Human Autopsy

A couple of days ago, I finally went to assist to a human autopsy. It was something I had been wanting to see for quite some time and never really got around to do. My main interest was strictly academic. I am one of those who learns from experience. Nevertheless, I also went I guess you could say to "test myself", to get a proof on my real predisposition and attitude for the medical profession. Having been preparing myself for any possible (and very understanding) shock or insufference, I was totally surprised to see how incredibly well I took the whole thing. I was impassive,couragious, strong and, dare I say, excited somewhat like a little girl in a candy shop.. (I truly hope you won't judge this harshly as it is a mere representation of my profound passion for medical sciences). On the way home I started to elaborate what had actually happened: the 65, male, cancer patient suddenly became a father, friend, employee, neighbour. His body may have been torn apart on a slab, but the memory of who he had been still remained. Who was he? What had he been up to his whole life? It made me think of the "Everyman" morality play from the XV century when Death comes knocking on the Everyman's door and he has to figure out, before he hits the grave, what really mattered in life. Beauty vanishes. So do Discretion and, obviously, Strength. A man's strength had definitively left his body and I couldn't help but wander what had he actually left behind,but more personally if I will actually take Knowledge and Good Deeds away with me to Heaven one day.. I'll sure try to do my best.

Blue Valentine

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!!

Crumbs from Your Table

"How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb" is the album that fuelled my study for my BA dissertation. There are a few songs off the album that are significant to me for a number of reasons,"Crumbs from Your Table" being the most significant. Released in 2004 at a time of great fervour over the "Make Poverty History" campaign and a general high of media coverage and public interest, and action, with regards to social justice issues, it treats on the subject of social disproportions. One of my favourite lines reads 'where you live should not decide on whether you live or whether you die'. I am often criticised because I desire to work as a medical doctor amongst the most destitute in the so-called "Developing world". They say, "why do you want to go so far when there is evident need and poverty virtually at your door step". The observation is realistic, nonetheless inaccurate. Indeed there is a lot of poverty in the south of Italy. Some of the areas where I minister are oozing with undereducated children who live on the street with little or no care from a parental authority. Often abused, mistreated, malnourished, unloved. However, the beauty of our assistentialist state is that their basic needs are, theoretically, catered for. The level of disparity and injustice that I observe in the developing world is, in my opinion, of colossal proportions. Just this morning I was reading that in Sierra Leone there is one surgeon for every 1.000.000 people - one million.
Although 'colonialism' in the most degrading and terrible connotation of the word is officially over, exploitation ain't. In order to cure disease in our countries, the pharmaceutical industry experiments, or worse freely administers faulty drugs which will necessitate the purchase of further medicinals, onto human test animals in the southern hemisphere. Because we have polluted most of our environment, we go growing OGM corn crops in Africa's most fertile fields to produce eco-friendly biofuels, pay the residents a misery and force them to relocate to worse, less salubrious marshland infested by parasites responsible for the transmission of malaria onto humans. Malaria alone kills over 150.000 children a month, the same number of victims killed by the South East Asia Tsunami in 2004. The Italian government pays for its members of Parliament to be flown on a personal jet to the F1 races, pays their restaurant bills and private medical care when an anti-malaria pill costs less than $0.60 a dose. Despite the embargo on the 'blood diamonds', Lebanon still manages to ship them at more reasonable prices to the West. Think.

The Fashionist

At uni, I got a heck of a lot of nicknames. One of the most ironic ones was "the Italian Stylen" - me, the only Italian who can't dress!? I am not much for fashion, though I seem to have a strong sense of what I like and what I most definitively don't like.
I remember laughing hysterically as I used to look through my mom and dad's old photos wearing big 'hear-dos' in the 80's, flared jeans in the 70's and so on. Me and my little sister would laugh and laugh and remark we would never ever wear flared jeans. Liers. By the mid 1990's we two were shopping obsessively for the most flared pair of jeans. By last year, we two were wearing those hideous buffooned fringes and leg-warmers. Not funny. That's why now I am a little weary to be too judgemental about the ever so comfortable as ever so ugly footwear of the year, the crocs. So I would like you to make up your own mind on the matter, maybe with a little help from our Canadian friends (see video below)

A Better Way?

