Farewell

Farewell it's a word that I cherish. It is not as harsh as 'adieu' nor as semplistic as 'good-bye'. Nevertheless, I still don't like good-byes. I have learnt to be less emotive about it, I am contineously seeking not to get too involved emotionally..but I still don't seem to have learnt how to be detached, emotionless. I get attached, I love, I care, sometimes I love people so much I can't help but overwhelm them with affection, thus, to pull them away from me..and that kills me from the inside, it rottens me like a worm slowly consumes an apple cork, like a burning fire painfully consumes a log of wood..reducing it to ashes, mere dust, easily swept away by the gentle breeze.. Why couldn't love be easier?

Sophia - from the album, De Nachten...
If only
hand in hand we spend the night
love comes easy by candlelight

we lie about our past to make each other believe
that this is the love that will last for eternity

if only, if only
if only, if only
if only I could believe that tomorrow
when I wake from my sleep
that you'll still be with me
oh my love
my love will always be

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?

How To Save a Life

I am a former theology student - now embarked upon a long journey of medical studies. In theory, I should know all there is to know about saving lives. This theme, concept, has been meaningful to me for a number of years. I wrote my first BA dissertation on the possible intersession between medicine and theology and I long to be living out those ideals in first person. When I wrote that paper, I quoted a simple, yet explicit, line from the movie "Patch Adams"; that movie and the real life character of Dr Adams have been a source of inspiration for me over the years. The protest against unfounded accepted stereotypes, not merely for argument's sake, but for the reinstatement and affirmation of sacrosanct humane and godly values such as compassion, unconditional love, kindness, overall justice. The quote is that when Patch Adams reminds his friend who is afraid someone may eventually die, even after receiving the necessary medical aid, to which he replies that a doctor's job is not to prevent death, but to improve the over-all quality of people's lives. Just today I have been pondering on the subject of suffering, death. Unfortunately or actually not that unfortunately after all, we cannot prevent death; death is part of life and I guess life would not be equally as valuable, precious, worth fighting for if we were immortal in this skin of ours. Nonetheless, we must strive to make it better, to make the most of what has been given to us not just as individuals, but as a whole of people associated by a common humanity. Saving lives is what doctors try to do day in day out, but ultimately I believe only God can truly save one's soul, hence their eternal life.

I have been wondering a bit recently over the gigantic internal changes that have been happening to me. In as much as I have tried to deny it for so long, I have grown harder, more cynical, less loving. I have loved someone so much that I guess all of the love I was capable of feeling has now combusted and now dedicating my life to other people's problems seems like a much more viable option. Caring for other people's children in order to avoid committing wholly to someone again and choosing to have children together; choosing to live in a tent not to pay a mortgage; saving lives in order to avoid facing my own.

"How to Save a Life" (The Fray)

When Stories and History Meet

"Aurevoire, Big Luciano!"

By now everyone in the global community has been bombarded with images of the, undiscussedly, greatest Tenor of all times, "Il Maestro" as he was known, "Big Luciano", the Italian opera singer Luciano Pavarotti, sadly departed yesterday morning in his villa in Modena, Italy. From the BBC, to La Repubblica, Le Monde and other news agencies from all over the globe have grandeously celebrated and reverently mourned what El País describes as "A divine voice that has been silenced" . I get the impression most people expect us to mourn. After all we are Italians, right?: we are bound to be emotional, extrovert and overly expressive. I have sometimes tried to detach myself from the stereotype, but as I heard the news yesterday and re-watched some footage of Pavarotti's career several times, I became sad. Pavarotti represented, with his voice and international involvement, a positive image of what is beautiful, precious, rare, unique about our Land. He was an icon, a pillar. Like "the Olympic Torch", carrying the flame of sportive spirit across the world; like the Eiffel Tower in Paris reminding the French about their heritage, the "Big Ben" in London, Clocks in Switzerland, Clogs in Holland, Guinness in Ireland, "Big Luciano" was an institution for my country, and we all loved him like as if he was a member of each one of our families. We grew up watching him singing at every significant event of our lives - every new year's day, at midnight, the opening of the Olympic games, the "Pavarotti & Friends" charitable events. Music was his life and his music accompanies every Italian like the soundtrack of our lives, passionately stroking the most sensitive cords of our spirits, pride and love. Now that he has gone, exactly two days after Gigi Sabani, an iconic representative of Italian comedy and television for over thirty years, it's like as if a brick had been taken out of an old castle. Even though its base stands strong of ancient values formed and reinforced throughout history, it's most intrinsic beauty has been robbed of a precious element and we sure will miss you, Big Luciano!

Jolene

A dear friend wrote me these words recently: "Yeah blogs are great, I just wish mine would kind of update itself as I cant seem to find the time!! haha, but yours is excellent, we love reading it... for me it shows how you have changed and grown so much since I first met you, but how at the same time you always remain the same Ivonne we have always known and loved... the same but different, I guess most of us are like that!" I think that is such a beautiful yet truthful reflection. We change. It does not matter how old or young we are, we all change. It is so funny to look back at life. It is like when you get you hands on some old journals and fathom thoughts of old which now cause you hilarity. What's really funny is that, at the time you wrote those things you now laugh or cringe about, you actually used to believe them, they were you. I am reminded of a delightful love poem by Turkish contemporary author Nazim Hikmet; I have never read it's English translation so my translation from Italian will have to do..

