“The limits of my language mean the limits of my world”

ImmagineImmagineThis is the first thing our german teacher taught us, yesterday. I’m so excited. I’m so tired, too: I spent the whole day at the univesity. I attend political sciences and I took it quite seriously, altough everyone around me keep saying that, after such a degree, I’ll become a newstand (?) instead of a journalist. Maybe they’re right… or maybe not. Who knows? Surely they’re very nice, I bet.

Good night pals!

Annunci

Rome

I’m dead, dead, dead tired… as usual. I’m always dead tired. I hope “dead tired” is the correct expression, inter alia (wait: do you really say inter alia? This is not English, this is Latin! It’s much more closer to Italian than English… oh, I’m feeling home). By the way, I’m always tired, but I don’t care anymore. I like beeing tired. It’s much more better than beein bored, at least.

Today I got weary because I went to work to the library, as I do once a week since I moved to Rome. Altough, I don’t really work, I’m just a volunteer… I’m the one who tidy up the book and put them into the right shelves, in practice. Yet today we had the full-of-maids book society (argh) and, at the same time, a conference about a (vey) little-known poet, but that attracted dozens of old people who wanted to have necessarily a chair, and another, and another… I felt like a porter.

However: Rome. Rome is wonderful. Rome means freedom. Rome is huge. Rome is so beautiful (there are no other words) that you can burst into tears at the sight of the Colosseum. Even if it’s dirty-black. Indeed I always say that if I were millionairess I would definitely have it cleaned… For better or for worse, someone who’s actually milionarie stole my idea (in fact by now the Colosseum is half-cordoned). Nice.

No city on Earth have what we have here. Centuries and centuries of history passed here, leaving lot of traces… no: I checked the right translation for traces, and google suggested me also scents… i think scents fit better. Your truly breathe history amid the streets of Rome. When Rome’s been existing for millennia (this is latin too, pals), Americans had just gained their independence. You all are kids compared to us. When London was a village, Rome was an empire. The only thought makes you feel dizzy. Millennia. When I’ve nothing to do, I like sitting just in front of the Colosseum and admire its shape overshadowing the sunset. Tourists tingle all around, snap picture and enjoy the scenery… but, sooner or later, they will have to leave. I don’t. I could sit there forever, if I werent’ nineteen and if I hadn’t to minister all the nineteen-years-old-girl’s stuff. But it’s mine. All the italian monumental heritage is mine… no: it’s ours. We italians have the most precious heritage on the Earth. I defy anyone to say the contrary.
I think that beauty is shattered all around the world, and that every place is special and have to be fairly appreciated. But in my mind is like if in Italy the glass of the beauty hit the ground, so that most of the splinters are concentrated here. But it’s not chauvinism, I swear.

It’s not chauvinism because I’m the first to admit that Italy may have been one of the most magnificent country… one day. But this is no longer the case, today.
Lots of people are ruining it. Our politicians aren’t doing their work. If they don’t, neither others “common” people do it. Everywhere I turn, “there’s no money”.
There’s no money for the hospitals, there’s no money for the schools, there’s no money for the jail so thieves and murders don’t go to the jail (nay, thieves go to the Parliament… ah ah ah). There’s no money for enterprises, so enterpreuners can’t pay their workers and they fire them, but then they can’t earn a living so they kill temselves.
Yes: people kill themselves.
There’s no money to pay workers, so there’s no work. And if you are ninteen (nearly twenty), you already know that you’ll find one only after lots of difficulties. If you’re studying, you study with the awareness that all your labors will develop in a underpaid job… if you’re lucky.

Then you switch on the TV. You listen to the news. You see where the money is… I don’t know if it is the same also in all the other countries, but here ours politicians eat and crap with the sacrifices of all of the honest people. Maybe is this the reason why I want to travel all around the world, why I want to became a journalist (a serious one) and why I’m here, trying to write like I’ve neved did before -because nobody tought me how to do it. Traveling, seeing how the others do, to understand where and why we are doing wrong.

Hi

I’m back. I knew I would be back. Until I’ll forgot the password, I’ll be here.

I think it’s time of introducing me. I didn’t it yesterday because I was in a sort of hurry. You know, actually I was studying. I was in a hurry because I start writing during a brief break I took. I know that the most sensible thing to do would have been waiting (even just to take the time to do a better work), but I couldn’t: I spent half of the morning daydreaming about opening such a blog, I didn’t want to wait any longer. You may retort that I could spent the morning starting, instead of just imagining, but of course if I didn’t because I couldn’t: I was on the bus, on my way to Rome. This is a good point from which to begin my story. Today I also gave the exam I was studing for (yeee!) so i have all the time I need.

