bis-sex-tile year, 29th February 2012

Today is a day which does not really exist. Is matematically the sum of some spare hours and minutes of our past 4 years life. Is like preparing a dish with left overs. In the end of course put all in to the oven and it can result in a great thing (like an italian pasta al forno as my grandma used to do, for example)! Is a magic day somehow. Is the collage of forgotten pieces, instants that we did not live, moments we forgot. And here we put them all together. Is a great patchwork of emotions, potentially. But how many of you thought of it in these terms? Today I tried to condense a lot of emotions in my day. Especially I looked back at those neglected minutes. I sat and stayed in silence. I felt. I heard. I experienced. Then I collected all of it. Is like when you postpone something for long, which finally you have to face. Maybe is an effort at first but then is a relief. All those discarded feelings, and hours, and inner voices I ignored. All here today. The last 365 days actually where quite dense of those. All ghosts which are not scary anymore, no pain, no regret. Page turned.

I was reborn on February 29th.

CURIOUS RANDOM FACTS ABOUT:

Wikipedia told me that in Ireland women may propose marriage only on leap years. I discovered it too late, now is already 22.24 and I did not find a husband. Fiuuuuhhhh I can give myself another 4 years! That’s a great excuse.

Only in Sweden, the year 1712 had also February 30th. Now someone explain me how did they do it. And also when did they cancel one normal day so that they could catch up with the rest of the world afterwords. But above all: WHY?!

Anno bisestile thanks to the Romans means litterally a year where the 6th day (before the March calendae, so In February) is repeated twice (bis), and they used to put it after the 24th.

Best wishes to all the leapers today. A very special and loud Happy Birthday, which may count for 4.

If you ask me, I elect 29th of February the international day of bi-sexual people. Don’t look at me: is in the name! Even though tolerance should be celebrated a bit more often…

Futura

Oggi mi farei proprio un bel pianto. Uno di quelli ormonali, illogici. E tutto il giorno che c’ho sto groppo. E poi mi veine voglia di scappare. Io che quando sono triste prenoto un viaggio.

Io che sono sempre piu convinta, senza ogni dubbio, che la tristezza e i sentimenti struggenti sono il vero motore dell’arte perchè se guardo a questo anno passato tutte le volte che le dita hanno toccato la sabbia sul fondo, ne hanno pescato qualcosa. Ma quando si galleggia in superficie c’è molto meno da raccontare, forse pare così perche è tutto più banale.

Io, che invece di organizzare il supermeeting, guardo dalla finestra e vedo il gatto nero che pascola, sempre nello stesso punto del prato, ogni giorno, anche con la neve, e poi mi chiedo: ma quando tra poco arrivano le mucche? E’ per caso lui un gatto pastore? Io che mi faccio ridere da sola.

Io che mi alzo la mattina convinta di non aver bisogno di nessuno e vado a letto la sera che non ci credo piu tanto, perche alla fine sarebbe bello abbandonarsi tra le braccia di qualcuno invece di fare sempre la superdonna.

Mi viene da dire vai a quel paese, non a te, piuttosto a quella immagine di te che abita nella mia mente. Ma poi tu tanto non sai leggere l’italiano.

Io che voglio prendere tutte le decisioni e tutte le colpe delle mie scelte. Io che mia figlia la chiamerò Futura (come nella canzone), o qualcos’altro di strano preso dalla mia lista dei nomi dei miei figli che compilo dall’eta di 16 anni.

Io che sono un po strega e che oggi lo sapevo che quella cosa li sarebbe andata male, e infatti lo é.

Io che poi quando ormai mi arrendo che la giornata va come vuole, mi trovo a stare per dieci minuti a cercare di aprire quella maledetta busta per gli ortaggi davnti al banco del supermercato, con quei due lembi appiccicati e trasparenti che non si vogliono separare e io che lecco dita e sfrego, e strofino, e niente.

