PMT: Italian Style!

When I say, "PMT" women throughout the world will immediately know what I am talking about. For the men...mmm...well, think of your girlfriends, your wives, your sisters, your mothers, even, at that time of the month when they say "oh, I feel so bloated", "does my bum look big in this" and generally are uneasy to be around. Alternatively, think of Bridget Jones in full depressed mood scraping mould off the last piece of cheese off her fridge! I am not a particularly PMT prone person. I used to HATE it when my best friend's girlfriend used to emotionally blackmail him by blaming her every selfish outburst onto her, alleged, PMT!! What? A PMT that is 360 day long?!?!?! Anyway. The inspiration for this post comes from a minor cultural difference I noticed today for the first time since I moved back to Italy. When I was studying in the UK I looooved to lounge around in my pj's for as long as I could, especially around does days..I mean I salute the Brits who can do depressed, feel sorry for one self so well (obviously this is a huge generalization). But, blame it on the weather, blame it on a major drinking culture, my observation of the English has brought me to form an opinion on the above explained matter: people drink a lot, it's colder and feeling miserable seems to be more of an option, I guess. When I was in England, it was a piece of cake to walk into any supermarkets, fill up my basket with junk, comfort food and wine, wearing track suit bottoms, trainers and pinned up hair, no make up, looking as scruffy as one can look and go back home and have some "quality time" with one's couch, watching cheesy "chick flicks" and crying like there's no tomorrow! No wonder I put on weight! Anyway. This afternoon I walked not into one, but two supermarkets and I came out both times empty handed...well, should I say with a celery stick and a bag of chestnuts! I felt guilty and looked upon as some sort of alien every time I even set eyes on a piece of choc! You see, Italian women just don't do self pity! As a response to life lemons', they ask for tequila and salt! They put their designer shoes on, go to the local spa, get their hair done at the salon and hit the shops before going out with some handsome, perfectly groomed Italian stallion! That's PMT Italian style! Right, I am off for tonight! Byeeeeeeeeeeeee

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!

The Sound of a Good Week-End

Yes, more than 'the sound of a good week-end', it is the lack of sound, in my voice, this morning that makes me reminisce on an hilarious week-end in London, baby, London! For my frequent readers, you may remember the tales of our funny Arabian night in the beginning of May with some newly met friends from London whom we ended up exchanging a visit with this bank holiday week-end. The whole thing was quite surreal - confusing the night for the day, the scorching rain like we were in the middle of December, making friends with singers, waiters and random strangers, running in the rain at 3am, having breakfast at 5pm..totally awesome! Good times, good friends. So, without further ado, here is a photo diary of the week-end (saves me time, really)... Hope you all had a nice bank holiday too!

A typical British summer day in London..The Sweetness: Tiziana & Linda, best friends from school! Dancing in the Tube station..as you do...
Wanted?Cueing outside "Ain't Got Nothing but the Blues" in Soho for nearly two hours..freeeeeeezin'!
Worth the wait!

Meeting Oscar Wilde and Dorian Gray, aka Wayne and Tim. It was a rather surreal experience - for starters, we were in an underground, prohibitionist mid-20's America style Jazz club in Soho. Got chatting to this two random guys who ended up being quite a pair, not to mention that both me and Linda (who hardly know each other at all) thought that Tim (in the middle) looked like Dorian Gray..indeed a fictional character out of a book..the weirdness!!!
Singing the Italian national anthem at the top of your loungs? Priceless. The Sound of a Good Night indeed!

Is This England, or Not?

