My opinion about election day in Italy

«Me ne vado, Lisaveta. Ho bisogno d'aria, d'allontanarmi, di prendere un po' il largo.»
«Be', come mai, piccolo padre, forse vogliamo andare di nuovo in Italia?»
«Insomma, lasci in pace l'Italia, sempre l'Italia, Lisaveta! L'Italia m'è indifferente fino alla nausea! È ormai
lontano il tempo in cui m'illudevo d'esserci di casa. Arte, vero? Cielo azzurro vellutato, vino generoso e dolce
sensualità... In poche parole, cose che non mi vanno. Ci rinunzio. Mi dà ai nervi tutta la bellezza. Laggiù non posso 
neppure soffrire quella gente vivace con lo sguardo animalesco scuro. Non ne hanno coscienza negli occhi, i latini... No, 
ora me ne vado un po' in Danimarca.» 

Thomas Mann, Tonio Kröger, capitolo V

Viver

E: "Viver Todos os Dias Cansa", in italiano [il titolo del libro] " Vivere tutti i giorni, stanca!"
R: sì, molto portoghese...

Viventi

Viventi, imprevedibili, e soggetti alle mutevolezze del destino, siamo creature mortali. Nella lontananza da casa, percepisci solo il tempo che vivi, eppure il mondo è temporale anche lì. Sarà nel ricordo che verrò a farti visita. Com'è prevedibile l’universo quando sai della mortalità, e quanto è impressionante il mondo del ricordo, atemporale, reversibile. Con precisione ricostruisco casa, la storia passata, il ricordo è la casa perfetta,lì, il passato passando rimane sempre presente e quindi anche tu, lo sei.

So cosa si dice sulla morte, eppure, ho un vecchio ridicolo sentimento che mi toglie la capacità di comprendere la nostra condizione. Forse nessuna persona saggia ha mai pianto, per un gatto, direbbe qualcuno; ed io, intanto, con i miei non è giusto, chiedo indietro il tempo al tempo.
Determinate creature le si vorrebbero eterne, ma anche i desideri, che vorrebbero trattenere cari, cose, casa, ricordi, passano, ma mi rimarrà sempre quella vecchia ridicola abitudine a visitare cari, cose, in una casa del tempo, che forse non ho mai avuto, mi fa riavere te, e altri, quando voglio. Ti voglio bene Mimi, vorrei chiudere con una nota positiva. Lascerò il dispiacere al dispiacere, ai viventi il tempo, agli imperturbabili il contegno, io, accoglierò dentro di me un universo di ricordi, di mondi atemporali, per proiettarmi al di là del tempo, dentro di me, nella più intima essenza del ricordo.

a change of focus.

It’s in unsettled period of your life that you leave things behind you.
Having to finish Uni, moving to another apartment, planning,… brings about a change of focus.
Today I did some more packing; I needed to choose what really is vital to me and weighed things rather than seeing them, the glamour of posses is lessening perceptibly. Simple, vital things to me are: food, art, values,  virtues…air. Friends. Pets.  Authentic living, sincere feeling are essential for living fully.
 I’m giving things away, objects that I’ve used a lot. I feel more linked to what they’ve represented to me, and I thought I couldn’t keep them with me as all of these objects, whether it was a chair, or a jacket, or a room, have an intrinsic life of their own, and I let these things slipping out of my hands as I had hitherto hold them.
The sense of ultimate worth I find in changing, in moving, calls into question new assessments of value. Of course that’s a mark I’d like to leave, and indeed I want to make a success of myself, but I understand I have an intrinsic time left he and I need to readjust my life at anytime and improve my way of thinking and living; I am motivated to write by a desire to leave behind something permanent, values I find of undeniable use which I trust in, which in my opinion are vital. I believe in Goodness and Beauty and I like to think that when I am gone, people who will still be around, understand that only Authentic experience, values, virtues carry with them their own Beauty and reward, their own joy and grace.

Where's my...everything.

My friend, my follower, my reader, my akin soul, my unkown, my acquaintance, my garden, my treasure chest,
I beg your pardon and I know you love me though my absence. Well', I''ve always been here, just too busy to write down some notes. I should't be letting myself writing- actually I'm supposed to be doing some more packing. Will this ever come to an end? Packing, moving, being interviewed, promoting my project, working on my thesis. Tell me there'a a reason for this period of restlessness, uncertainty, suspension. Tell me there's a space for me as well.