Io che mi voglio bene, e che alla fine mi basterò, mi basterò perchè mi devo bastare, finchè il destino si compie, e se non si compie lo faccio compiere io. Finchè arriva Futura.

P. Renner typeface, 1927

I hate S. Valentine

San Valentino was a poor bishop of the 1st century who was beheaded at the venerable age of 97. And that’s all. Even for a martyr he had it not too bad.

Tell me what is there to celebrate today? I truly believe that love is something that does not need a special day to be remembered, cause if you love someone everyday is a celebration, love is everywhere and should be in anything around us. But, the real reason why I hate San Valentine’s day is because is the feast of a minority. Feast days should not be discriminating among human beings!!! Furthermore because singles deserve as much love as the others, or more, even! Come on especially nowadays singles rule the world!

Therefore I frown at all the flowers which will be circulating tomorow increasing the production of CO2 in the environment; at all the chocolate that will be eaten and then transformed in fatty cells in the woman’s tighs so that she can blame him for having given her a sign of this love (in the end I almost could conclude the theory with LOVE= makes you fat!), at all the jewellery that will be bought and then end up unused (cause when you break up you can’t wear it anymore! Believe me and the beautiful pearl pendent with my name hand written by a chinese artisan in micro charachters, which lies at the bottom of my jewel box abandoned!!!). I frown at all this consumption of goods which transforms in consumption of the precious and beautiful and meaningful things which feelings are, in the end.

Yes ok, you say maybe I am just another unhappy sour single… But even as a coupled-person I hated this day. I hate that we need to feel obliged to do something about it, as a social imposed rule.

Whatever! I am going out celebrating with my friends, which are the most important love filling up my life at present time.

reached quota 141 with: “the first of my ex who is getting married”

Here we are. 141 posts. Not bad. I auto-shake my hand mentally. I actually do sometimes weird things like shaking my own hand for real, after I accomplish some great thought… but I am writing now, so need to use my hands to type. Actually only my colleagues and those who know me well, know that I actually type 90% of everything with just the 2 index fingers. And bet, I am super fast! Ops, now everyone knows…

Anyway, 141. I guess this makes me a writer. At least just for the fact of having typed all those characters I am a writer in the true meaning of it. But I like to consider myself a writer also ideaologically. And then, are we writers only when people do actually read us??? let’s leave it aside for now, cause it’s one of those topic like “the tree that falls in the forest does it produce noise if no one hears?”, enigmatic and never-ending-discussion-opener type of thing.

141. And the topic is love. Once again. Or better the love I don’t have, rather.

One week ago B. writes me an email (and I should specify, it wasn’t to invite me and neither to communicate the news in th first place, was to answer something I asked him. But still, counts. Plus, I like to state that me and B. are in good terms after 3 years apart.) and in between other lines, telling this and that he pulls off that he is getting married this summer!

GULP! The best i can do here is to borrow this from the onomatopeic world of the comic books.

I mean, don’t get me wrong, this has nothing to do with still-open-scars or love-revivals. No, no, no. this is just the sort of things that put the whole world magically on “pause” while you turn head around left, then right, observe and then end asking yourself the question. It is not jealousy, nor regret, neither melancholy, nostalgy, sadness… None of these, all the adjective of the world are useless for once! In my writer’s tool box nothing can help. This is just a mixed feeling. Can’t describe it and also quite fugitive cause it last the time of a twinkle. We can only sum it up in the big interrogative. And the queston is: “AND ME? WHERE AM I???”. (editor’s note: here read as if question marks are in bold 36 pts).

