TR # 20 - Belonging

Outside it's -20 °, very good reason not to go out, and I look on the internet the latest episodes of "Che tempo che fa" from Italy, all focused on the referendum about the Fiat-blackmail. To cheer myself up a little, I open a folder always present in my mail, it's called "Dialogues" and collects all the most interesting and literary stimulating emails that I and others have written over the years. I open it with a specific purpose, to go and read the emails I wrote when I was 17, full of "x" and "k" and full of enthusiasm, anger and energy for my first encounters with the world. There's not much time left to my return to Italy and I'm sort of taking stock of my months here and looking back once more to that first trip to London. After coming back I was asking a friend: "Tell me, may there be a "Britain nostalgia"? Yes because I always heard of the "Africa nostalgia", but what I feel seems just like it! It was a vacation -but more than that, a life experience- truly wonderful and exciting." And he replied to me that yes, there may be all kinds of "nostalgia", or better it's a "situation nostalgia", the nostalgia of those places and moments that will probably never come back. Ten years later I know for sure that I will not suffer from the "Toronto nostalgia" because no matter how much I appreciate this experience and what it gave me, I won't regret these places and this hectic life (but I'll leave to another post the list of what I'll miss and what I won't). And I don't suffer from the "Italy nostalgia" either, although I miss my loved ones and sometimes the places, because I know I don't belong to my homeland either. Here it is, this is precisely the right verb: to belong. I want to find something or someone to belong to. It 's something you often see around, in those who talk about a place that's dear to them or about a loved one: there's a different light in their eyes, a very special excitement in the voice of those who speak to you about what they belong to. Some people have a "Colombia nostalgia" and staring into space they describe the difficulty in breathing for the thin air and the lack of seasons as something awesome, then there are those who have the "Italy nostalgia" although they have almost never been there, and you can almost see the image of the countryside and endless olive tree groves, and there are those who talk like that about a loved one, and no matter where they are in the world they know they belong to that person only and they feel at home anywhere. And I saw the "Europe nostalgia", the Brazilian saudade, and many other situation nostalgias. But I still have to find a place of which I can talk like that, and I'm strongly determined to find it. Meanwhile, I can say I'm happy to have lived this experience fully, in the sense that while sometimes things happen too fast for you to realize, in these months I have enjoyed every instant at the very moment in which I lived it. And almost without realizing it, I have accumulated experience in my field that will be invaluable in the future. So I'm definitely happy with what I got on a personal level and continue my search, going home for a pit-stop.

TR # 19 - The Ghost of Christmas Past

Nice to meet you, Luna Scrooge. I don't think it's a recent thing, my hatred for Christmas. I mean. First, when I was a child it meant I would stay at home from school and I liked studying a lot. Pureblood nerd, here I am. Then there was the stress of the tree (and every other year, also the Manger): sacred hush while Pa' unrolled the lights and equally sacredly swore at full blast because some didn't work. And then he tried to explain to us why some cables worked even if a light was broken while others not… mysteries of the electricity on parallel cables or similar stuff. Then bad words and crazy screaming if we didn't put the larger balls near the trunk and wild complaints if the tree was real (it only happened twice, I think) because it scattered pine needles anywhere. Shortly, 'twas a penance. And then the Christmas lunch that, although funny and very pleasant in the result, required a preparation and a long job of diplomacy between supporters of the lunch at home and supporters of the restaurant that Wikileaks would make a fortune out of it. And my family -that we weren't properly conventional wasn't yet clear?- follows the politics of “if you need something we can buy it during the year, there's no need to wait for Christmas” therefore there weren't even heaps of presents to unwrap. On the bright side, I found when I was 4 a more than rational explanation to Father Christmas and I keep sticking to it (I'll write about it in another post, it would be too long). What?? Do you still believe in Santa Claus? Not mentioning the fact that I met him when I was 18, yes, I still believe in Father Christmas. Just saying, you still believe in Berlusconi… let's make a challenge!! He's sure cheaper and less harmful for the general well-being, the Father I mean, rather than the Papi.

