Merry Christmas .. Buon Natale .. Feliz Navidad .. Joyeaux Noël … Srećan Božić.. Boldog Karácsonyt

Dear diary.. caro diario… querido diario… cher journal… dragi dnevniče… kedves naplóm,

To all my friends, the old and new ones, may this Christmas Eve bring you joy and happiness, love and care. My best wishes for Christmas and this coming year 2011. As you all know, at least my friends do, I’m not Catholic, I’m Ortodox, but since I moved to Italy, I have an extraordinary opportunity to have double Christmas, and double presents! Moreover, I am so happy that this year I will spend it with my family and relatives. Happy holidays!

A tutti i miei amici, quelli vecchi e quelli nuovi; a quelli che mi hanno insegnato che non importa di dove uno viene, di che nazionalità o religione sia, che si può festeggiare Natale in una maniera diversa rispetto a quella tradizionale; auguro di passare un Natale sereno, gioioso e pieno di allegria. Che questo 2011 ci porti tante belle cose, quelle sognate e quelle inaspettate, e che, se Dio lo vuole, ci vediamo più spesso! Buone feste a tutti!

A los amigos viejos y aquellos nuevos; a todos los amigos que me han enseñado que la distancia a veces no existe y no cuenta nada se hay emociones que llegan; deseo de pasar esa Navidad en familia junto a la gente que aman. ¡Feliz Navidad y Prospero año 2011! ¡Buenas fiestas a todos!

Pour tous mes amies, anciens et nouveaux, mes meilleurs souhaits de Joyeux Noël et Bonne et Heureuse Année 2011 ! Meilleurs Vœux !

Svim svojim prijateljima, novim i starim, koji danas slave Božić, sve najbolje ! Neka nam ova Nova 2011 donese sve ono o čemu smo sanjali, puno sreće, ljubavi i dobrog zdravlja! Srećni praznici!

Minden jót magyar barátaimnak. Hozzon a Karácsony sok boldogságot. Szeretlek titeket! (No, I’m not this perfect in Hungarian! Thank you Pogi! )

With all my love,

Emy

Emociones escondidas en un lugar simplemente llamado corazón

Querido diario,

Hoy quería hacer algo diverso.. escribir, exprimir la sensaciones, emociones que algunas cosas provocaron en mí en estos últimos meses. Emociones a veces no tienen que ser exprimidas solo en tu lengua madre… pueden ser contadas en lenguas que conoces bien o menos bien, que pero te dan algo, un sentimiento que no se puede explicar, narrar o diseñar, pero uno sabe bien que existan. No las veas, pero esas están en un lugar particular que simplemente se llama corazón. Y en este momento en mi corazón hay mucha confusión hecha de palabras simples y muy sinceras y verdaderas, de música que toca el ánima, de voces que emocionan.

Hablando de palabras que llegan, aunque desde muy lejos, ayer leí una breve poesía escrita por una persona maravillosa que vive en Argentina, precisamente en Buenos Aires, y que tiene un dono grande de emocionar con todo lo que escribe. Ese hombre, que se llama Hugo Accardi, fue tan amable y me permitió de compartir contigo querido diario mío una poesía suya que me hizo reflejar sobre mí misma, sobre la vida e sobretodo me hizo entender una cosa importante que por muchos años yo negaba, sin probar por lo menos de aceptar las cosas así como fueran. La poesía se intitula "Sobre metas" y dice así: "No hay cosas sin interés, sino sólo personas incapaces de interesarse. Por más pequeño que sea el paso, a la larga veremos la meta! Si se sienten diferentes a los demás, alégrense! En un mundo uniforme, la diferencia saca ventaja! Esto es lo que yo llamo personalidad!" Por muchos años consideré que mi ser diversa de otros niños, fue algo feo, negativo y por eso había construido un mundo todo mío, que consistía de libros y de carta blanca sobre cual escribir poesías y cuentos breves. Los demás veían que yo caminaba en una maniera diversa, ser niños no es fácil si otros niños siempre te dicen que eres diverso, reían de mí pero yo no hice nada por defenderme. Como podía explicar lo que sentía, que no fue mi culpa porque la doctora había dejado a mi madre en sala parto diciéndole que no le importaba ni mi vida ni aquélla de mi mama, ni porque había comenzado a caminar al edad de cuatro años después meses y meses pasados en varios hospitales. Puede ser que me avergonzaba de lo que fui. Cuando somos pequeños no entendemos muchas cosas. Creciendo, fue para nada fácil liberarse de esa etiqueta "diversa". A veces pienso que me está persiguiendo todavía aunque yo sea grande ahora por dejar de ser vencida así, sin una razón válida. Y pensando en palabras de Hugo, creo que en pasado cometí muchas errores inútiles porque no entendí en tiempo que ser diversa no era algo tan malo, sino cosa positiva, y por qué no una ventaja . Es por eso, creo, que esa poesía mi había tan golpeado ayer. Y ahora pienso que nunca más voy a pensar de ser diversa, y que ese apellido va ser parte de todas cosas negativas que quiero dejar en pasado para no arruinar ese presente tan bello, ese dono maravilloso que es la vida.

La música, tan como poesía, es capaz de darme una emoción increíble. Cuando por la primera vez escuché "Hay un lugar", la canción de la grandiosa Mariana Esposito, parte de la segunda temporada de la serie tv argentina "Casi Ángeles" que descubrí hace un mes casi, mi emocioné tanto que sentí las lagrimas que bañaban mi cara pero no me importaba. Se sientes algo, es normal exprimir lo que está en tu corazón. "Hay un lugar al que me voy cuando estoy triste, es un lugar dentro de mí que nunca viste. Me lo inventé para sentir que me quisiste, es un lugar al que me voy cuando estoy triste. Y si te vas también me voy, y si no estás, tampoco estoy. Y nada importa nada sirve, nada vale, nada queda sin tu amor." Son las palabras simples, sencillas, pero dicen mucho, si alguien quiere escuchar. Me atraparon el ánima y por eso, hoy, es una canción sin cual no puedo imaginar mi día. Pero no es la única canción que me hizo llorar, que será parte de mi ánima por mucho tiempo, creo. La sentí en un momentito, era el día que descubrí por casualidad ese serie tv argentina, y fui golpeada. Se trata de la canción "Nos veremos otra vez", cantada por Seru Giran. Dice: "No estés solo en esta lluvia, no te entregues por favor. Si debes ser fuerte en estos tiempos, para resistir la decepción, y quedar abierta, mente y alma, yo estoy con vos." Fue prácticamente imposible, por alguien tan sensible como lo soy, no conmoverse.

Se sigo así, escribiendo en español, podría llegar a citar uno de mis poetas preferidos, que es Borges, y podría sembrar que mi preferencia de hoy es Argentina. Además es tarde en Europa, y es mejor que me voy a dormir. Mañana es otro día, y me esperan preparativos para el weekend de Navidad.

