Life is a rough-edged thing..

..this is a line from a really beautiful song by an emerging indie local guy who used to attend the same lyceum as me. Giovanni Truppi, in my opinion, is an unassuming,rather talented musician-singer-songwriter. His music (guitarr-drums-winds) is surprisingly original and his lyrics are brilliantly introspective. As far as I know, he has been composing for a few years now, yet I first came across his music a couple of months ago at a local gig. It was a fun and inspirational experience. In the very same song where he states that "life is a rough-edged thing",he also asks the very profound question: "how long has it been since you last made a discovery?" - this line really spoke to me,and to this day I keep living by the principle that I want for each and every to be a discovery,maybe not, though hopefully yes,the cure for a neural disease, but more so a child-like excitement for one's emotional life, for the world around us and for the life we lead. today I want to break new grounds, make a discovery!

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.

Freedom Is...

When my mom and dad first started dating in the late 1970's, they used to write each other cards representing a semi-naked chubby character (cupid-like) who made statements such as "love is.." (Nothing kinky relax - I promise I will scan some of them in as soon as I get back home). Must admit it was a bit of a shock when, age 9, I found those cards in a box at the bottom of mommy's wardrobe (not to mention my dad's personal journals...) - do you think one goes to hell for nosing into their parents journals?! Anyway. All this just to explain the title of my post! Also it has just occurred to me that writing kinda runs in the family.I wish I could say "we don't talk much", hence we write, but that would be a blatant lie. What can I say: we are just a communicative type of family, that's all... This morning I was reading the Metro on my way to work. In front page an article about Alan Johnston, the BBC journalist freed after being held by Palestinian militants for 114 days. On being free he rather articulately stated, "You want to do everything at the same time, to read books and papers, go to the movies, beach and sit in the sun, and eat and talk and all the rest of it." But is that really what freedom means? I am intrigued. Karen recently introduced me to a new American slang expression, "to check one's vitals",to check your email, myspace, facebook, blog, and/or any daily essential websites. Check your vitals. For example: "Get off the computer, whore. I need to check my vitals." "Hey, wanna go get something to eat?Sure, but lemme finish checkin' my vitals first." I mean how free can one truly be when the indication of their freedom is judged against their ability to possess a certain knowledge, communicate interactively, access the right facilities. The idiotic former Italian prime minister, Silvio Berlusconi, once stated, with regards to the "War on Terrorism" that the Eastern world is an uncivilized world. He is an idiot and there is no doubt about that, however, how often are many of us guilty of considering, more or less consciously, non-Western civilizations less erudite, cultured and, let's face it, 'civilized'? In Italy we have this Encyclopedia called "Treccani" - the whole collection costs an average of £20K (that's, of course, without the dictionary and the additional supplements..) I know because my dad very generously bought me the whole thing when I was about 12. Along goes the opinion that if you don't have one of those, you are a nobody. What?! That's outrageous, isn't it? What about those who use the public library? (after all the fact that you possess an encyclopedia does not automatically imply that you read it) Moreover, who decided what "civilized", "cultured", "hip" is? How free we really are if our lives are so much dictated by the gym we go to to get the body magazines impose us to have by eating/not eating the foods we are told are "good for us", listening to the music we are told to listen to, watch the movies we have heard about and read the books of the moment? I am sick of the package holidays. Sick of doing the things everybody else does without even questioning them. But, for all of my talk, I am caught up in this huge spiral deeper than I ever thought I could be. Make up, wax, scrubbing, moisturising, tonic, three liters of water per day, 5 portions of fruit/veg, exercise at least three times a week (anything less is sloppy), walk instead of taking the car, buy organic and fairtrade, take your own recycled bag to the supermarket, buy "Word" magazine once a month and, when no-one is watching, get "Glamour" too (just for the little free gift, of course), skinny-sugar-free-fat-free-heck-taste-free fairtrade drink...ENOUGH!