On Sunday night I briefly scanned through a couple of channels. On "Come Dine With Me" there was a vegan contestant who challenged a carnivore contestant to take up a vegan way of eating and life style. It was so compelling: I mean, the guy obviously fancied the red-head-vegan lady,but it was incredible to witness to a blatant example of positive peer-pressure. You see, the guy was astounded to hear for the first time in his life about animal cruelty, vegan cuisine, Mr McDonald's destroying acres and acres of valuable forests to create green pastures for his soon-to-slaughter cattle..not to mention the farmer's families who, for little money's gain, are forced to flee the countryside, populate the already over-crowded cities to become then unemployed, unresourced, under-skilled and often homeless, in need of aid. Oh, and don't come and blame him when your house gets flooded in the middle of July.. I must say I never was a big meat-eater (blame it on my grandma chasing me around the place in an attempt to force-feed me cow's brain and lamb's liver..) There are still stories being told about me, aged 7, sitting around the dining table, opposite a solitary sole for over two and a half hours. Going into my teen-age years I chose I would become a vegetarian..experience which lasted a mere two years, led me into anorexia and amplified my issues on control. Things then begun to pick up when I realised that all is good in moderation. I would love to share embarrassing pictures of me at a Carnivore dinner at a renown carvery in Nairobi, Kenya, where I scoffed off the equivalent of half the Kenyan fauna. On my healthier days, I am a very conscientious eater. Like you have heard me ranting about a few days back, I try really hard to lead a good and righteous life - I would feel hypocritical and discontent if I had it any different. However, I often consider whether I should be doing more to be truly ethical. Unlike other groups, vegans seem to live up to what they preach. I like that about them: they are integral. Last night I had a bit of a moment. As you all know by now I am cat sitting for my friends' hairy cat. On my way back from the gym I stopped by to feed Mr Cat. As I walked in I noticed an unidentified object on the floor. After a close inspection I discovered that my worst fears had met their day: it was a featherless baby chick, cruelly murdered by the assassin cat. Despite my notorious nick name, the wee Italian chick, and my celebrated fearlessness to blood, human disease and other nasty phoenomena, I have an unexplainable phobia of birds. I hate pigeons, I hate birds flying low, I feel squeamish eating chicken and please don't mention where the egg came from when I am eating it.. All this is giving me space for considerations.. Today I have submitted my proposal to make the Learning and Skills council a fair-trade/ more environmentally friendly institution. What if veganism was the next step? We'll see.

Gimme the Week-End! (I've got a whole week to get over!!!)

Hey, Folks! It's ten to five on a gloomy Friday afternoon! I sooooooooo wanna go home and sleep but, hang on, I haven't got a bed and the house I am house-sitting at the moment is infested by evil cat hairs...no rest for the wicked!?! (sorry, I am incredibly sleep deprived, need a break!) and guess what the weather forecast for the next week is? Rain and more rain! Have a lovely week-end, xx

Yes, You're Pretty Good Looking (for a girl)

1959 is not only the year my mother was born in. My mother, in fact, shares her birthday with another modern blond icon, the Barbie doll. For all my feminism and strong sense of idealism, I used to love playing with barbies up to the age of 10. I had loads of them and I used to love to mimic their lives as independent career women who magisterially juggled life, work, family and relationships always looking pretty as a picture - invincible, strong, sensitive, intelligent, opinionated, outspoken and beautiful modern women... That is what I aspired to be for most of my childhood and adult life: intelligent, successful, beautiful, always with a smile on my lips and a kind word to say. I am not quite sure on whether I did succeed in that intent, but I can say with confidence that in life I have no regrets because I have always given it my best and my all. Another thing that I am sure of is that I am not cut for fitting into the stereotype of a barbie doll : dumb, hare-brained, hollow and blond. Quite frankly, I am nothing like that and I will never be (not even for the love of a man). Maybe I am the only person who has ever felt like that - I don't expect everyone to understand - but it frustrates the life out of me (strictly speaking) when a. some women allow themselves to be considered as silly barbie girls, mere fashion accessories beside a weak man who expects to look better, cleverer, more macho beside a woman who is only good to look at, talk at, use. b. Men who, for all of their talk, are truly insecure, manipulative, gutless idiots who haven't got the balls to stand up to intelligent members of the opposite sex?! Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr! That issue really bothers me. In the same hand though I can somehow understand why the postmodern Man may feel emasculated by his contemporary allegedly impeccable bionic women. As most of you know I have been living in Manchester for just over two years. Before I moved here little did I know about the vibrant homosexual community who predominates the city. I have said it before that my encounter with the Mancunian gay community has been a massive eye-opener for my rather traditionalist views. Especially amongst the gay women I noticed a high professionalism, stead-fastness, loyalty and strength at various levels in life. Amongst the gay women I also observed a great sense of loneliness, insecurity, weakness, confusion, disillusionment. Nonetheless, it is interesting to observe how most heterosexual men would judge those women: all they can see in them is their unfailing confidence, like as if they never had a moment of weakness, a care in the world. It takes a truly extraordinary man to love a confident woman and allow her to release the beauty and affection within.
*** The title of the post is the title of a song by The White Stripes***