I’m not going to tell too many details (I know how embarassing can be when someone you know find a blog you would have preferred to keep secret), but the city I live in is important. Also the city I come from is important: I won’t tell you the name, but is pretty easy to discover if only you gather every details you’ll find amid this lines.
It’s difficult to talk about my city. It’s difficult in Italy, where most of the people still remember what happened here (more hardly as time goes by, actually), even more difficul here, in a blog written in such an international language, where I always have the feeling to speak to everyone on Earth. Well: my city was flattened by an earthquake four years ago. I hope “flattened” is the right word. I searched on the web and the most appropiate expressions were this and “razed to the ground”, but this last seemed to me too much melodramatic -and there’s no need to be more melodramatic, I hate melodramatic people.

An earthquake, as I was saying. And I was in my full teens. That night was horrible, of course, and blablabla. This is why we stopped school for six months, as I said in the last post. Every kid dreams that his school was destroyed, doesn’t he? Well… it’s not very funny when it really happens.

I always say that I’ve been very very lucky: no one I knew died. Because that night hundreds of people died, too. And it’s incredible how thing acquire a new significance after such a bad experience: for the immediately following months, when every italian was still dismay (eartquake struck strong enough to be felt in the north, and my city is in the center of Italy), everyone asked my relatives and me how did we do. And everytime we answered “fine, we were lucky”; so, they continued “good, so your house didn’t crumble?”, and how can you explain than your house did crumble (both, if your parents are divorced like mine), but this mean very little when your own life is in danger?

Four years passed. It seems a short period, but they are the world when you are young. Lots of things happened… what a wasted youth, moving all around my region until my mother’s house have been repaired. I came back to my city two years after the earthquake (again, we were lucky: that two years seemed infinite to me, but actually it was a relatively short period), but, by the time, I had almost finished high school. This means that, after a year and a half, I shoved my clothes and my things (my diaries at the top of all) in a suitcase, to move again. Yet, this time I decided where to go. I mean: it’s four years now that every night I keep coming back home and collapsing, dead tired, in a bed that’s different from year to year. From a psychological point of view, this can be quite hard. So, if that’s my destiny (by now I can’t figure a whole life in the same place), beeing the one that decides where to stay is a great achievement.

There are much more things to explain about these years, but writing in English is exhausting double and today has been a long day (a few hours of sleep, an exam with a very unkind assistant Professor and a desk to tidy) and I’m tired. I promise I’ll reopen the next post with a more pleasant topic, because I’ll talk about the city I went to study at University: I’m sure it will be more pleasant, I moved to Rome and Rome is the most beautiful city in the world.

The beginning

Maybe I should do my own business and give up on trying to write a whole blog in a language that’s not mine. But, if I do, how am I supposed to dispel the myth that Italians can’t speak other languages but their? Anonymity can guarantee me a quite wide band where make my honest grammar mistakes without any concern. I can read novels in english without any effort, I can understand people talking with me well enough (at least to explain the right direction to Piazza del Popolo), I use to watch movies trying not to follow subtitles… From a passive point of view, I think I can survive. But the problem arises when I have to talk or to write. When I must choose the right words and put them in the right sequence. I usually do a mess, people don’t understand what I’m trying to say and, when they ask me to repeat, I feel so humble that I let others speak instead of me. This is not good, obviously. I’ll never learn how to speak, if I go on like this.

Well, actually I had problems in speaking in front of others even in italian, when I was a child. Mmm, maybe more than a child: since I was 10 up to 14 or 15, I was the most shy and hesitant person of the Earth. I was afraid of speaking aloud in front of my classmates and I prefered to stay in silence when teachers called me at the blackboard and I couldn’t answer, instead of spin the right answers with a flash of fancy (thing that never lack me). I simply had rather to stay in silence.

As time went on, things changed. I changed. For reasons that I’ll explain later (in another post, I suppose), in my city we all stopped school for six months. Six months, and a summer in the meantime. After that summer, I became much more self-confident… I would quickly become saddest, too, but this is another story. A story about our city and all of us, that I hope I’ll tell in that post I was talking about three lines above.

My shy-side is still with me, obviously. The more I’m at ease the less I feel it, but it pops out when I know I can (and probably will) make mistakes… like now, for instance. But I’m also very determined and stubborn. I just opened another blog, another web-corner where I can’t hurt nobody but my honor and my endurance. Paradoxically, it’s difficult because italian grammar is much, much, much more rich and complicated than English grammar. Italian is so difficult that even most of the Italians can’t speak. I keep on finding mistakes among old peolple. It’ a pity, beacause it’s still a beatiful language. I love it… but, how beautiful can be, still it’s not enough. I’ve got too much to say for only one language. I need to be even more self-confident. I’ll start learning german soon, and I can’t not to think I should already have al least a good basis of English.

I hope I keep on writing here.