¡Buenas noches mundo!

p.s. Agradezco a Hugo Accardi que me permitió de usar, como punto de partencia, de esa reflexión sobre emociones, su poesía que prendí de su blog: hugoaccardi. blogspot.com Y un gracias a Mariana Esposito tambien, por su voz que me emociona siempre mas.

p.s.2 Ese fu mi segundo post en español. ¿Cómo anduve?

Quinto anniversario di laurea… ricordi di quel 21. dicembre 2005

Caro diario,

Il calendario segna mercoledì, 21. dicembre. A prima vista una qualsiasi giornata invernale, con un cielo grigio e il venticello freddo che taglia l'aria che ci circonda, e invece non è una giornata come tante. È una giornata molto particolare che mi porta di cinque anni indietro nel tempo. Anche all'epoca il 21 dicembre cadde mercoledì, l'anno 2005 stava per finire, e io da poco avevo compiuto 25 anni. Cos'era di così particolare in quella giornata dicembrine, ti chiederai, caro diario mio. Era il giorno che ricorderò per tutta la vita per le cose che successero: la famosa scivolata davanti alla commissione che mi fece vergognare (avrei dovuto imparare a camminare con i tacchi all'epoca del viaggio nei Balcani di cui un giorno te ne parlerò), il vestito e la corona rosa che mi fecero mettere quei farabutti di miei compagni di corso che ancora conservo come un bellissimo ricordo, e per affetto che quel giorno mi regalò la gente che amo, a partire da due persone splendide che sono i miei genitori. Quel 21 dicembre 2005 terminò un ciclo importante della mia vita, mi laureai in Scienze Internazionali e Diplomatiche con una tesi che avevo scelto io, e che era molto importante per me, e stavo per lasciare Gorizia una volta per tutte. Sembra che passassero i secoli, e invece sono solo cinque anni della mia vita che sono volati in un batter d'occhio. Le foto di quella giornata le conservo in un vecchio album goriziano, che da quando ci siamo trasferiti nella nuova casa era finito in un armadio, e oggi ho deciso di riaprirlo per percorrere, almeno con il pensiero, quel mercoledì di cinque anni fa.

Era dalla primavera dello stesso anno che mi preparavo per quel fatidico 21 dic. 2005. In aprile ero partita per Belgrado, a dire la verità il mio mentore Prof. Cesare La Mantia aveva deciso di rimpatriarmi nella mia amatissima Serbia, dove passai un mese intero a fare la ricerca nell'archivio statale. Scherzi a parte, era un'esperienza più che gratificante, che mi aveva reso una persona migliore, e che mi aveva riempito la valigia di una montagna dei documenti storici che avrei dovuto esaminare e tradurre al mio ritorno nella terra friulana. Nessuno mi aveva chiesto di complicarmi la vita con la tesi sul Vaticano e la Iugoslavia titina, tanto meno già menzionato professore che stimavo tantissimo nonostante avesse bocciato la mia idea originale sul riconoscimento prematuro della Croazia e la Slovenia oltre confine. Era la mia scelta, fatta sia con la testa che con il cuore, che avrei portato avanti nonostante la contrarietà delle persone che mi stavano vicino. Così, una volta tornata da Belgrado, piena di documenti storici, pensieri e parole, mi misi al lavoro. Mi divertivo leggere quelle assurde parole croate, che non capivo e per fortuna che avevo degli amici croati che mi aiutavano a decifrare i vari rebus diplomatici. Dopo un estate davanti al pc, e un autunno trentino che mi incoraggiava di andare avanti, misi la parola fine alla mia tesi di laurea. Che strano tenerla in mano adesso, dopo tutti quegli anni in cui avevo lasciato alle spalle la vita goriziana!

Alla mamma e al papà che mi hanno dato l'opportunità di inseguire un mio vecchio sogno … Al mio nonno scomparso tanti anni fa e ai miei nonni scomparsi da poco. Sono convinta che sareste orgogliosi di me … Agli amici che mi sono stati vicini in tutti questi anni lontano da casa … Alla mia amatissima Serbia … Grazie!

La rileggo e rileggo e non posso fare altrimenti che emozionarmi. È la dedica che scrissi sulla prima pagina della tesi, all'epoca. Tenere questa tesi ora tra le mani mi fa ricordare quegli attimi prima che mi chiamassero a difenderla davanti alla commissione di laurea. Sento quel batticuore che componeva una nuova sonata, le mie mani che sudano mentre cerco di ripassare il discorso che avrei fatto, tutte quelle parole che avrei dedicato al mio progetto di ricerca seguito con tanto amore e tanta dedizione. E quando finalmente è il mio turno, camminando con il passo quasi lento, faccio il disastro totale! In un attimo mi trovo a terra, sembro il toro seduto, e vedo il professor Pilotto che mi viene incontro. Per fortuna non mi sono fatta male, a parte la figuraccia che ho fatto, ma la prendo sul ridere. Mi siedo al banco degli imputati, pronta per essere giudicata per il crimine appena fatto o per la tesi scritta? Meno male che non portavo la gonna, perché in tal caso sì che avrei sprofondato dalla vergogna. Grazie a Dio, tutto va bene, nonostante l'inizio un po' maldestro. Sento che mi proclamano la dottoressa, proprio a me che sempre odiavo i dottori per tutta l'infanzia che avevo passato tra le mura degli ospedali, in Scienze Internazionali e Diplomatiche e sento l'orgoglio e la felicità che mi assalgono. Però non era finita lì! Mi aspetta un vero e proprio purgatorio per i crimini commessi in quegli cinque anni universitari. Vedo dappertutto sui muri dell'edificio la mia foto segnaletica, con tutto l'elenco riguardante i miei misfatti in quegli anni, e come castigo sono persino costretta a leggere quella poesia della mia vita goriziana, mentre mi tocca bere dalla bottiglia di vino. Ma questi italiani sono matti, qualcuno potrebbe dire, però fa tutto parte del protocollo diplomatico che si segue in casi di laurea. È una usanza che da noi nei Balcani non c'è, ma qui è una cosa più che normale ridicolizzarti nel giorno di laurea e non c'era il verso che io potessi evitare il destino rosa. A quei farabutti di miei amici, sapendo che il rosa è il mio colore preferito, era venuto in mente di farmi mettere una vestaglia rosa, una corona del stesso colore che mi fa ricordare le famigerate conigliette del Playboy (che il Dio mi perdoni, proprio a me che ero per anni quasi la suora della Provvidenza) e una bacchetta magica, pure quella rosa. E quando pensavo che il castigo finiva lì, mi toccò fare un giro per l'edificio vestita in quella maniera assurda ma anche carina. Ricordo di aver fatto questo giro con un ragazzo più giovane (non è quello che pensate), carissimo Gaspare L'Episcopia, cercando di evitare prof. La Mantia, che di sicuro si sarebbe pentito di essere stato il mio mentore, vedendomi così in quel look così pink. Incrociando suo sorriso mi fece sentire meglio, un po' più al mio agio, almeno questo significava che mi avrebbe perdonata. Il giro nel purgatorio presto era finito, e mi aspettavano i miei, Clara, Fabi, Ale e Francesca Zilio per iniziare i festeggiamenti. Senza loro, e quelle follie rosa, senza amici balcanici che si laurearono quello stesso giorno che la sera incontrai per festeggiamenti, senza Jovica e Vera, i miei amatissimi genitori, quel 21 dicembre non sarebbe stato così bello.