And let's admit it too, the more years go by the worse it becomes, the Christmas period. It feels like here in North America, everybody rushing to the malls to buy a whole lot of generally useless gifts, everybody stressed out to decorate their houses according to the latest fashion's criteria, God forbid the neighbors and guests don't see that they're not up-to-date… how boring! And then, daily demonstrations of an alarming hypocrisy -that I have especially noticed since I entered the job world- with gifts exchanged among people who can't stand each other, pretending to believe in the spirit of Christmas when instead they can't see each other and they would kick and punch each other rather than buying a “little thought”! The Japanese know it best, since they hardly celebrate at all and they even work on the 25th!

Then during the last few years life -or bad luck- also got in the way to create ugly memories to me, all concentrated in the dull days between Christmas and New Year's Day. There are memories of death, of diseases diagnosed on the 31st and toasts made in the entrance hall of a hospital. Memories of police officers at the work place, of crisis of anxiety and attacks of panic for the situation that had been created on my work place. And then it was iron's turn. Yes because around this time one year ago I started making iron injections for a serious anemia of which I was absolutely unaware before the blood tests. And on December 28 last year they very wisely thought of doubling my dose of iron, causing an anaphylactic shock that scared me more than anything ever. I haven't spoken about it a lot since then, but the feeling of losing control over my own body, with my heart pulsing like crazy in my back and the pressure rising and falling in a minute -I remember everything as if it happened yesterday. Just as I remember, on the 30th of December, the overwhelming terror to go out of my house: on the threshold I almost went back in because I was terrified at the idea of feeling sick again, not being able to control my body, even fainting or something like that. I fought the fear, went out, and nothing happened. Then on New Year's Eve we made a promise with Gica: this year would have been different, enough celebrations in Mestre square with the lame concert and drunk guys throwing firecrackers.

Said and done, I celebrate it in Toronto City. And here they know their stuff. The inauguration of the Christmas period was on the 27th of November, with a big celebration in the main square, a million people, fireworks hitting the buildings (yes, says Ma', they must have indoor fireworks............) and Christmas music while all the people were skating as if we were shooting “Home Alone 2: Lost in New York”. And once I left behind the baggage of the Christmas' duties and the snow fell, with no gifts to buy, I feel like smiling more than anything else. I even decorated our house with small houses, penguins, little trees and snowflakes. I also drank the snow (that is, I held my mouth open until a snowflake fell within) and I'll probably go throwing snowballs very soon, in the nearby park. The Ghost of Christmas Present seems therefore much optimist and even not knowing what the Ghost of Christmas Future has ready for me, I count on succeeding in throwing behind my shoulders every negative memory brought by the Ghost of Christmas Past.

Sincerely,

Luna Scrooge.

TR # 18 - In excelsis Deo

Corrections on the title won't be accepted, since I spent 2 hours to decide what the right form was. And if the endings are random, the thought is what counts.

The day begins talking about funerals. No, it's not fault of my ancestral pessimism or of the snowstorm or some other tragedy, but only of intercultural exchanges between me and Toy, the Japanese. Because if in Italy there's a monotonous Catholic monotheism, in Japan they have more imagination and freedom of thought. In fact, almost all of them are Buddhists. And they dress in black and white (red and yellow are the colors of Tibetan), and watch the corpse all night eating sushi in the company (of the dead, of course). Then they cremate him and make the funeral at the temple. You spend a King's ransom (or better, a Buddha's ransom) for flowers, coffin, urn, and name. Yes, the name. Because when someone dies, they're assigned a new name. It's the monk to decide the name, according to the money he's been given. Then we talk about privacy, spirituality and mafia behavior. Ever heard of protection money?!