~Cultural Learnings of an Italian in Salford~

It is rather strange when people count as history the time and events of your life time. July 1983 is the opening title of last night's movie, "This is England".. paradoxically, this is also the month and year I was born in. If you liked movies in the likes of Trainspotting and Kes, you are most definitively going to enjoy this little gem of British cinematography. Set in a bleak East Midlands town in 1983, it focuses on the life of twelve-year-old Shaun to then kaleidoscopically expand to the Thatcher's government, deprivation, greasy spoons, dislocation, nationalism, skinheads, substances abuse, extremism, racism, violence, the Falklands, England in a compelling showcase of raw realistic acting talent. A side to England not all of us may want to align ourselves with that, crudely, is not the mere shadow of a forgotten past, long removed from us. On the contrary, the parallels with today's England are striking. Unemployment, deprivation and dislocation; loss of identity and an often ignorant, violent and abusive search for national values; a shady government and a country fighting a senseless war which does not belong to us. From the eye of a mere observer, drown into an active personage of a history that is not my own. This is part of the England of my next door British-Bulldog tattooed neighbours who call me 'Miss Bolognese' and ask me to cook for them every time they see me, of the British-Pakistani convenience store round the corner from my house, of my half Maltese florist; this is the England of the paper-round kid who puts through my door a BNP leaflet stating what the party stands for and with an invitation for me and my household (an Italian and a Spaniard at the time) to join them, of the teen-agers I work with and I still struggle to understand at times, of the PMT Chinese lady at the local fish 'n' chips, of those who have curry for tea and leave it all behind for a place in the sun. So, is this England or not? I often discuss with a particular friend of mine what defines Britishness. Like Italian-ness is not defined by loud, football fanatic, poetry-reading, sunglasses-wearing, hairy tanned voracious pasta devourers, I doubt Britishness is described by white ass, tattooed, drunken hooligans, 'stif-upper-lip' fish 'n' chips with mushy peas two bed-roomed red-brick terrace house dwellers ... so, then, what defines Britishness, what makes us who we are?

The Pursuit of Beauty

The spring season is upon us and, despite the expected sprees of cold weather, the days are getting longer, the birds are singing and the daffodils are in blossom. All this idyllic imagery inspires me and reminds me of how artists from the past expressed the vibrant bloom of life that occurs at this time of the year. I am Italian and of course the first picture that comes to mind is La Primavera, the Spring, by Botticelli. From there my mind trail takes me to the Venus - a symposium of eternal, ethereal beauty. In his Symposium, good old Plato identified the keys of ideal beauty in the context of love, attraction and attractiveness. It's a beefy piece of work (especially if you've gotta translate it from ancient Greek..), but it has always stimulated me to consider and reconsider the concept of Beauty. Following my previous post, a number of you have raised the question of what defines beauty - a concept that, despite the apparent homogenization of standards ( ei: everyone aspires to resemble the cover page models from fashion magazines) it's actually as varied as the colours of a cubist painter's pallet! The Italians say, "Il mondo e' bello perche' e' vario", the world is beautiful because it is varied, and thank God for that: it is different tastes and preferences that make life interesting and enables us to establish human contact with people who will like,hate, love us. It always astounds me to see how different cultures perceive a range of physical traits. Like the Brazilians and the Africans who love their women's big buts whilst us Europeans often starve ourselves in fear that our bum may 'look big in this'. Or the Far East Asian fascination for prominent noses and here we are willing to pay anything to have our noses made smaller..go figure! Whatever the circumstances, we all appear to conform by a set of aesthetic standards, whether we would like to confess it or not. My cultural background has imposed onto me from a very young age that I should pursuit to be slim, ideally measuring 90-60-90, the 'perfect' hourglass measurements (think Sofia Loren, Monica Bellucci, Gina Lollobrigida), to look pristine and colour coordinated at all times. In as much as I have always tried to escape from aesthetic compromise, I can't help but feel the pressure. In as much as I accept myself for the person I am and the way I look, I keep on wishing I was better, looked better, sounded better...
Expectations can play a nasty game. In an old article on jealousy I quoted Joseph Addison about how it is the fear of not being reciprocated by the ones we love that makes us insecure. Insecure about ourselves, what we wear, how long is our hair, how firm our butt, how full our lips are and so on..Advertising campaigns do not help either as they make a living out of our insecurities..
But without me rambling on for much longer, what do you think defines beauty? and is there a universally accepted 'ideal beauty'?

'Painting the Town...Green'