Il tempo vola. In un attimo sei già grande, adulto, responsabile della tua vita che viaggia veloce sui binari del destino. In questi cinque anni ho viaggiato parecchio. Dal Friuli la vita mi aveva portato nell'Emilia-Romagna, poi fu la volta dell'Ungheria, poi di nuovo la terra trentina. Questi cinque anni mi hanno dato dei piaceri, gioia, felicità, ma anche tanti dispiaceri. A volte persino sento di aver sbagliato tutto, soprattutto da quando ho scritto quel libro che mi ha fatto capire chi ero e cosa davvero volevo. Forse avrei potuto studiare letteratura che mi appassiona tanto, o qualche altra cosa, forse Gorizia non era la scelta giusta. Ma di una cosa sono sicura. Sono contenta di aver conosciuto tutta la gente che conobbi in quegli anni, di aver studiato le cose che allora mi piacevano, di aver condiviso le gioie e i dolori con gli amici che saranno sempre parte di me. Grazie a tutti, proprio tutti. Grazie a Fabiola, Clara, Alessandra, Piermario, Francesca P., Giulio, Matteo, Salvo, Giacomo, Dani Bombardi, grazie veramente a tutti quanti che fecero parte di quella classe che iniziò cammino goriziano nel 2000 con me, che nel bene e nel male mi ha dato tante di quelle emozioni che porterò sempre nel cuore.. E alla fine, un grazie particolare al prof. Cesare La Mantia, che con il suo corso sull'Europa dell'Est non soltanto mi aveva riportato a casa, ma mi ha dato base per un'altra avventura universitaria, quella forlivese, che un giorno percorrerò su questo blog. Chissà, forse quando sarà il quinto anniversario emiliano.

Addio Gorizia, addio Friuli, addio passato … buonasera presente .. camminiamo insieme verso futuro , ovunque esso sia ….

Jedna davno napisana priča

Dragi dnevniče,

Evo me ponovo, ušuškana na krevetu, lutam hodnicima svojih sećanja. Ova zimska atmosfera, koja nam najavljuje novogodišnje i božićne praznike koji polako stižu, kriva je za melanholiju koja me obuzima. Pokušavam da kao bisere složim reči kojim bih opisala ono što mi leži na duši, ali ne ide. Ogrlica mojih tako komplikovanih misli još uvek nije gotova, ili sam to ja koja ne želi da je napravi. Kako god, jasno ti je dragi moj dnevniče da danas nisam raspoložena za priču, ali samo zato odlučila da sa tobom, i čitaocima ovog mog virtualnog, multikulturalnog dnevnika, podelim sa tobom jednu priču, napisanu pre par godina, a za koju me je inspirisala jedna pesma koja je iz mojih sećanja izvukla emocije za koje sam davno bila zaboravila da postoje. Dok sam pričala priču koja sledi svojoj prijateljici Ivani J. iz Beograda, shvatila sam jednostavno da moram da je napišem. I, eto je. I ponovo je pričam, sa istim onim emocijama koje me nikad više nisu "ostavile na cedilu".

Anđeo

Još jedna neprospavana noć... još jedna u nizu....I ko zna koliko ih je bilo...koliko će ih još biti.... Sve i da poželim, ne mogu da zaboravim... nije da nisam pokušala. Mislila sam da sam davno zakopala tu priču, da sam svoju prošlost ostavila tamo gde ne želim ali se uvek svesno vraćam. Zašto, pitala sam se nebrojeno puta ali svoj odgovor nisam našla. Nekakvo zato za sve nepravde ovog sveta mora da postoji negde ali ja tu knjigu mudraca još uvek nisam pronašla. Mnogi ovde je zovu Biblija, baš kao ova crna, odavno već požutelih stranica, koju mi je jednog dana posudila starica u belom, ubeđena u svoju teoriju da ću među tim istim stranicama pronaći svoju utehu.

Sve je počelo jednim običnim telefonskim pozivom koji po prvi put nije nosio dobru vest od kuće kojoj sam se radovala svaki put kada bih čula mio glas moje majke. Pokušala je da od mene sakrije istinu, ali nije uspela. Nekontrolisani vodopad njenih suza uspeo je da u meni probudi sumnju koju nije mogla da razbije svojim rečima da je sve u redu. Bila je prinuđena da podeli sa mnom svoj teret iako to obično nije ona, ona koja sve krije u sebi i ljubomorno čuva od drugih. Ali ja nisam bilo ko, ja sam njena ćerka iako naš odnos nije oduvek bio prijateljski, ne samo njenom krivicom. Ponekad sam nemoguća, netrpeljiva i neizmerno tvrdoglava, znam. Iako sam je nebrojeno puta povredila, prešla je preko svega jer me, mada u pojedim momentima shvatam da nisam to zaslužila, neizmerno voli. I zahvalna sam joj na tome , a pogotovo što je ovoga puta skinula svoju masku jake osobe i sa mnom podelila svoju tegobu. Ali njene reči , njene tako prokleto jednostavne reči po prvi put nisam razumela. "Miki je u komi." Par reči čije značenje shvatam ali ne želim da razumem.

Ne znam kako sam tako sluđena dospela u staru kapelu, ali i zatvorenih očiju punih suza, nekakvom silom koja me je vodila kao da sam pronašla put koji sam već godinama tražila. Kleknula sam, sklopila ruke pokušavajući da u sebi pronađem bar neku molitvu kojom bih mogla da se obratim onom gore za pomoć. Tražeći reči, nesvesno sam se vratila u prošlost, u onu godinu kada se Miodrag rodio. Bila sam tako srećna gledajući tu malu bebicu plavih očiju, potajno sanjajući da je on brat koga nikad nisam a trebalo je da imam, ali se onaj isti kojem se sada molim da se Miki što pre probudi iz kome nije svidelo to pa ga je uzeo k sebi. Sećam se polako svega, i godina kasnije, kada smo svi zajedno boravili kod pokojnih dede i babe i kad su me Miki i njegov stariji brat, moja draga braća od tetke, naučili "Oče naš" i danas moju omiljenu molitvu "Legoh spati Boga zvati i Anđele prizivati". Molim, ma ko god uslišio moje molitve, da se moj bata probudi jer nije zaslužio to što mu se događa. I dok u sebi tražim reči, osećam na svojim leđima taj teg, kao da me nečije ruke pritiskaju svom svojom težinom. Ne znam ko, ni zašto, ali znam da moram što pre da napustim kapelu. Možda preterujem, možda sam umislila... drhtavih kolena izlećem i uz tres masivnih vrata izlećem. Potreban mi je vazduh i samoća moje sobe da malo razmislim i priberem se. Starica u belom, jedna od mnogih časnih sestara koje vode studentski dom za devojke, prilazi mi i sa očiglednom brigom svojim staračkim, drhtavim glasom pita me šta se dogodilo. Počinjem svoju priču, kad, neočekivano, počinje da se smeška . Počinje svoju priču o anđelu čuvaru ne sluteći da je time otvorila Pandorinu kutiju koju ne želim ikad više da otvorim.