I will bear it.

The sun has gone down over Trieste, the city was in a beautiful and delightful light – I had a point in going to have a breath of air but I needed to do some packing . Again. I’ve got plenty of things packed in boxes, some of them are considerably futile. I shall be giving some stuff I use no more to friends who might enjoy them, I’d be glad to bestow on a friend the things have been important to me or sort of  precious ,in return I’ll be feeling free and able to move on. Let the old stuff hold on to the past and let myself move forward into new things- adventures, feeling, encounters, serenity, writing, travelling,.
My friend turns out to be kind and friendly how I wish he could see things from my point of view just to feel gratitude- which seems to be the only gift I can give him, with the exception of the rice cake. Today I did some cleaning and while I was waiting for the house to dry up, I sat on the sofa that my friend particularly likes, as we are on the side of a hill overlooking the city, which is in a valley.
I will bear it.
The fact of moving.
I still have one month left, and I’m going to spend my spare time wandering the avenues whether it's raining or a beautiful sun heats me.

It's a joy to think of the time I have, it’s a genuine pleasure to meet the people I love - and talking to them reminds me how I’ve met them. I’ll hug my friends, I’ll lean on my knees to say goodbye to the dogs I’ve met here in Trieste. I still have time to talk to my friends of here, to hear them laughing, to enjoy this house where I’m hosted, it’s a pleasure to cook the rice cake, the farinata, to came across and feed the strays cats here around. I still have time to improve singing though I haven't gone to the chorus for a while and I beg your pardon mates but I’ll be glad to meet you sober or drunk, and finish our conversations until you feel thirsty.  I’ll be having a stroll soon, I want to see Trieste this night, again, down in the valley, I want to hear people playing the guitar in Piazza Unità- tonight outside,in the rain or under meteorites that may fall down.

Yes.
I will bear it.
The fact of having still time.

L'educazione alla gioia, pag.99

La guardava come si controlla l’orario quando non si capisce quale sia la lancetta dei minuti e delle ore: con attenzione. Era come se l’orario che vedeva fosse corretto, ma che l'orologio si fosse interrotto di qualche anno, ed era fortuna soltanto se l’orario fosse corretto- era il momento giusto per guardarlo- e quando si avvicinò loro per parlare con lei, gli sembrò che il tempo non esistesse.

Molti anni dopo, quando sarebbe andato a trovarla a casa, Guido si sarebbe ricordato di quella sera in cui un suo amico lo aveva costretto ad andare a ballare al Surfer’s Den- quando lui, non ne aveva proprio voglia. Guido era una persona tranquilla. Alto e magro e portava il cappello dai tempi dell’Accademia; socievole, era l’amico di tutti a Brera, ma lui, che aveva inteso tutto di Giulia e di Marcello, e a cui si era affezionato, aveva sempre sperato in loro, come innamorati.

La conosceva come si conosce una poesia a memoria, e più la guardava, più gli sembrava di ricordare episodi legati a lei.

Non è successo niente di straordinario, diceva Filippo tra sé, eppure la vicenda era fuori dal comune. Il fatto è che il piacere di trovarsi era sincero; non erano più riusciti a vedersi dopo l’Accademia, impossibilitati dalla lontananza, dal lavoro, dalla distanza -nel tempo, più che dello spazio- soprattutto. Lì, si erano ricordati di com'era abbracciare l’altro, della voce dell’altro, del profumo, dei colori, dei gesti. Avevano dimenticato, per esempio, che l’altro esisteva per davvero, e non solo nei ricordi, e più l’altro si manifestava nella voce, nei gesti, nel profumo, e più la testa ricordava o esigeva di non smettere, nonostante fosse tardi ed entrambi stanchi.  Filippo aveva finito di mangiare ma gli parse di non aver assimilato niente, constatava una familiarità tra i due che quasi si sentì distante chilometri da Giulia. Si presentò a Guido, e questi, lo abbracciò come si abbraccia, dopo una vittoria, un altro concorrente. Con quella uscita accidentale Guido aveva recuperato: un’amica, bellissimi ricordi, allegri e nitidi, ma anche una realtà, quella di far ritrovare Giulia e Marcello.

