you to knock on our front door, hold my hand again and hear you say, ‘She is my best friend!” – with pride, joy, nostalgia, awe.

“Teach a child the way that he should walk, and even when he will be old, he shall not depart from it” Proverbs.

Take a Chance

Today it is "Remembrance Sunday"in the UK. It is meant to be a day to remember those who lost their lives, suffered, sacrificed in war times. To me it has a very different, individualistic meaning. Remembrance Sunday five years ago was the day when I had been given a chance to get rid of a bondage, metaphorically speaking, that has shaped my life ever since. Today I live in a bondage-free world. Too bad it's taken me five years to get to this stage and put my life back on track.
Do you ever wish that, at a cross road you had taken the other direction? Today, in as much as I am conscious and grateful for the situations that have occurred in so far and filed my life, transforming into the person I am becoming, I wish I had taken that chance, I wish I had chosen to go my way instead of compromising my ideals for a more agreeable, ""conformist"" path...choices,ah?

C'era Una Volta..."Once Upon a Time" Does Not Mean "Happily Ever After", Right?

One week into my newly re-found Southern Italian life, I am already starting to notice the differences. Despite the sun, the good food, the relaxed attitude to life, the excitement of things to be and all that, I am beginning to being confronted with a new thing in a familiar place. The reality of being an adult and no longer the teen-ager who left home five years ago, it's truly starting to sink in. Last night I watched a repeat of my favourite television program from when I was in junior high, a political satire programme entitled, The Pippo Chennedy Show. When I was thirteen, it was iconic. We all watched it, the nation was in hysterics for its clever ridicule of the late 1990's society we were living in...with its faults and prides, idiosyncrasies and contradictions, common places and taboos. I used to laugh my little head off with my friends, or by my self. Last night I waited for the show with great anticipation: I sat there, sang along the opening tune (I was ever so surprised I could still remember the lyrics, one of those events that makes you giggle), listened to a few jokes (most of which were still, scarily, appropriate to the current government and political scene..) then got bored half way through. I was initially adman to resist all the way through the show, out of respect for what it once represented for my generation, then became sad at the thought of things that have passed, gone, belong to a time that is now past. Tonight I went to visit my younger sister at the youth camp she is attending this week. Loads of her friends were there (some of them are the younger siblings of my friends); many familiar places, many familiar faces..I even met this guy I used to have a major and I mean MAJOR crush on age 12!!! He had become fatter, shorter than I remembered him to be. As he came towards me I smiled (he must have thought I was nuts, but probably didn't have the faintest idea that what I was laughing about is the thought I ever even liked him!!!).
What I have realised is that you can't put new wine in an old bottle, clean clothes on sweaty arm-pits. You have gotta move on, and stay truthful to who you are.

Anger MaNaGemenT!?! Raaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!

Nosing about a number of other blogs, I have noticed that a few of us have been having issues of anger recently. Alongside that, I have also discovered that the lovely Mrs Heasely used to be an "anger management therapist". Ever since I moved to England, I am a changed woman. My friends and neighbours may tell you different, but I truly believe I've come a long way from my fiery, quick-tempered days. Maybe it's got something with God shaping my character, maybe it's all about maturing, growing up, or possibly I have acquired something of that beautiful "English phlegm" as the Italians call it.. together with that, however, I also seem to have acquired an irresistible urge to complain about everything wrong and stump my feet at injustice. Prime example of this is yesterday. I rang up my bank about a week ago to make an appointment with the bank manager to discuss the arrangements related to closing my account when I am gone. 1 o'clock pm on Tuesday 12th June, we established. So at 12.50, I am there, firmly determined not to be late. I cue up at the custumer service desk to be announced to the manager I had an appointment with. The custumer service fresh-faced young lad looked at me blank and politely gave me the same answer he had been giving everyone: "Please take a sit, a customer advisor will be with you shortly". First of all, I had made an appointment so that I wouldn't have to wait together with all the 18 year old foreign students who have only just landed at Manchester airport, hungry, inexperienced, jet-legged and not very fluent in English as the alleged thick Mancunian blond prison-warden-like bank manager bosses them about shouting at them louder and slower ('coz that way they will certainly understand better) ... together with all the old ladies with thousands of penny coins to be counted .. I am sitting there, tapping my right foot on the lilac coloured dirty carpet, drumming my fingers on the table, starring in the empty space, turning my head a heck of a lot, puffing a lot, pulling weird faces and throwing angry looks at every customer that goes before me.. after all, I had booked an appointment!!!! Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!!!! Getting up off the chair, walking up and down, cuing up again to speak to the same clueless guy who gives me the same answer again, 5 minutes, 10 minutes, I am going insane, 12 minutes, 20 minutes, my temperature is raising, I can feel it, raaaahhh. 21 minutes later the manager calls me in to then leave me with the only person who knows what she is talking about in that branch - an unassuming young customer advisor who has always impressed me for her humble professionalism. I am out in 3 minutes. She tells me what to do and I am happy again. I suddenly don't feel like killing the patronising blond manager anymore. Does this make me a rage-aholic?