Little did I know about Manchester before I moved over here. The stronghold of northern Englishness, red bricked terraced houses,'English bulldogs' fuelled by a sturdy diet of 'sausages,chips & mushy peas', is actually the hub of multicultural Britain. From the renowned Rusholme Curry Mile to the festive Chinise New Year celebrations in the town centre, Manchester masterly embraces, fuses and showcases a number of ethnic groups, cultures and customs over the traditionally suggestive backdrop of typically Victorian architecture and reminiscences of an industrial scenery. Fast moving, vibrant, tollerant, progressive and remarkably open to change and modernization are traits of a city that moves on without ever discrediting its own origins and history.
About 200 years ago a wave of Irish emigrants touched the Mancunian shores and made their permanent residency there, merging with the locals and giving the city a whole new identity. If you speak to any of the kids in our youth club, they all claim Irish ancestors of some sort or have Irish family names - despite wearing hoodies and sounding remarkably Manc! Saturday, as you all know, it was Paddy's Day (St Patrick's) - the biggest celebration in Manchester after Christmas - go figure! It was also my friend's birthday, which kinda got overshadowed by this sea of drunken, leprechaun-like, green-wearing Mancs, ghastly resembling the damned spirits out of Dante Alighieri's Hell. * (By the way, 'HAPPY BIRTHDAY,MY LOVE,I SHALL MISS YOU LOADS WHEN YOU ARE GONE!') So I find myself having to deal with all these drunken idiots, police everywhere and not the sign of a free taxi for over an hour in the freezing cold at past 2 o'clock in the morning...no wander I have such a nasty cold today!More than a merry parade for an Irish saint, it reminded me of reading in my high-school geography book about the Belfast riots in the 70's! However, Manchester's inclusive attitude to cultural diversity does not stop at geographical multeity, but it extends as far as religious beliefs, culinary preferences and sexual inclinations. The prominent gay village is one of the most flourishing areas of town, blossoming with restaurants, pubs and clubs able to cater for all preferences. I left Italy as a traditionalist lefty, stiff-upper-lip perfectionist and opinionated religious young girl. I then moved to England to study theology and left Bible college with more passion and enthusiasm for God, yet more questions and an increased sense of grace than I ever had. Having analysed the Scriptures, philosophy and human kind inside out, I was left with a sense of wonder, disappointment, love, beauty, hope and back. I then moved to Manchester and encountered a variety of cultures which paradoxically surpassed any from my extensive travels. From 'judgmental little prat' to working and living in an environment surrounded by members of the gay community where, suddenly, being 'heterosexual and Christian' was abnormal...what a journey! Now 'judging' has all of a sudden become harder. It is much easier to make assumptions and judgements about people you don't know or don't care about. However, Manchester has actually taught me a lot more about Christianity than it meets the eye: this city, like what is at the essence of my faith,it's a place where strangers become brothers and enemies are embraced into a friendly hug. Where you can, if you want, become 'one of the crowd' but where, even staying at the fringes, you can still experience the ripples of God's love.

'Paese Che Vai, Gente Che Trovi'

"Paese che vai, gente che trovi" is a traditional Italian saying which literally means "Places you go, people you find" - (bear with me, it does have a meaning after all!), and it refers to the now popular postmodern concept of 'global village' which undermines a common umanity in cosmopolitanism. The good old ancient Greeks, who, amongst many things, coniated the term "cosmopolitan" (literally, citizen of the world) had foreseen in the Hellenistic empire the ideal that a man could be at home anywhere in the known world. Imagine the scene. The Greek civilization had started off pretty small; first, it was Athens, then its prefecta in the boardering regions, then to Macedonia, the Balcans, northern Africa, the Middle East, Asia. There are conspiracies and archeological exhibits which prove that Alexander the Great reached out as far as India in his conquests..what a man!!!. Nonetheless, as soon as the so called Hellenistic era started (4th century BC),like under any period of prosperity and progress (es. the Enlightenment, the Industrial Revolution), there was a brewing of optimism, inventiveness and progress. They invented things, created philosophies and academic disciplines and were led to believe that the world was their oyster, that, as long as you spoke Greek, you could be anywhere and do whatever you liked. Too bad that this concept was only true if you could afford it. Greeks benefitted from inequitable priviledges at the expenses, like always, of the non-Greeks, the slaves and the thousands of local communities that had been nullified for the advantage of their own. Remarkably enough, studious of the time would tell you that, unlike many other colonizations, the Hellenistic empire favoured and integrated local identities. For instance, the raise of Christiandom in the first century AD is a direct offspring of the Greeks fashination and acceptance for foreign beliefs and customs. However, their acceptance was only on an intellectual level and only for what could,somehow, improve their lives. Kind or less refined, colonialism is always a venture for potential abuse. What was the point of the whole academic regurgitation,anyway?! Oh, yes. I am currently reading a book by 2004 Peace Nobel Prize winner, Wangari Maathai. "Unbowed" is a wispy yet direct autobiography, "a compelling tale about the challenges and triumphs of modern Africa, a universal story about courage, perseverance and success for a noble cause"(Bill Clinton). I am loving every word of it and being absolutely absorbed in the life of this extraordinary woman. I am especially appreciating the old African fables and the tales of a forgotten tradition. Also, I found of interest the way she perceives the British ruling in Kenya. Due to her mixed Western/African education, she is the best qualified person to speak about the issue and does it with immense grace, wisdom and balance. "Take the good, leave the bad, 'cause we are all bound by a common humanity" would be my take on cosmopolitanism. Being the aspirational globe trotter that I like to describe myself as, I have utterly enjoyed the discovery of alien cultures. In my quest for cultural full-immersion and integration, I have often debated the dangers of imposing my national identity over others. This does not merely restrict to watching the Olympic games or the football worldcup where I am suddenly and scarely transformed into a hooligan-Hulk-like yelling,beer drinking monster (my apologies to those who have had to watch these events with me). Many of you know that my ultimate ambition would be to work as a missionary doctor in developing countries and that I have been priviledged enough to do some umanitarian aid work in various parts of the world - and loved every minute of it. An example of this is this picture on the left: me and Rosie teaching songs in a primary school in Nanchuwa, Kisii, Kenya, where, allegedly, the pupils had never seen a white skinned person before and there, behold, the crazy Italian chick and the chatty Northern Irish girl dancing and singing like mad women..I indeed enjoyed myself, but I remember being very weary that night about potentially having imposed "my way" onto a foreign culture. But how do you do that? How do you pursuit healthy cross-cultural communication and exchange and stay away from the dangers of imperialism and imposition? "Places you go, people you find" - of course, but what makes a man is not merely his genes, but it's his beliefs, his history. As Maathai writes: "The way we were brought up and translate the life we see, perceive, smell and touch (the water we drink, the air we breathe and the food we eat) is what we are".