Godinama već nisam mislila o njemu, ko zna zašto i zbog čega je atmosfera u maloj kapeli probudila stare i nikad zaboravljene uspomene na detinjstvo. Bila sam dete puno nada i snova o nekoj boljoj budućnosti kad su neke moje skrivene želje počele da se ostvaruju. Vest da mama čeka bebu bila je nešto najlepše što je neko mogao da mi kaže tada i sa nestrpljenjem sam čekala taj radostan dan. Nekakav skriveni glasić u mojoj dečijoj, neiskvarenoj duši govorio mi je da ću uskoro imati brata i prosto nisam mogla da se otrgnem tom utisku. Čitavu familiju sam izludela pričom da ću imati brata, čak sam mu i ime dala. Ono moje imaću brata Marka svakodnevno je odzvanjalo našim stanom ali moji roditelji su želeli iznenađenje, uopšte nisu bili okupirani polom deteta kao što sam to bila ja. Nije da nisam volela da imam sestru, ali nekako više sam bila za brata i to ne bilo kojeg, već brata Marka. Ali moje želje nisu bile po volji nekom, nekom čiji viši sud je doneo anonimnu odluku ne pitajuči me za mišljenje. Možda je baš tako trebalo da bude, ali u tom momentu ja nisam mogla da prihvatim gorku istinu. Krivila sam onu koja je isto želela to dete, možda čak i više nego ja, za njegovu smrt. Bila je ubica, ubica kog sam mrzela bez imalo srama. Bila sam dete koje nije shvatalo ništa, niti koliko reći mogu da zadaju težak udarac od koga rane ne zarastaju tako lako. Ali meni je bilo lakše tako, bio je to moj ventil preko kog sam se oslobađala od bola. I taman kad sam pomislila da sam prošlost ostavila iza sebe, ona se vratila. "Neko od gore te čuva, ne zaboravi to. Svako od nas ima svog anđela čuvara" Bile su to reči stare opatice ali ja ih nikad nisam zaboravila. Možda je bila u pravu. Majčine suze onog dana kad sam joj se poverila, kada smo po prvi put posle svega mogle slobodno da pričamo o onome što se dogodilo, dale su mi neku vrstu potvrde. Potvrde da ipak nešto postoji, verovali mi u to ili ne.

I danas, sa distance od par godina kako se to dogodilo, ja i dalje verujem u ono što je moje srce osetilo tog dana. Znam da me moj Marko svakodnevno prati sa Nebesa i da čuva mene, mamu i tatu. I verujem da osim što svako od nas ima nebeskog, postoji i onaj zemaljski anđeo, odnosno više njih. Naši andjeli su prijatelji, mnogobrojni prijatelji bez kojih naš život ne bi imao nikakvog smisla. I ja se putem ove priče zahvaljujem svima njima, posebno onoj sa kojom sam podelila jedne prolećne noći ovu priču i zbog koje sam odlučila da je napišem. Ma gde god bili, neka vas anđeli čuvaju, jer verujte, oni postoje.

Sweet thirties.. Welcome to the club 30+1!

Dear diary,

Here we are, welcome to the sweet thirties! Do I feel a year older? Nope! I just feel fine! No big changes, the old, crazy me! I started this December of 2010 in such a great way, celebrating, on day 4^th, my B-day with my dear family. And although all my friends and relatives are quite far away, thanks to internet, it was like having them all around! It's needless to say that starting a day with all those wonderful birthday wishes made me so happy! It was really the best gift I've received! And people who know me quite well, know that I appreciate small things rather than big and expansive ones. What I can say, except that I am really grateful to the life for having such great friends. Big thanks to everyone! I love you so, so much! And speaking about presents, I got a very special gift from a very special person, my dearest Turkish sister Simge, who sent me from Istanbul a lovely, pink scarf! As it's quite familiar, pink is my favorite color, and you can imagine my happiness when I opened a package. Çok teşekkür ederim Simge!

Today I ate the last piece of birthday cake. It was really delicious. My butterfly cake. When I was a kid, my mum used to prepare it so, this year, we decided to get back to the good, old days. The butterfly flew away, taking with him a year which was not of great ones, the year I'd rather leave behind, and simply forget. However, our life is made of this, good and bad moments, and everything is part of growing up. Good things make us happy, bad ones make us stronger, and from each of these memories, we learn one important lesson of our life. As far as I am concerned, I learned a lot of important things during these twelve months, things that made me realize who I was and what I would like to be when I "grow up". But I'll keep it for myself. Nor I will tell what my b-day wish was about, because if I tell you, it will not be able to fulfill so… TOP SECRET! What I'd like to remember of this birthday, 31^st, hoping to spend as much as my destiny will allow of days like this, it's a sentence my dear cousin Suzana from Sweden wrote me, which made me laugh: "Welcome to the club 30+1!" And before going to sleep, I am sending you greetings directly from "Club 30+1"! God bless you!

That's all folks! For now!

At the final countdown to my 31-st B-DAY

Dear diary,

The winter has come to Trento. It's been snowing for few days and I got so, so excited, as I used to be when I was a kid. Some of my friends think that I am crazy, who ever can be a fan of winter and cold weather, and snow that is melting, and ice, must be a crazy rather than a normal person! Well, what to say, to some extend I am a bit lunatic, who isn't? Besides, there is nothing wrong in loving the snow falling down, a bit of ice under your feet, that sharp breeze of cold in the air. Ok, I should be honest, I am not that BIG fan of this season. However, maybe because I am a winter child, I like it a lot. And if you live in a town surrounded by mountains, like I do, the picture gets more clear and understandable. Plus, if you add to this white scenario some important festivities about to come, such as Christmas, or New Year's Eve, or some birthday in arrival, everything becomes more beautiful. You don't know people who is having a birthday soon? Well, lucky you because you probably haven't met, yet, a crazy, lunatic December girl I know. The girl who adores summer time, sun and sea, and who is, I know that's quite contradictory, a big fan of winter! Oh, I said that I know her? Gosh, I'm that girl! What a mess!