I due parlavano, Giulia e Guido, ma, parlavano il loro proprio linguaggio, e anche se si rivolgevano a Filippo, raccontando la loro storia, gli sembrò difficile seguire i loro racconti.

Rice cake for my drowsiness

It's so rare to have the privilege of staying on one’s own, of having a stroll.  It’s not a strain to do a walk , what makes one march so fast it’s for the sake of it. Walking is not rambling aimlessly, it’s neither a military march; walking is an orchestral art, one’s conducted... one can't just neglect to keep the beat , there’s an orchestra in one’s mind and the instruments are both within one person- that are feelings…and some of them play extremely simple and light tunes- participate in a general complexity and follow what one’s seeing meanwhile walking.


I’ve just got back from a walk, I calculated 12 hours of writing yesterday, I needed fresh air and some peace,  I simply hoped no one can put me off and I had my break. I bought the rice flour eventually and I might be cooking by tonight or tomorrow morning the rice cake (torta di riso). I keep on having dreams about me eating the rice cake, about cooking it, about …it’s all about rice cake in my dreams and I don’t know why. I think I prepare one rice cake for my friend’s birthday which takes place on Sunday.
It takes half an hour to knead the dough but… a tempting drowsiness is creeping over me and to read, to think, to write, to reflect, to cook, to think of cooking might be postponed, and tomorrow we will eat the rice cake up and whisk away the crumbs, I might suffer from drowsiness again tomorrow, the thesis is exhausting but the tiredness will be passed along with the rice cake and a stroll.

Free as a bird, imagination.

Once, again, multi-dimensional imagination spread across an infinite number of hallucinations. If it was any more existent than that then it was something I had already envisioned. Was it real?
Once I imagined myself how it could be if animals went shopping at the supermarket, and yesterday, I saw a bird in there. It got stuck at the grocery store's pasta aisle, in front of the tagliatelle, where, I guess it was going to buy a packet of pasta in Slovenia that will turn out to be a mistake - as almost all pasta bought abroad are.
What was going in my head- it lasted more than few seconds, It made me feel a growing sense of curiosity, and then a sense of amazement. The list of feelings I had was filled with the one of realism as my friend confirmed me he was seeing it too and any sense of dreaming started falling very rapidly. The bird got off, flying over the refrigerated section or the freezer aisle, where I assume was heading to the sweets.

Be strong.

I've just been contacted by a friend, not a close one but a friend who knows my attitude about being a solitary person. He said I've infected him with my attitude: he says he shares his life with his own loneliness now.
I thought of it. I assume it being alone is not a fact, it's a human condition; being lonely is a feeling and it makes you feel as you are the only one alone (on Earth). I believe in virtues and values. I love. So I am in a good company though my unavoidable position of human condition.

-

I should remember myself , at anytime, I should give love anytime. My hope is this blog remembers me what I really think about me and about life. I am human and I might pass across through sad or unbearable events, or I might be feeling sad even under the best circumstances. I have a tendency to being positive, determinate about planning, ironic, and strong, anyway, I am human. I make a will for my life and I write it here (as well): Eva, be strong, Eva, love.

Black japonica rice and Arborio, pre packed sandwich and a reminiscence

When I saw my friend and a pre packed sandwich coming home at evening , I had just finished my dish-washing and the light of the dining room were about to be switched off, the unwatchable fake sandwich set me thinking about cooking something nice, and the reason I offered myself about cooking risotto…no reason, just pleasure of mine. I was going to come back to the desk just after my dinner, but I preferred cooking for my friend. I seem not to have lost my pleasure and ability with cooking , it’s just in the last few years I do it for myself so I usually make easy and very light dishes: white rice (at any time…I love rice), vegetables, fruits, yogurt, ricotta . Ok, not everything, anytime, at once but basically that’s what I eat.