Love Your Land Appeal

I normally try to blog about emotions, social and envirolmental issues and exotic locations, but rarely have you heard me talk about my hometown, Napoli, Italy. The historical harbour of ancient civilizations, the "Campania Felix"(litterally, the 'joyful countryside') used to be the place-to-be, the a glam summer resort for prestigious Roman citizens and the inspirational muse of poets, songsmiths and artists from all over the world. Goes the saying "Vedi Napoli e poi muori",See Naples and then die,which summarizes the spirit and the enthusiasm that used to animate tourists visiting the beautiful partenopean city. Entering Naples one is immediately confronted by centuries of traditions which still cohabit to this day with extemporaneous dexterity. Naples, with its buildings and palaces,is some sort of open book:every monument is a piece of history that leads back to the various dynasties that have succeded in the government of the city. The Unesco has declared the urbanistic richness of Naples "heritage for humanity"...all good and sound...until you physically enter Naples (be it via air,rail or car) and the saying suddenly becomes closer to reality than you ever thought possible. Overwhelmed by a chaotic conglomeration of buildings, neglected roads, anarchic scooter riders and barbarian swearing monstrous car drivers, suspicious looking thugs selling drugs and contrabanded fags, ever-pregnant destitutes, dirt, smog and clandestine immigrants selling fake labelled fashion items and pirate media on the streets whilst oblivious police officers jauntly stand at the bar sipping expressos and puffing cigarettes,you nearly expect it to put your life to the risk. Call it the Italian way?! I am not sure. Often talking to my foreign friends they express admiring opinions on the Italian friendliness, easy-going,chilled life style..the noise,the chaos,the opulence adds up, in their view, to season the goodness of our food and land. I must say I do miss sitting outside of my favourite cafe by the seaside overlooking Castel dell'Ovo and the Marina on a sunny afternoon drinking Hazelnut coffee or eating ice-cream..but it frustrates me no end to see how lack of general basic civic responsability has led to the ultimate deterioration of such a charismatic city. Inspired by J-Mac's post,I was debating with my dad and some of his middleclass mid-forty intellectual male friends the other night and they aggressively responded to my "friends-of-the-earth" approach to life with the stereotypical "why do we bother making any efforts when the USA and China are polluting the globe" - which is an understandable and very logic, but if we don't take personal responsability for ourselves, how is anything,even the big government policies,going to change?! I have had a very conflictual love/hate relationship with Naples for years,but that is not because I don't appreciate my origins. I simply detest the attitude of the Neapolitas which has turned an earthly paradise into a ghastly place. Coming back to my title,my appeal is a call to the napoletani to get off their lazy arses,to get active,fierce and determined to retrive the beauty within our magical city and to my foreign readers to visit Napoli: for info, ask me,anytime,there are some magnificent, breathtaking scenaries, artefacts, architectural masterpieces and naturalistic wonders to see, the food is the best in the world and there are things to experiences that will awe your memory for the rest of your longevity! And,of course,I am Neapolitan,what else could you ask for!?!(",)