But the day doesn't end here, in fact I'm invited to a concert in a church in Christmas theme, with music by Monteverdi, Palestrina, Vivaldi. Ma' has no doubts: "Vivaldi?! Of course, they'll play the Four Seasons!" No. It 's a Christmas concert. And in fact they are two hours of magnum mysterium, lullaby (as if I needed it...), ode a te probo vir, and then Vivaldi: Magnificat and Salve Regina. Help. I had never been to an Anglican church... or rather, never except as a tourist. The ceilings are high, OK. Seatings on the benches are strictly for 3 or 4, which you can tell by the number of prayer books in the prayer-books-holder. Books have not only text, but also the score of the songs, how professional. The pews are hard as all the pews, and next to the books there are tickets to be put in the offertory "I'm not giving cash because I already support this church with Visa or Mastercard". Oh. Speaking of privacy, the supporters are listed at the end of the concert's booklet... starting from the most generous down to the least, but is that normal?! The church is decorated with Christmas lights and Christmas trees, and after some minutes I understand what's weird: we don't have garlands, or perhaps one under the statues of saints, and the tree is a pagan decoration, for goodness sake! On the other hand, we have miles of cribs. Finally the concert begins, and I am surprised to like it ... more or less. But being surrounded by slumbering spectators when not sound asleep, I'm delighted by my stamina. And I ask myself technical questions: why that unknown instrument, the theorbo, is so long and unwieldy? The soprano improvises her trilling or Vivaldi had written, "On the lu of hallelujah trill 7 times A-G-A-F-E-C-B sharp"? The Mystery of the Faith wasn't the death and resurrection of Christ (which among other things, to explain it to Toy this story seems an episode of Twilight)? So why the magnum mysterium of Palestrina is summarized in the fact that it was mysteriously allowed to an ox and a donkey to see our Lord? I'm confused, what a mystery. During the break, the Sleeping Spectator wakes up because of the applause and with perfect nonchalance turns to me and begins to comment on the technical aspects of the choir ... you were sleeping, what do you know????! But I appreciate him as one of the few Canadians -if not the only one- starting a completely random conversation with no ulterior motives. He tells me about the Christmas Carols, which are really a tradition here, with the singers who used to go door to door singing.

After the concert, with a well-wishing "Goodbye, stay warm" of my new friend, I decide to ignore him and take a brisk walk. With a temperature of -5°, that with the wind feels just -12°. And the flying ice -because if it doesn't snow how do they say? Icerains?- whipping my face while I admire the megavillas behind my house. Finally I get home and I take refuge under the blanket, in the warmth. Thank God... or thank the heating.

TR # 17 - Shoelace

"The people you've touched,

the way you've touched them

I hope they've touched you too,

'cause in this life it's hard to tell

what's false and what is true."

I don't remember how old I was, maybe five or six, maybe even four. I used to chase Ma' like a shadow, shoelace in hand, begging her to teach me how to tie my shoes. And I spent hours blocking the blood flow of her arm to practice, while Gogo and Pa' were trying to teach me the technique in theory with their typical masculine logic ("Take the lace, turn it, then slip the top into the hole and pull the other side".... men ....). I don't know if any of them has memories of this stage of my childhood, but certainly they don't remember why I had it. I was terrified that Ma' could die at any moment without having time to teach me to tie my shoes (and this says a lot about my confidence in the teaching methods of the males of the house). I don't know where I've heard it, perhaps it was Freud perhaps an episode of CSI or Criminal Minds, that this is a very common phase for every child, reckless fear of seeing their parents die suddenly. Instead the laces' thing was just my obsession.

Tonight Tat returned home with shining eyes, a lump in her throat and a calling card ready to call her boyfriend, whose father died suddenly. He had a cancer, but died for a regurgitation due to the chemo. He was 55. I've been there, Gogo's been there, and in our way we were both far when they needed us the most. Gogo gave up his Erasmus, I came back with my boyfriend back then to help arranging the funeral. It's one of those experiences that you don't wish to anyone, but that teaches you more than you learn in decades of school. It teaches you to be strong for everybody, to fight back your own tears so you can dry everybody else's, while you're waiting for your turn to fall apart that never comes. It teaches you the meaning of the word "impotence" and it brands it in your heart, in that guilt that-no matter if you're near or far-makes you think about what you could have done said changed and instead you've not done said changed. It teaches you to reconsider your life, your future projects in the light of what happened, because when death hits you so close it also inevitably changes your life.