Well, as I said, the winter has arrived to Trento. When I look out from my room's window, I see my adorable mountains, dressed in white, and I get so melancholic thinking about some other mountains, back there in Serbia, surrounding my home town Kraljevo. I go back in childhood, in those good old days still vivid in my memories. I can hear voices of my school friends singing an old Serbian birthday song to me, saying something like: "Today is a lovely day, our friend Emina celebrates her birthday. We wish to her the long life and happiness." I can feel a smell of beautiful cakes my mum used to make for the occasion. I can feel my happiness and joy in that crucial moment of unwrapping birthday presents. I almost get there, at least with my thoughts, but I'm not a six year's girl any more, a curly, long haired girl, with a huge smile who's gazing at me now. I have her so alive in my mind, looking at her now on this family picture located on our dining room's wall. Me and a birthday cake, with six candles, dated 4^th December 1986. She is not that different from the girl on the other picture, taken during my birthday party in Gorizia in 2004 I guess, although there is a difference of more than 15 years between these two photos. There is always the same smile of joy on my face in these pictures, the huge smile of joy and happiness. I am wondering what will be on this year's picture? Maybe I should get all them aligned and see how I was changing in these long 30 years of my life. No, better not. What's wrong with me? Am I getting too much melancholic now or what? Is this effect of getting old and so nostalgic? Whatever. Four days are missing to the B-day, and I don't feel, to be honest, that I'll be so old. I feel so young! Maybe too much young, considering the fact my own parents think that I am quite childish. Who cares! I haven't even noticed that. Ok, maybe a little, little bit, but not much. Besides, we all have somewhere in our hearts children that we used to be. Some people take care of them, and some others simply forget who they were, before. Well, I think I belong to this first group and you know what? I am happy because of it!

God, the time is passing so quickly! Seems that it was yesterday when my friends waited for me at the university door and sang to me: "Happy quarter of the century!" Then, I did feel OLD! And now I'm almost to be 31. Well, until Saturday, at least I can enjoy in my thirty's! Speaking about birthdays. Have you ever meet somebody that is born the same day as you, and that you established a very special relationship with that person? Well, I did. I met a very special girl couple years ago, who was also born on 4^th December but some years after me, and who is today one of my closest friends. Actually no, she's not my friend, she is more than that for me. She is my sister, my Turkish sister that I love so much, and her name is Simge. It's not good making birthday wishes before, but I'll just say: Are you ready my dear? So let's begin our final countdown together: 4, 3…..

Perché la storia non si ripeta mai più

Caro diario,

Questa settimana mi rimarrà impressa per due cose: per un film che ho visto, anzi rivisto per ennesima volta, che è "La vita è bella", e per questo articolo, tratto dal blog Balkan Crew che mi sono sentita di condividere. Ringrazio a Lina per il permesso che mi ha concesso. Speriamo che la storia non si ripeta mai più. Buona lettura!

Krvava Bajka, fiaba cruenta

Sterminio nazista in Serbia

In un solo giorno 7300 morti nella città martire. È l'autunno del
1941. Pochi mesi dopo la dissoluzione del regno di Jugoslavia, la
penisola balcanica è insorta contro l'occupante nazifascista. Alla
rivolta partigiana i tedeschi rispondono facendo strage della
popolazione civile.

Il 20 ottobre 1941, sei mesi dopo l'invasione tedesca della
Jugoslavia, nei due Ginnasi di Kragujevac (leggi Kragujevaz), la città
serba posta nel centro della regione della Sumadija, le lezioni
iniziano alle 8.30, come di consueto. Sono in programma quel giorno la
sintassi della lingua serbocroata, matematica, la poesia di Goethe, la
fisica. In una classe, un professore croato, un profugo fuggito dal
regime fascista instaurato in Croazia da Ante Pavelic, sottolinea il
valore della libertà. Poco lontano, un altro spiega l'opera di un
poeta serbo del romanticismo risorgimentale. La mente rivolta alle
secolari lotte sostenute dai serbi per la loro indipendenza e a quella
presente che cresce irresistibilmente, anch'egli parla di libertà. La
voce calma e profonda che illustra i versi del poeta: "La libertà è
un nettare che inebria / Io la bevvi perché avevo sete", ne nasconde a
fatica la tensione, che aleggia anche nell'aula, che grava su tutti,
sulla cittadina, sui suoi abitanti, e che l'eco strozzata di fucilerie
lontane da alcuni giorni alimenta....
Tratto da Pugliantagonista 21 Ottobre 1941

Kragujevac era un simbolo per molti di noi jugoslavi. Da piccoli associavamo il nome della città all'eroismo, alla resistenza e alla solidarietà operaia. All'età di otto anni, quando i miei coetanei si ispiravano alle avventure di Tarzan o di Tom Sawyer, io sognavo di morire eroicamente, come gli studenti di un'intera classe del liceo di Kragujevac. Nell'ottobre del 1941 gli occupanti tedeschi avevano rastrellato, per rappresaglia, circa settemila abitanti di Kragujevac. Fu un massacro. Tra i fucilati c'erano molti studenti, prelevati direttamente dalla scuola. Questa atrocità ha ispirato la poetessa Desanka Maksimović a scrivere la poesia "Krvava bajka" (Fiaba cruenta). Ancora oggi ne ricordo i versi, che mi fanno venire i brividi:

Avvenne in un paese di contadini,

nella Balcania montuosa:

una compagnia di alunni

in un giorno solo morì

di morte gloriosa.

Nel 1962 sull'evento fu girato il film "Prozvan je Peti tri" (Si chiamava anche classe V 3). L'ho visto varie volte, piangendo sempre. Fantasticavo, talvolta, di essere uno degli scolari, oppure il loro professore, che rifiutò di salvarsi e morì insieme ai suoi studenti. Prima di essere giustiziato, il professore dichiarò davanti ai fucili tedeschi: "Sparate, anche adesso sto facendo lezione". Da allora considero nazisti tutti quelli che, per vendetta, puniscono degli innocenti.
Tratto da Osservatorio balcani

Sećaš li se avanture u Zagrebu? Tako nešto se ne zaboravlja!

Dragi dnevniče,

Prevrćem stranice starog albuma sa slikama punog sećanja na moje studentske dane i ne mogu a da se ne osmehnem. Bilo je svega i svačega, mnogo toga me baš vezuje za taj italo-slovenački grad koji zovemo Gorica ili Gorizia, kako god vam volja. Ali sećanje koje mi je upravo palo na pamet, pisala sam o tome već u jednom od mojih prethodnih postova, vezano je za jedan balkanski grad, za jedan koncert i grupu prijatelja iz bivše Jugoslavije koji će se sami prepoznati. Bila je to jedna mala avantura, čiji su deo i oni bili, i mislim da će se Sanja Komadina, moja draga drugarica iz Rijeke, setiti te lude zagrebačke noći. Noći koju ću pamtiti do kraja života, koje se i moji prijatelji rado sete kada žele da me zafrkavaju zbog dotičnih događanja. "Otišla devojka na koncert "Bijelog dugmeta" u Zagreb, izgubila pasoš, posvađala se sa tipom u tramvaju koji joj je drsko rekao da bi joj bilo bolje da ne spominje Beograd u sred Zagreba, to samo tebi može da se desi!" Događanja koja su me iz Italije odvela na putovanje po Balkanu a koje sam opisala u kratkoj priči simboličnog naslova "Kriminalac" , nastaloj po povratku u Italiju. Ove noći želim da je podelim sa tobom, dragi moj dnevniče.