The Last Kiss

On Sunday morning I managed to go for a jog in a park nearby my parents' house. 'La Villa Floridiana' is a park that is very dear to me. It is a beautiful woodland of mythological beauty, full of neoclassical statues and overlooking the stunning Neapolitan gulf. When I was growing up we used to dream we lived in the refined Baroqueske villa (now housing a prestigious museum of ceramics), played football, lied on the warm grass on the spring days, gazed at the breathtaking panorama as muses, poets and artists inspired our young minds. It was always my gateway (often my 'runaway') place. It was often our gateway from school too! Whenever we used to bunk off school, 'fare filone' as we say, it is mostly the Floridiana we would be hiding in.. As I was running around on Sunday morning I was constantly distracted by a flood of memories. My first 'proper' boyfriend, Stefano, a real teen-age gentleman, who kissed my fingers better when I cut myself picking hollies for the Christmas play when we were 11. My first kiss; my first date. Holding hands walking around the park, sitting on the bench under the shadow of the big oak tree as he, looking into my eyes, pays me complements carry in my heart to this day..As I was trying to run, I was drown to think of a time when things were good, life was easy, the sun was shining most days. My childhood and early teens have been very happy and I never knew how to be thankful enough for it back then. I was talking to a friend yesterday, ironically walking around a park,and we jokingly reminisced about how sure we used to be of things when we were teenagers. Like stubbornly believing we were the ones who had the answers, who knew what love, I mean "real Love", is. Then we grow up, take responsibility, become less cocky and less confident. We laugh about teenage strops and moods, yet secretly wish we could go back in time, knew then what we know now and still have that waist line! I first watched "L'Ultimo Bacio", The Last Kiss, by Gabriele Muccino (The Persuit of Happyness) when I was 15. Somehow it became an instant iconic movie for my generation and its soundtrack was immediately adopted as the soundtrack of our lives. It is bizarre, however, how it was only years later that those concepts, images and words became truly relevant to our lives. In the movie Carlo (Stefano Accorsi) is a twenty-nine-year-old man who works in an advertisement business and has been living with his girlfriend Giulia (Giovanna Mezzogiorno) for three years. When she gets pregnant and he meets the stunning eighteen-year-old Francesca (Martina Stella), his relationship with Giulia moves into a crisis, since he is not ready to reach adulthood. Francesca has a crush on Carlo and dreams of him. His three best friends also have problems with their partners: Adriano (Giorgio Pasotti) has just had a son and has problems with taking the responsibilities of fatherhood, while his wife Livia (Sabrina Impacciatore) becomes very connected to the baby, neglecting their marriage; Alberto (Marco Cocci) has no ties with any woman, limiting to use them sexually; and Paolo (Claudio Santamaria) has a obsession for his former lover. Meanwhile, Giulia's mother, Anna, (Stefania Sandrelli) has a middle-age crisis, jeopardizing her marriage..living in the shadow of times long gone. Eventually their turmoils are quietened down by an unexpected sense of contentment. Growing up is part of life and accepting the passing of time can reserve for us wonderful surprises related to our new age besides arthritis, wobbly knees and wrinkles! So, here is to GROWING OLD!
L'ultimo Bacio, Carmen Consoli