I was taught to seize every opportunity and to learn as much as possible from everything that happens to me and from the people I meet. And if today to learn how to tie my shoes I can Google or Wikipedia "tie shoes" and I'm fine, to learn to appreciate life and decide what I want and what I have to change I have no other choice but to observe the world, the people, and myself in all this. And every day, remember what I learned and who taught me. Meanwhile, shoelace in hand, I begin to review.

TR # 16 - Life is now

In Toronto it's All Saints' Day but for Canadians it's only the day after Halloween.Yesterday we saw the first snow -yes, in October!- but soon it stopped because the temperature dropped below zero -yes, always in October! So I go to the Walmart for a stock of heavy stockings "in pure bamboo".... .... .... which don't have "denari" to indicate the thickness, like in Italy, nor sizes but only weight "40-49 kg" or "50-59 kg" as if they were goddamn diapers! It's two days since I Toy Yu and Tat moved to our new house that is not so new because it's the house that my fellow CELTA mate Al left us and that I knew well from when I did the course. Ma' put me immediately on guard, "clear understandings breed long friendships, establish immediately some rules for who washes and cleans eh?!" Yes, we and our Italian mentality... just got out of my room I found Toy and Yu -Japanese and Korean, respectively, with vacuum-cleaner and sponge to wipe invisible stains ... right, Toy teaches home economics, I forgot. And I become the expert on laundry, dishwasher, groceries, cleaning, oven ... who knows how long will it take for them to realize that I don't have a clue about all these things! The first Italian dinner is a success, despite the flavorless olive oil here in Canada and Barilla spaghetti that are not like spaghetti Barilla in Italy ... and the first laundry is a huge success despite the 70-minutes dryer on clothes whose labels indicate in capital letters DO NOT TUMB DRY, DO NOT SPIN, HAND WASH! Well from now on we'll ignore the labels. It seems strange to be able to wash your hair on Monday, and be able to leave the bed unmade 'cause it's my room and there are no more MM's bollockings and to her face we spend every night together and have dinner together, contrary to what she thought.

And like a deja-vu the Internet works in fits and starts and I slip back into the despair of the early days here and I think maybe I'm a bit tired of Canada and I'd love to go back home. Then another deja-vu and the pre-sales for the 2011 concerts of Bon Jovi open, like exactly one year ago the 2010 pre-sales and I bought two tickets for the North America that would bound me to leave despite the visa despite the money despite everything. Now I buy a ticket to Toronto on Feb. 14 and one for Udine July 17. And then Tat tells me that she begins to regret having to return home soon, to Brazil, because this is a unique experience while her family will always be there waiting for her ... saudade de Canada, as they say. And then I remember Al's words, on the eve of her departure for Vietnam she said: "Yes, I'm afraid, but despite everything I know that I'll be exactly where I'm supposed to be" and unwittingly quotes word for word a song by Bon Jovi, the "Welcome to Wherever You Are" that gives the title to my blog and I should remember more often. Then I take a walk in the park near the house and my iPod decides to play the song I was listening, crying, while waiting for the plane that would take me here: Ligabue tells me "and also the stars fall, some both inside and outside.. for every wish that you make, another hundred are left out ... no worries". And looking at the dazzling colors of the Canadian leaves, that fell to the ground creating a layer of pure poetry for my eyes... it almost makes me want to see how it will look with the snow. Not that long to wait, I guess. And then there's Jon waiting for me for Valentine's Day, I can't miss that. But then he'll be waiting for me back home, and certainly I can't miss that either.