 

Kriminalac

Počelo je sve na jedan lepim način a završilo noćnom morom i mojim suzama. Tako ti treba kada me nisi poslušala. Odzvanjale su njegove reči prekora a ja uopšte nisam bila raspoložena za pridike jer on nije i neće znati kako sam se ja osećala. Da nisi bila tako luda, išla bi sada na koncert sa nama. Pogledala sam ga besno ali on to nije mogao, nije se ni trudio, da shvati. Od samog početka je bio protiv mog prijateljstva sa neprijateljima i njegov nacionalistički način razmišljanja mu je i dalje trovao mozak a ja nisam tako mogla da funkcionišem. I dalje mi nije jasno kako si mogla da ideš na koncert u Zagreb, ej, ne to ti uopšte nije trebalo. Ovo se ne bi desilo da si me poslušala i došla u Beograd. Nastavljao je kao pokvarena ploča. I ne samo on, čitava familija je bila u istom fazonu, teča mi je pevao "Putuj Selma" a mama je i dalje uporno odbijala svaki kontakt sa mnom.

Vaša ćerka je izgubila dokumenta i mi je deportujemo za Srbiju. Crvenokosa službenica ambasade na vrlo suptilan način saopštila je mojim roditeljima radosnu vest a ja sam se osećala kao najgori kriminalac. Da nije protiv zakona posetiti neprijateljski grad Zagreb? I što je najgore, u glavi crvenokose mi smo i dalje bili u ratu sa braćom Hrvatima i njen je bio više nego dobronameran savet. Što pre napustite Zagreb, bolje je po vas. Rat, kako da to nisam primetila? Smestićemo vas na prvi voz za Beograd. Gde li je videla četnike i ustaše, pitala sam se, verovatno su ratovali samo u njenoj glavi.

Imate li šta da prijavite za carinu? Glupog li pitanja! Samu sebe. Nije mu jasno. Molim? Samu sebe, govorim li kineski? Nemam ništa za prijavu. Sve što imam je glupavi putni list, sebe, i kesicu kiki-bombona koju sam ponela sa sobom kao suvenir na ratno stanje. I dok u kasnim večernjim satima voz ulazi u prestonicu, ne pamtim da sam se ikada tako obradovala Beogradu, ne mogu a da se ne prepustim sopstvenoj sreći. Home sweet home.

Šta hoćeš? Na roamingu sam i nisam u fazonu za priču. Bila je to moja najdraža drugarica iz Pule a ja sam bila tako gruba. Fali li ti šta? Pita me smešeći se a nije mi do igre ascijacija. Fali mi glava, a što je bitnije, fali mi pasoš. Nastavlja da se kezi. Znam, našli su ga, zato te i zovem. Šalju ti ga po prvom autobusu za Beograd. Zbunjena sam. Ok, našli su pasoš, ali kako su nju našli? Jupi! Živeo Telekom Srbija. Pa moja kartica za mobilni je uvek u torbici sa pasošem. I posle kažu da su policajci glupi.

Avantura je pri kraju a on i dalje nastavlja po starom. Da si bila na koncertu sa nama, sve ovo se ne bi desilo. Šta ti je trebalo da ideš u Zagreb, eh? Ni srećan put da mi poželi. Tetka je u pravu što ne govori sa tobom. I za njega sam kriminalac. Javi se kad pređeš granicu. Kriminalac bez prtljaga i sa pasošem u ruci. Kriminalac koji će ponovo sanjati lepe snove dok sa radija dopiru veseli zvuci muzike, "Bijelo dugme" peva "Selmu" ironije li, i autobus lagano napušta beli grad.

 

 

 

C’era una volta una bambina che sognava il mondo e l’ha trovato!

 

Caro diario,

Sto ascoltando una musica soave che mi sta avvolgendo nel suo abbraccio tenero e mi fa partire, tornare dietro nel tempo. Come se mi stesse invitando a chiudere gli occhi e lasciarmi andare, a rilassarmi. Potrei facilmente addormentarmi, mettermi a sognare quei tempi magnifici ormai andatisi in quel posto nel fondo del cuore dove custodisco gelosamente i miei ricordi. Mi sento al sicuro, coccolata da quei sentimenti provati una volta, da quella felicità provata in certe occasioni e mai più ritrovata. Mi sento a mio agio, tranquilla, è come se quel viaggio indietro nel tempo mi stesse aspettando per farmi ritrovare il sorriso perduto in questi ultimi mesi tanto duri che ora vorrei dimenticare, lasciare alle spalle per non riscoprirli mai più. Un viaggio è sempre una partenza, un nuovo inizio. Un viaggio che potrà ricordarmi di quello che ero prima di perdermi per le viuzze della vita, quelle stradine strette, strette che non ti fanno trovare la strada verso casa, verso quell'oasi della felicità, dell'amore, della famiglia e dell'amicizia. Non posso fare altrimenti che lasciarmi andare, partire per ritrovare me stessa e quella ragazza spensierata che ho fatto uccidere in questi ultimi mesi, anni. Uno, due, tre..il fischio! Il treno dei ricordi sta per partire e mi porterà via con sé.

Da sempre ero affascinata dai viaggi, dai luoghi lontani che volevo visitare un giorno. Dicevano che sembrava che stessi nata in una macchina. Ogni volta che partivamo io ero felice. Non contava il posto dove andavamo, né il perché di quei viaggi lunghi o brevi, bastava muoversi. Mi accontentavo di vedere dei paesaggi dalla finestra, a vedere i segnali stradali che mi affascinavano, volevo sempre sapere il loro significato, come se già a quegli anni volessi prendere la patente! Ignoravo che quei viaggi mi portavano in qualche ospedale, o da qualche guaritore che avrebbe potuto farmi camminare di nuovo. Non ero cosciente allora di essere una bambina diversa, una bambina chiacchierona e troppo curiosa, però sempre una bambina diversa che non poteva camminare. Una bambina che non si rendeva conto della sofferenza che portava dentro, dell'odio sfrenato che provava per gli ospedali in cui era stata per la maggior parte della sua infanzia e per quella città bianca in cui doveva stare per forza. Una bambina che si sentiva tanto sola nella città nella quale era nata, che piangeva di nascosto per le prese in giro degli altri bambini che la vedevano strana perché camminava male, quando finalmente iniziò a fare i primi passi da sola all'età di 4 anni. Una bambina che amava i libri che erano il suo mondo, la sua vita, la sua felicità. Una bambina che nello scrivere aveva scoperto un piacere immenso, che era felice quando vinceva i primi premi alla scuola media, una bambina che non conosceva la felicità. Una bambina che quando era piccola aveva perso il fratellino, quel bimbo mai nato che lei sognava di chiamare Marco e che è anche oggi, quando la bambina è una donna adulta, il suo angelo custode che la protegge da lassù. Ignoravo molte cose su di me perché così era più facile, isolarsi da tutto e da tutti, pensando che quel mondo era giusto per me. Un mondo fatto di silenzi, di parole scritte, delle domande che non avevano risposte precise. O forse non avevo alcuna voglia di trovarle. Un mondo fatto da sogni, da viaggi che avrei fatto un giorno, dalle lingue che avrei imparato. Un mondo che era dentro di me e anche fuori, un giorno l'avrei toccato con le mie dita.