Harvest Justice

That's it: tomorrow summer officially begins. June 21st, the longest day of the year. Summer: the sunshine, the trees in bloom, succulent water melons, water games, the beach. I love it, I love it, I love it. I love the zest of lime squeeze on grilled fish. The sun on my skin. The smell of mature yellow peaches in sweet white wine. The taste of apricots that melt on your tongue ever so slowly. My grandad used to call me, and often still does, 'the little apricot lady'. He delights in telling the tale of the day I was born. A hot summer day when they were picking apricots in the fields and they had to rush to the hospital because little baby me was born - with a two week delay... Then growing up, in the shadow of my grandparents, spending my summers playing about around convivial apricot pickers. Then making jams and fruit juices in my grandma's kitchen out of the more ripen ones. In goes the sugar, the hot water bubbling away in the scorching sun, the stench of chicken's poo (which God knows why you are told 'is good for ya'!) mixed to the fragrant aroma of blended fruits..a cheeky little finger stealing a taste of the precious nectar..Nana telling you off, then my little hurt frown, then her heartily laugh; she chocks a little from too much laughing, her voluptuous figure fluttering, then brings her wrist to her face and one at a time swiftly dries her eyes from tears of joy. There is no-one in the whole wide world like my nana! I started off writing this post with a completely different agenda in mind - now, having stumbled upon some beautiful memories, I realize how lucky and blessed I have been. I received some of the most precious gifts in this world: life, a great family and, above all, the gift of a truly happy childhood. I wonder how many people can count on that.

Changing the World over a Cup of Coffee

Predictable. Tired of reading my blog for the past 8 months, you will all be expecting an article on fairtrade. Wrong. Or, at least, partially wrong. Last night I came home early, trying to rest my voice and recover from this terrible laryngitis. As you do, I thought I'd treat myself to a cup of caramel macchiato from Starbucks (small,skinny, no cream, of course!). I have had issues with Starbucks last year, before their fair trade choice, Estima; I did not pay enough attention to understand their "fairer option".. Starbucks is an American multinational with a gigantic turn over each year - let's say that life as Mrs Starbucks must be pretty pampered! As such, we are talking money, not ethics. Ethical consumerism is often, in my opinion, a contradiction in words. Nonetheless, public pressure on coffee shops is the evident proof of how the individual can, collectively, impact society in a positive way. Mr Starbucks charged me £3 for a small cup of coffee - that's roughly five coffee grounds, half a cup of skimmed milk, a splash of caramel and some hot water..obviously that three quid needs to pay for the girl at the till, the lad who wrote on the plastic cup, the lady who actually made me the drink and the young chap who is sweeping the floor around me..that's not to count the landlord who owns the place, the suppliers, the energy suppliers, the coffee growers, the shipping company and, of course, some profit for Mr Starbucks - after all, it's his business we are talking about! But this discussion will be for another time. Perhaps, just give a little thought to the coffee growers who has never even tried a cup of coffee and gets paid £3 a week (best possible scenario). But that's for another time.. What I wanted to draw you attention upon is that as I was about to pay for my coffee, I noticed a couple of charity boxes for the Lymphoma association. Isn't it bizarre how much more sensitive we become to issues when they touch our lives personally? I felt like a hypocrite. Nevertheless, if it wasn't for cancer research associations such as this, funded exclusively by people's generosity, my mom may not be here today. So when you buy a fairtrade cup of coffee, or a charity wrist band, or give spare change to someone..you are virtually changing the world. Just think.

51 days,11 hours, 42 minutes and 20 seconds

...to the Big Day, 100th Post and 5000 Ways to Change the World! ...

This is my 100th post! I have written a lot - mainly gibberish, but also a lot of outpouring of my little soul and introspective analysis, helped by your inspirational comments. One of the evident outcomes of this is that I know to be nothing but convetional, so I choose not to write a commemorative article on blogging. Instead I would like to send you all an invitation.
In 51 days, 11 hours, 42 minutes and 20..ops 19 seconds now, it is the BIG DAY (aka my 24th birthday) - the 1st of July for your diaries, thanks. The day however is "big" for a number of reasons:
1. I was born on that day: a little respect, would you mind?
2. Viva the Smoking Ban! England will celebrate the first day of SMOKING FREE PUBLIC BUILDINGS!!! Yuppy!!! Thank God: no more concerts, dinners, pubs and clubs filled with deadly and stinking fumes! Alleluja!
3. It will be my first "Random Acts of Kindness and Senseless Acts of Beauty" themed birthday.
It basically consists of this: whether you were planning to or were not remotely thinking about being kind enough to buy/make me a present, then, don't. Instead, in the likes of "Pay it Forward", do something good and beautiful to make three people's world, day, life...well...better. Whether it involves buying a homeless person a cup of tea, donating money to charity, giving blood, telling someone how special they are, walk instead of driving or wherever your creativity and kindness takes you, do it! The sky is the limit! Sure enough I shall be reminding you of this initiative closer to the time meanwhile, the title of this post is how long you have to think about how to make the world a better place on my birthday! Call it a "Hippy Birthday Meme Tag!"