"On this autumn night I am full of your words

Eternal words like time, like matter

Heavy words like a hand, sparkling like the stars

From your head, from your flesh

From your heart your words have reached me

Your words full of you, mother

Your words, love

Your words, friend

They were sad, bitter;

They were joyous, full of hope

They were courageous, heroic.

Your words, they were men."

I am also reminded of Kierkegaard when he expressed that "life can only be understood by looking back but only lived by looking forward" - words were never truer. There are times when things happen and you can only scream why. You are angry, outraged, in despair. People telling you that is going to get better suddenly become unsympathetic enemies. No-one understands. Six months ago, I was ready to give up, to run away, to hide, disappear because the pain was too much to bear. Everything I ever loved, everything I ever wanted was being taken away from me. My safe mansion was becoming a sand castle blowing in the wind before my very eyes and it hurt. You sing songs of despair, pull your hair out, find yourself crashing on the kitchen floor, sobbing, in the middle of a working day..No strength to look at yourself in the mirror, no real urge to get out of bed in the mornings..sadness being your daily bread. Then you look back - this time a content sweet smile crowns your relaxed face. Outside is raining in the middle of July, but your heart is pounding with excitement. Excitement for possibility. Faith: being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see. Jolene, originally interpreted by the lady at the top of the page, Ms Dolly Parlton, was majestically interpreted by the White Stripes (material to give you goose-bumps guaranteed). That song at one point became my song of despare, painfully encompassing my suffering (even if on different and diverse levels). Now it is the wonderful Jolene by Ray LaMontagne that, together with "Chicago" by Sufjan Stevens, accompany me on a journey of re-discovery, beauty, love. Here is one for you, my dear readers.

An Ache of the Heart

Dear fellow bloggers,
Considering that a number of you have never even met me in person, I feel like I owe you all some explanations.

First of all apologies for Friday's depressing post. I am not a compulsive winger. I am generally an incredibly bubbly and happy person. I wake up every morning (most days) with a big grin of joy on my face; I don't really walk: I tend to bounce a lot. I laugh rumourously (my wee sis is so embarrassed of my 'heartily' laugh). I am honest; I am outspoken. One of my ex-boyfriends always used to say that for all my love for talking, when it comes to emotions, feelings, I needn't really have to say a word because my face and my eyes in particular are like a mirror to my soul; guess that you could say that 'what you see is what you get' with me. Throughout life's heart aches, hard times and disappointments, I have been renown for lifting my head up and carrying on. However, the last six months have thrown a lot at me, more than I sometimes think my heart can bear. I am bubbly, in-your-face, self-confident (cocky?!?!), but it doesn't mean that I don't hurt!!!!
Since my upheaval first started, I feel like I have made steady progress; I feel like I have re-discovered a passion for Life in all its fullness, rolled up my sleeves again and continued to strive. Nonetheless, behind that self-motivation, aspirations, optimism, Faith and dreams, there is a very fragile heart. Despite all the gains, I walk about the streets feeling constantly bereaved, lost. My mom is doing a great deal better; we are now waiting for the results from her final tests to see how well she has responded to treatment. Despite not getting into med school first time around, I have been offered to do an Mph in pharmaceutical research which will be contributing greatly towards my future medical studies; with the loss of my uncle, I have seen God's comfort being generously poured over my auntie and family. In feeling rejected by the person I thought I loved the most in this world, I have been hurting a lot but I am also experiencing a surreal dispensation of divine grace : I have chosen not to beg, not to be miserable, not to be nasty, but to do right by and keep on loving that person unconditionally (even when that means to get nothing in return or to occasionally and involuntarily be trampled over emotionally) I have good friends; a job; a home; family, clothes to wear and food to eat; I have Faith. . But I guess we have all been there - such is life and I will soon be back to full strength, blogging about music gigs, humanitarian enterprise, happiness, movie reviews, holidays. My only concern was that I did not want to 'bottle it all up', pretending that everything is alright whilst feeling subconsciously and emotively shattered, exhausted. That's why I blog. Writing is a cathartic expression of my soul. Often the expressing itself, represents the cure. Other times your thoughts inspire me to be a better person, to love others more and also to love myself a bit better. SO, apologies for the whining and please, do keep on reading and commenting, even when I write a lot of bull! Your honesty may help to keep me sane!!!!!

Stuck in a Moment...