That’s it. We love someone, very much. Then we break up, don’t ven remember exactly when, how or why. we just have a vague list of reasons we thought we listed somewhere on a wall of our mind. And we have our current life in our hands. that’s it. That’s all we have. While someone very important in our past is getting married. And I mean someone with whom we actually imagined several times of getting married. (note that women do actually imagine their own wedding at least once a week, with different partners usually met in the streets, the milkman, the postman, David Beckham smiling at them from the D&G underwear commercial covering the city… and so on. But these don’t count. Only when your partner imagine that with you as well, at least once, then it counts. Cause is the imagination of 2 together. Sustained by love.) And then suddenly (suddenly, what the hell! 3 years have passed of course! And people… But in this fraction of a second semms yesterday) he gets married. Without you. And you wonder where you are gone.

You know. I am honest. I wish for myself this. In this moment more than ever. I wish myself love that doesn’t fade. I wish myself big love again. NOW! I WANT IT!! GIVE IT TO ME!!!     (…)      (-nothing happened… yet. Is just me and the laptop here. Not even my new iphone 4S with Siri application when i express my feelings for him answers back. He is sceptical and most of the time says “I bet you say this to all your Apple products”. He doesn’t want to marry me either. He responds can only look for businesses, maps and traffic in the USA, and that I have to speak US English with him and marriage is not covered by the User Licensing Agreement. CRAP!)

But also I wish B. so. Really. I do wish him all the good things I wish for myself. Cause that’s what we do with those we have loved.

Let me quote Camus: “Non essere amati è una semplice sfortuna; la vera disgrazia è non amare.”

PS.

This clearly opens a season. Approaching 30s and that’s the time for my friend’s generation! I started to be invited to weddings last summer… tic tac… is normal to think about it. Especially after this weekend when I went to the Carnival celebration in Ticino and I was surrounded by pople making out. All over. They were everywhere! For God’s sake!

the hermit crab (la pagura)

I guess critics come with exposure, so I shall accept them normally. I was thinking about that recently, the context is related to some small events I organised for glocals (glocals.com – the expat web community of Zurich and other cities in CH), which apparently are succesfull and beloved… and criticised. It’s funny sometimes to see how people can freak out about stupid small details, but also a bit worrying, if you ask me. Instead of making a fuss about how wrong you think I do it, why don’t you just do it yourself???

I am fine with critics, but I ponder over them and I listen to them, is not that I can say i don’t care.  Anyway wandering around in the land of my thoughts i was trying to find a good metaphor for my state of mind and there, on the beach of my immense sea of fantasy i met a hermit crab! There you go! I am like you.  (Let’s just remember that one of the most famous specimen in history of this crustacean family is Mr Sebastian from the Little Mermaid -Disney, so something to be proud of if you are as wise as him!) I never leave my mobile house of sorrows, thoughts, believes and fears, but I do go out, I exit from it from time to time and look outside. Being a hermit crab gives you the opportunity to explore a bit without getting lost. Makes me feel safe but free. I like to be exposed, I like to be appreciated, i like to be seen, I like to be read (especially). And comments come with it, it’s a fact. But then sorry, today i am just going to bow out, recede into my house-shell and give ground to the criticisers for once.

MARINE DIGRESSION- Rapidly calculating that as a kid in the about 500 hours I spent snorkeling every summer of my childhood, I met a lot of them. Actually there were several summers in which i used to fish lots of limpets (patelle) and then crack them with my nude theeth and either eat them after a little wash up in the salty water or release them open again in the sea, to see all the fish coming and devouring it. Then there were the days of the jellyfish hunting, but not every summer though, cause the moe or less presence depended on the water temperature. Anyway there was a year there were so many that we almost could not swim, or could swim only super vigilant wearnig goggles with goggling eyes inside. And the water was trangely stinging just swimming nearby all those jellys… Then we used to fish them out and bury them in the sand.

For the records – I found plenty of forums that discuss if Sebastian is a loabster or a crab. I obviously decided he is a crab.

http://wwwdubiousyawp.blogspot.com/2009/02/sebastian-crab-or-lobster.html

PS

Saluti ai miei amici marinari di vongole e merluzzi.

http://vongolemerluzzi.wordpress.com/