I can remember when I was on in Lisbon, at lunchtime I used to eat with mates in the canteen of the department  of Humanities, while at night I usually…aw this is a nice memory, we used to cook for each other, my flat mates and I. I had 14 flat mates and I can really remember asking for some help to my Czech flat mate, he did such nice dishes, rather greasy and strong, creamy and garlic galore seasoning blend. I don’t think I followed his instructions for learning Czech cuisine, not very carefully, though, because I was more amused by our conversations. Then I remember my (dearest) flat mates Minttu, she is Finnish, and the English ones as well, we were eating at the same table (ok, an English one was anytime drinking and I…I don’t think I’ve ever seen him eating), things between us were just interesting, sometimes late at night we discussed about…I clearly remember myself asking Michal, the Czech one, if he had any memory about the Gentle Revolution in Prague . That must be, I haven’t really forgotten anything,  why I never really thought about it again until now that I’ve cooked risotto for my friend, and it all came back.

In case you wonder I’ve used a combination of black japonica rice and Arborio, but I don’t think they have nothing to do with the reminiscence for itself.

I love you of friendship, not consolation.

His words seem to be urging violently and persistently for something that is not to be have.
After a few days my thoughts draw my back from his words and her scene and the words she’d said had hovered around my disappointment once more.
How could I have forgotten the memory of her face as I had stared at her -I was petrified. Her face, pale, her fingers jolting unconsciously to the motions of the run. Sick, she was.

-A pity, a pity, a pity- his accent would come out leaning in the ordinary accent of Trieste, urging against my ears and then fall into my thoughts, in a persistent mumbling.

Maybe one thinks we must re-interpret some events correctly in order to conclude something about the essence of another person. To me, friendship is not something to be interpreted. She might have said those things to me because she was upset. She needed attention, he said.
I feel friendship as a shared joy, shared sadness, shared ...anything; it’s not compassion that makes friends.

-A pity, a pity, a pity- the words soars clearly in my mind and a precise feeling of disappointment comes back clear as the explanation she had given me after me feeling bad.

--you should be consoling me now. Why don’t you console me? I’d had done it once for you now it’s your turn--

-A pity, a pity, a pity-
-A pity?
-You don’t go out anymore together. It’s a pity.
-She wants to be consoled. This is not friendship. I do not console friends, I love them of unjustified love, I love them of friendship.
-you should understand, she had been hurt by that guy
-Being hurt is not a reason to hurt somebody else, somebody who loves you.
-she was looking for somebody’s attention; she’s hurt you because she needed you.
-Listen, we’ve suffered enough and for sick reasons. We are aware what pain is and it regulates us, it’s taught us we need love and we need to give love, not consolation.
-But you are you, Eva.

One loves and gives love not because of what it achieves or accomplishes or because of its capability to get some proposed end; one loves only because of its willing. Love is good, one loves, one chooses love of itself. Love is to be esteemed incomparably higher than anything which could be brought about by it in favor of any preference. Love  is mutual experience between people and within friendship there are no roles, neither lover and a beloved, just human beings that are born free, equal in dignity and rights who choose each other and who love each other.

Olho e comovo-me

Sorry, I haven't posted anything yesterday. Aw...I know it might be nobody is really following me but it feels like I had a good friend I need to feed with words and love, or a garden I should take care of. And above all I love it, I love writing, and this activity, feeding my friend with words and my garden with care, makes me feel good. Good night.

L'educazione alla gioia, pag. 98

La notte era meravigliosa, alla pioggia si era sostituito un cielo limpido e nitido, una di quelle notti che raramente si vedevano a Milano; nonostante  la conversazione, non riusciva a non fermarsi e ripensare agli anni trascorsi, lì, a casa. Certi strani ricordi avevano cominciato a tormentarla da quando erano usciti dal locale e aveva avuto all’improvviso l’impressione, sia che percorresse strade nuove, o camminasse viali conosciuti, o ripensando alla piazza... che le persone che aveva intorno, che di certo non la conoscevano, lei, sì, le conosceva, quasi intimamente, come se portasse in sé le loro fisionomie; ascoltava l’accento di altri ragazzi che passavano vicino a loro, gioiva con loro quando le voci erano alte e allegre, e quando l’accento le era familiare; e si lasciava prendere dalla malinconia quando non riconosceva la cadenza o quando le sembrava veneta o friulana. Filippo, però, aveva notato la sua malinconia e dimostrò una sincera gentilezza. 