Quando avevo 15 anni, per la prima volta ebbi il coraggio di dire basta, di fermare le paure che si erano insediate dentro di me, di partire nonostante il parere contrario di mia madre che da sempre mi aveva hyper protetto. Mi trasferii a Sremski Karlovci, vicino a Novi Sad, dove feci il liceo linguistico. Là, il mio mondo si era aperto per la prima volta. Era come se avessi scoperto una dimensione diversa della vita. Tutto quello che nella mia città natale mi bloccava, là spariva, come per magia. I ragazzi della classe che frequentavo, mi avevano presa come una di loro, non mi avevano mai fatto capire che sapevano della mia "diversità". Io ero una ragazzina chiusa, che fino a quel punto viveva in un mondo tutto suo, diffidandosi di tutto e di tutti. Qualcosa iniziò a cambiare già allora. Ero circondata per la prima volta dagli amici veri che mi accettavano per quella che ero, e questo non era poco. Lì avevo conosciuto le mie ragazze, Ljilja, Katarina, Lela e Ceca, che ancor oggi sono le mie più care amiche senza le quali la mia vita davvero non avrebbe il significato che oggi ha. Mi hanno insegnato a volermi bene, a credere in me stessa, e che sogni si possono realizzare. Non mi hanno abbandonato neanche quando avevo preso la decisione di continuare gli studi all'estero. Mentre molti mi credevano pazza perché andavo a fare l'università in Italia, da dove nel '99 il nostro Paese fu bombardato, loro mi hanno dato tutto l'appoggio necessario. A volte mi capita di rileggere le vecchie lettere che mi scrivevano, e mi commuovo. Mi ricordo come ero prima di quel periodo liceale, prima che la vita me le aveva messe sulla strada, e mi spavento perché quella ragazzina io la odiavo e non vorrei mai ritrovarla. Mi sorrido perché quelle liceali, che mi scrivevano quelle lettere piene d'amore, tutt'ora sono accanto a me, anche se non viviamo nello stesso paese e ci vediamo raramente. Loro mi hanno cambiata, amata e appoggiata sempre, e non è sufficiente una vita intera per dire a loro quanto io sia grata per tutto.

Dopo il liceo, ho iniziato il mio viaggio verso quel mondo tanto desiderato e sognato. Mi sono trasferita in Italia, in una città che oggi per me è una vera casa, che è Trento. Ci ho vissuto poco però, almeno fino a due anni fa, perché studiavo in un'altra città: Gorizia, prima, e poi a Forlì dove feci il master. Mi ricordo il primo giorno come se fosse ieri. Ero arrivata con una ferita al piede, mi ero operata a Belgrado quando avevo 12 anni, e stavo tanto male che ero quasi svenuta. Mi ricordo una voce femminile che mi offriva una caramella che rifiutai. Ero terrorizzata perché non conoscevo nessuno, ma piano piano, le cose sono cambiate. Durante quegli anni avevo conosciuto tante persone e ognuna di loro mi aveva dato qualcosa. Mi hanno dato tante di quelle emozioni che non dimenticherò mai. Là, in quel convitto in cui stavo, ho conosciuto delle ragazze straordinarie come Fabiola, Clara e Alessandra, che porto sempre nel cuore. Tra quei banchi dell'aula ho lasciato i miei pensieri, i miei ricordi, me stessa, i primi scritti del mio libro. Tra le mura di una casa dello studente in via Mazzini sono rimaste le risate di Zsuzsanna, le chiacchiere che facevo con Piermario, il mio più caro amico e una specie di fratello che a volte mi controllava come ero vestita prima di uscire e con il quale spesso litigavo su chi avrebbe pagato il caffè nel bar di Gedhaffi (almeno gli somigliava). In quella città sul confine con la Slovenia sono rimaste tante emozioni, troppo ricordi, belli o brutti, ma sempre ricordi. Ricordi di un periodo che mi ha reso una persona migliore, quella che in questi ultimi anni di miei problemi di salute avevo dimenticato e quasi ucciso isolandola dal resto del mondo. Però ora è arrivato il momento di svegliare quella bimba, di farla ricordare quanto la vita sia bella anche quando tutto sembra nero, che ci sono opportunità che non vanno perse per nulla al mondo. Di farla capire che le paure con le quali di nuovo aveva costruito un castello in cui si sta nascondendo devono cessare di esistere. La vita è troppo bella per essere persa in chiacchiere inutili, in depressioni createsi dal nulla. La vita bisogna viverla, cara bimba mia!

E in un tratto mi svegliai e capii. La bimba non c'è più, quella bimba che sognava un mondo che ha trovato, ma anche cercato di distruggerlo. La bimba è cresciuta. La bimba fra qualche settimana compierà 31 anni. Non potrò dimenticarla, né vorrei farlo. Vorrei solo che smettesse di condizionare la mia vita, le mie scelte, anche se per sempre sarà parte di esse, e di quel passato con il quale convivo e convivrò finché sarò viva.

Addio, bimba mia!

Sasvim običan novembarski, kišni dan

Dragi dnevniče,

Sedim na krevetu, ušuškana među jastucima i osluškujem rominjanje, čavrljanje kapljica kiše koje dobuju po prozoru. O čemu li to tako žučno raspravljaju, pitam se. Možda ni njima nešto nije po volji. Možda ni njima nije dan. Možda su i one baš ustale na levu nogu. Ko zna, možda i njih hvata neka melanholija. Nekakav suludi osećaj koje same sebi ne mogu da razjasne, koji ih prati u stopu a one, te nestašne kapljice kiše, ne umeju da ćute nego pričaju, prazne se na nevinim soliterskim prozorima koji jedino što žele je da budu ostavljeni na miru. Ali te male, vragolaste kapljice, nemaju ni najmanju nameru da prestanu, prosto uživaju u svojoj ulozi majstora kvariše koji obožava da svojim nestašlucima ljuti Sunce. A ono, blago i nasmejano, uvek jarko i toplo, krije se tamo negde iza planina, tamo gde nema ko da ga nervira, gde može na miru da se opusti. Novembar, taj tako veliki prijatelj kiša, tog raspevanog hora raspoloženih kapljica, ulazi u svoju treću nedelju života. Ta beba jeseni, ušuškana u ćebence magle koja polako obavija grad, sprema se za počinak. Polako se već pale prva svetla grada, kolone automobila koji kvase svoje bose nožice stvaraju gužvu, umorni radnici vraćaju se kući s posla. Uličicama i trgovima šarene se kišobrani koji se kao žito povijaju na tom jesenjem vetru. Po koja ptičica proleti, mašući svojim krilima da se zagreje. Zima se polako uvlači među prolaznike, mlade i stare, ulicama grada koji se umorio slušajući jednu te istu priču, a kiša, kao neka stara baba koja ne ume da ćuti, rominja i dalje. Priča svoju priču i ne mari da li je neko sluša, ili ne, pa zaboga dokle više da je ućutkuju!