3.37 am. I came home early tonight, even skipped youth (so out of character for me to dishonour my commitments), opted for a relaxing night in and the opportunity to catch up on some long yearned sleep. Vain efforts, of course. Chris Martin’s words from “Fix You” are tormentingly resounding in my head, yet nothing seems to be able to fix me. After three chamomile teas, a hot bath, two movies, prayer and endless tears go and explain to my old pastor back in Naples that Christians don’t have trouble sleeping! Of course, there is something profoundly calming and peaceful about living in the knowledge of God’s care and protection (Psalm 5 springs to mind ‘in peace I will lay down; and in peace shall I sleep because you, oh Lord, make me rest in safety’) Nevertheless, this truth does not change our human condition. As real people living in a real world, religious and non-religious people alike experience an often painfully tearing dualism. Don't take this harshly, but I am not looking for answers and empathetic support. Guess I am simply trying to articulate what is clouding my blessed, wonderful life. Baring my soul, feeling as naked and vulnerable as a desperate woman bent on her knees, sobbing and crying in the middle of the street at night as her mascara is running down her face and a malevolent cold breeze is blowing her fine dress, which feels like dirty rags, away. There is no pity in that wind, so she feels yet the cool breeze is a wispy awakening call of an inner sense of Hope that speaks Life even in the lowest pits. That's what tonight feels like.
I first bought the album X&Y, which includes the song 'Fix You', around about the same time I moved to Manchester. I had only just graduated and I felt on the top of the world. I was an idealistic day dreamer who believed that if you work hard and honestly and honour God in all you do, life will be good. I suppose you could say that I haven't changed an inch over the past two years. Despite an increased sense of cynicism and sarcasm, a natural defence mechanism perhaps, I so desperately want to believe that 'there must be more than this'. For all the failiures, I want to learn to stand up again more and more quickly; for all the disillusionment, I want to become even more loving; for all the tears, I will seek to smile my heart out; I will learn to continue to love even what is lost, because it is only things which break beyond repair. On the contrary, hearts and emotions can be mended; therefore I shall persue unconditonal Love; for all the sleepless nights, I will post about it - express my fears, insecurities, self-perceived sense of failure and persue Beauty, pant for Grace.

*At the top of the page, Salvador Dali "The Persistence of Memory"(1931)
On the left, an iconic image of Sofia Loren in Vittorio De Sica's "La Ciociara" (1960) based on a wonderful novel by Alberto Moravia.

You Can Never Hold Back Spring

"You Can Never Hold Back Spring" is a simply wonderful song by Tom Waits. I was listening to it yesterday morning in the car, on the way back from Cambridge, shortly after my friend informed me of Lindsey's sudden departure. I was devastated even though I never met her in person..I felt my friends bereavement and pain, which painfully added upon my own grief and suffering for all the heart ache I have gone through over the past few months. Paradoxically, all around me looked so beautiful. The sun was high in the sky; the flowers in bloom and even the birds in the air were singing. A huge contrast with my contrite and overcast heart. Like as if the angels were rejoicing whilst I was in outer despair because I could not see beyond my own pain. C.S. Lewis wrote that "Pain is God's megaphone to a deaf world"... Through my pain, Tom Waits reminded me of what I think God would want to wisper in my ear: despite the harshness and devastation of the icy cold winter, spring can never be held back, neither can the re-birth of joy and wholeness a broken soul so desperately longs for. Spring will be back, eventually.

'You can never hold back spring', Tom Waits (introduction to Roberto Benigni's "The Tiger and the Snow", 2005)

Learning to Say Goodbye

She was thirteen when they first met. He was a mere four years older. Two very different people. She was beautiful, firey, passionate, outspoken; he was quiet and placid, sensitive, honourable, remarkably intelligent. But, somehow, they saw something in each other. They completed one another and love tied them together. By the time she was fourteen, they got together..and were an inseparable item for nearly thirty years. The couple got married when she was 18 and their first born boy shortly arrived. They were happy. As he was a high court lawyer, an academic professor and prestigious writer and she had long abandoned to think of an academic career for herself (especially since she was the mother of a young child). Nevertheless, he believed in her and encouraged to live her dreams, to dream out loud. She did and her legal expertise became in high demand very soon. Love kept on growing alongside their joint careers and lives. They depended on one another and were willing to sacrifice themselves for their spouse. I have always believed that with real love comes a willingness to invest, sacrifice, give up one's life for the other. Theirs was real love indeed. Whilst she was pregnant, he was diagnosed with an incurable illness..from there after, every day of life was an incomprehensible blessing and priceless gift from God. Twenty one years later, that life was taken away together with an unfailing faith and remarkable person. This is the story of Renato Branno, my uncle, who God called home last night after over twenty years of suffering. We never spent a great deal of time together, but he is one of my heroes in life. He taught me to dream, to dream out loud. He was very cunning, reflective, attentive yet, somehow, he always managed to see the best in people - even in me. In the face of everyone else putting me down for taking uncostumary decisions, he stood by me and cheered my passion for God and life and Justice. Last time we saw each other, he had tears in his eyes and thanked me for making him see life and the world through my eyes, through the places I go, the people I meet, the things I do and the way I fight. I was so honoured and privileged to ever even know someone as extraordinary as him, my uncle. He had a wicked taste in music (he was an outstanding guitarist and pianist himself), quick-witted, sophisticated yet down to earth, knowledgeable (he could talk with property and confidence about from ancient philosophy to Peter Kay and back to current affairs..a genius!). I shall miss him loads; nevertheless, I paradoxically have one more reason to live: to honour his memory and continue his vision. I am not good at saying goodbye, but I am trying to learn.

In loving memory of Renato Branno, 1959 - 2007