This is wise: well done Germany

http://foodsharing.de/ please have a look at it, we should import this model in Italy as well- well, beyond other things...

Italy, my chronic pain.

There are many things you shouldn’t do if you have chronic sinusitis and want to avoid being ill.  To leave the windows close during and after cleaning is one of them, but I prefer to prevent mildew rather than allow me to prevent myself from feeling bad.
The truth of the matter is that all sorts of highly specific sinusitis-prevention tip recommended are nothing compared to the weather scams of this city. I might have to change my location again, and going somewhere warm instead...
I should take a deep breath- though it is difficult to proper breathe through my nose- and start my planning.
-
We sometimes feel at a bit of a loss, I'm talking about Italian University students: we  have a whole planet of stuff out there for us, and we wonder if it…it is churlish, we are offered such an undeniably great learning but the economical and social system lacks just two things: job opportunities, trust in young talents.
I wonder whether this condition about Italy (and Europe?) is like my chronic pain; are there effective therapies to cure the pain or should we really be moving to some new place?

I have no doubt that writing is important.

I have no doubt that writing is important. I wish an expert, a professional writer put himself at the disposal of my questions to discuss writing. Somebody who’d not only read a work- whether my own or others’ or his’- but cover it with commentary.
--

I don’t... Maybe writers are not meant to be together in the same place, and if writers share my same propensity to solitude we’ll never meet each other and it’s not because one’s doesn’t feel particularly at ease with rival authors- I’ve a feeling the writers I admire are and were modest and affable, sort of person of the next door  (ok, how can I guess it? But I image Pessoa as a cordial person). But how can you be close to somebody who share your same solitary propensity. I sometimes would make a point of attending the parties, but I leave the idea, withdrawing  into a quiet corner where I could watch the panorama from the window in peace. I prefer the company of animals, this is a fact. Aw, it’s not one feels contempt for society, parties or whatever, sometimes one just cares for other things, like calm and tranquility.

I reckon aloofness is a result of one’s nature or one’s need – it’s not a constant research… one doesn’t force himself into solitary retreat, sometimes seclusion is seeken voluntarily and deliberately.
But I might came to realize that I would have to change according to the changing circumstances of life, and presumably I’ll think, behave differently than now- but I am sure I’ll be transparent between thought and word, but also between word and deed. I know myself, I might be changing idea about something but I am anytime loyal to my own ideas within in my practical life.

I am careful to insist I feel comfortable in my propensity to solitude but who knows, a meeting, an event might give way to accomplish such a change. Maybe: no. I simply wish my style could improve, get distinction, I spend my time in polishing my prose. The plot of my stories are getting well-constructed and my characters convincing. But this is just my opinion, how I wish I knew a writer: an expert. I am an enthusiastic person who thinks she can develop the capacity to feel intensely. Each day in my life I try to produce my best. Even now that I feel tired, plagued by sinusitis. Again.

I find it perfect.

There are some sort of animals that are irresistible to me…ok, any animal I come across is irresistible to me such as cats, dogs, birds, horses, ducks, goats, cows…just any one. I’ve been  aracnophobic  for a while, in my childhood, but I am no more. I know there are dangerous situations you might fall across, yet nature has mingled a temporary beauty and grace, danger and destruction in its compositions. You may know that a snake is hurtful, you might disapprove of such unaesthetic creatures and their manners… but yet for the time I find them perfect.
Must we not feel any edge of disgust when we look at nature, which even in a moment, any creature or element being detached from the related context, might look distasteful at us, but it’s the sight being corrupted at its source. Creatures should be carefully watched and guarded against everything and everybody, and we should be giving loud praises to nature, and censure unsuitable human attitudes- which are intolerable to humanity as well, and, besides being intolerable, are presented all over the world in all their tactlessness…
With my simplicity I observe I only uttering a censure to our behavior and  I am to add the praises to something I find undeniably perfect; ok now I will say no more,  I’ve just eyed a couple of crows from my window…I will cross the street and make the best to appreciate perfection and grace.

fragments of thought; with long stride, dazed and pleased and confused I come back to the room I’ve never left.

My greatest pleasure is to be alone. I like to… to go out under the sun, the rain, I don’t like the wind much, I enjoy watching the trees, trees are poems they say; I like taking photos of the cats I come across, I like talking to people spontaneously.  I believe…  each person could govern himself harmoniously, for there would be no conflict of purpose among people.  I believe… I could always change my mind up to the last day, each new moment.

My heart demands that the sovereign of the mind must be followed; I realize… my ideals more and more as and when my strength approximates, in greater and greater degree. The deeper the understanding of my faculties and powers, the more inward is the manner in which the virtues are discovered in a condition which tends to advance towards possibility.

The quiet apartment and a fleeting desire to stay, to move again, to travel, to go back home, to go jogging, to be writing stories, to live, to love here forever fills my heart. Then, under the moon ,I come again with long stride, dazed and pleased and confused to the room I’ve never left. I think .. I’d like to go out under the night; but it’s windy out there and as I said I don’t like wind much.  I could always change my mind up to…now.

Ikea, Ikea.

My world seemed to go tragically dark as my Ikea’s guest bed suddenly got blocked in itself; actually, my world went miserably dark when the bed enveloped my friend when he tried to open it. I immediately felt myself get much, much heavier. I felt embarrassed and ashamed by the fact it was my responsibility if we were making such a noise in the whole apartment block. I wasn’t even sure it was worth it, if my friend would handle it, we were both sleepy and the guest bed didn’t seem so collaborative. My friend gripped the spring-bed like a maniac, closed and re-opened it, eventually.  My friend miraculously rescued himself from the Ikea’s guest bed. I promised I’ll never close it in my life again.

If only I knew how to begin

-What must I do, to succeed in ?- I ask thoughtfully.
-Exercise. Continuously. Then learn.  Ask.  Be persistent about targets and be patient with yourself. Remember  to be kind with yourself.-
-What should I be doing more than what I am already doing?-
-Try about letting go of yourself.  Leave yourself and everything  yours behind you. You are not the things you think you own. And you are more than what you think of yourself. Firmly I state, you should be starting to seeing yourself . -
-If only I knew how to begin-
-You are verily seeing it though you do not see (what it has to be seen). You are not a second thing other than yourself, or separate, that you might see-

Farò accadere qualcosa che muterà la fisionomia degli eventi.

- Con che frequenza scriverai? -

- Tutti i giorni. Qualcuno leggerà? -

- Sì, ma non tutti sanno l’inglese. E non tutti leggono blog. Si dice che in Italia nessuno abbia più voglia di leggere-

- Scriverò in modo da farmi leggere- pensai.

- Sì ma non troppo. -

- Qualche volta.  Ora devo andare. -

- Lo so.

- Non vorrei che te ne andassi.. -

- Anche a me dispiace. -

- Ma è così. -

- Sì. La vecchia sistemazione ha fatto il suo tempo. -

- Cambierò ancora-

- Avrai una bella casa quando tornerai a casa. –

Eppure questo colloquio immaginario mi dà qualche tranquillità. Di tutte le parole che un buon amico potrebbe dirmi in questo momento, mi rimane l'impressione del sostegno, della fiducia nel mio futuro. Non vorrei mai che l’amico tacesse. Non mi curo se non è mai esistito. Ritornerò a casa, un giorno. Ho il presentimento che comprenderò perfettamente la situazione e che farò accadere qualcosa che muterà la fisionomia degli eventi. Ed è di più di quanto si possa domandare per il proprio bene.

So long stanza.

I am in the furthest corner of my new room, near the window. There are ten or more rows of empty lockers here (for there are more lockers than things of mine to put set off), and it is unusual and familiar  at the same time to be here. The silence is absolute. I settled in for the long dark teatime of the soul. It habituates rapidly.

I am in my new room.

I thought about the advice my friend had given me. I made just a run for it. It's a measure of ultimate need that I considered this prospect, since I was by circumstances almost  pennyless, and had never once asked any help.  The only realistic alternative was to find this quiet spot -somewhere here in Trieste-and resting here for the duration of my thesis writing. Or even getting prepared and planning my future. That's what I himself had promised to do.

Good night.

Hai lasciato piazze piene.

Mi manca Kenka, Lucia, il prof inglese. E so dirlo solo su un blog.