Neka je, već sam se navikla na njen žamor. Na njenu žalopojku. Na njen uzdah. Na nju samu. Ona samo želi da uspava novembarsku bebu, da joj ispropoveda po koju bajku, da joj pruži ljubav. Ona zna šta znači biti beba, iako je već matora, džangrizava baba, osedela i oronula pod teretom čovečanstva koji već vekovima nosi na svojim plećima. Ko zna koliko je već takvih beba odgajila, jesenjih, zimskih, prolećnih i letnjih! Ko tako nešto još pamti! Ona ne mari za cifru, za brojeve koji se zapisuju u starom kalendaru života. Ona samo želi da čavrlja, da rominja, da dobuje o prozore kuća, zgrada, automobila, aviona.. i čega sve ne! Ona samo želi da ćaska, da šapuće, da viče, da budi i da uspavljuje! Ona želi da je ne zaborave, da je pominju, po dobru i po zlu, da pamte šta su sve radili u njenom prisustvu. Da pamte prve poljupce, prvo skakutanje po kiši, prve svađe i prva mirenja. Da je nose u svojim sećanjima. Da je kritikuju, opisuju, ogovaraju. Nju koja sve što želi je da dobuje... da cvrkuće... da budi..uspavljuje.. nervira ili smiruje. Nju čiji me zvuk polako opušta. Novembar je, ta beba rođena između jeseni i zime, i jedan sasvim običan dan. Ponedeljak, leta gospodnjeg 2010-og.

Dobro veče svete!

 

Sin un título particular..o mejor, que hacer para cambiar la vida

Querido diario,

Es bastante tarde pero no tengo sueño. Además, la noche es el momento que yo prefiero para escribir algo, o simplemente para pensar. O leer algo. Acabo de leer una frase que me hizo pensar. Es una frase muy simple y verdadera, y dice: "A veces crees que quieres desaparecer, pero todo lo que realmente quieres es que te encuentren." Hay mucho tiempo que quería desaparecer, ir muy lejos, dejar todo detrás de mí, pero estoy siempre aquí, en el mismo lugar, junto a la gente que amo. No es fácil escapar, y para ser sincera con mi misma, no sé si de veras quisiera hacerlo. Pero en momentos tan difícil, que viví últimamente, es, creo, normal desear de cambiar la vida. Pero, pensando más, llegué a la conclusión que escapando no si resuelve nada. Uno tiene que luchar para poder ser feliz, hacer todo el posible para obtener un equilibrio en el corazón y en la anima. No es para nada fácil, lo entiendo, tienes que ser fuerte y haber demasiado coraje, que yo a veces no tengo. Coraje para cambiar el mundo que está cerca de mí.

¿Cómo si llega a ser fuertes y arrojados? Una vez leí que "vivir una vida con miedo es igual a vivirla a mitad". Puede ser que yo, con tantos miedos en mi corazón, viví mal hasta ahora pero liberarse de miedos no sé cómo hacerlo. Y no es claro fácil admitir algo así, ni con los otros ni con mi misma, pero es un paso importante. Y lo sé, es la hora de cambiar algo.

Cambiar.. encontrar la fuerza para hacerlo.. resistir a los presiones externos, resistir.. un verbo importante… ir adelante sin desconfianza, con la voluntad de luchar..de llegar al fin como triunfadores.. sobrevivir.

¿Y cómo? ¿Qué tenía que hacer para lograr de ser feliz? ¿Hay un secreto? ¿Una llave secreta? Si hay, tengo que encontrarla, no? Puede ser que mi llave es en las cosas que están cerca de mi pero siendo en ese situación por varios meses, llegué a ser siega. La verdad es que no luché bastante y el resultado es que perdí la confianza en mí misma. Mis amigos han hecho todo para que yo me despierte pero todo fue inútil hasta que yo misma comprendí en qué estado fui. No llegué todavía a ser la persona que fui antes, pero lograré a serlo. Te lo prometo querido diario mío. ¿Y sabes qué? Yo ganaré en eso. Mañana es un nuevo día, dijo Rosella O'Hara y quien sabe que va a suceder!

Buenas noches, me voy a leer el libro "Resiste – claves para encontrar tu llave"… lo encontré en web..De nuevo el verbo resistir entre mis palabras. Y todo nació en una maniera rara. Descubrí hace poco (hay algunas semanas)una serie tv argentina para jóvenes (puede ser qué yo soy un poquito vieja para verla, no sabía, me dijeron así, ) que se llama "Casi ángeles". Parece que es muy popular en países balcánicos, y aquí en Italia también, pero yo no lo conocía antes. Y el libro, de autor que se llama Leandro Calderone, es parte de la serie televisiva. Leyéndolo, he descubierto muchas cosas positivas, las frases que me hacen reflejar…pero todavía no llegué hasta el final.. les voy a contar mis impresiones cuando terminaré a leerlo.

¡Hasta luego!

P.S. Fue mi primero post en español. J

Ciao!Hi!Salut!¡Hola! Zdravo! Привет!

Dear diary,

Or should I say "caro diario"? Or maybe it's better to use "dragi dnevniče?" Or simply saying: "Querido diario"? Or maybe you think that sounds more elegant saying "Mon cher journal " ? No, I am not crazy, nor I would like to express my foreign languages knowledge, let say that I decided to make this blog more "international". As more languages as you speak, with more people in the world you may communicate, no? In the era of globalization, the internet became an useful tool of communication between people living in different countries, on different continents, no matter they don't speak the same language. Distance is not any longer a problem, as it was ages ago. Now, if you want to go somewhere, with just one click of your mouse you may get there, not physically, but at least with your thoughts, thanks to the images of the place you would like to visit, sounds, videos and things like this. And from now on, I would like to begin this international trip with all people who come across to this blog. My aim is not only to share my thoughts with this "virtual diary" but also to interact with people, share experiences, interests and why not, practice my foreign languages knowledge.

I'm ready to begin this new blogging adventure! Just close your eyes, jump and join me in this crazy ride!

First step.. Bene, come il primo passo, lascerò alle spalle il solito inglese.. Sì, è una lingua internazionale, la parlano tutti, o quasi, però non è l'unica lingua al mondo. Ce ne sono tantissime altre, facili o difficili che siano, che ci piacciano o meno, e con le quali si può benissimo comunicare. Ecco, questa che uso adesso è una di quelle lingue che ti prende subito, che ti conquista con la sua melodia, allegria. Che ti porta inevitabilmente in un paese mediterraneo che è l'Italia, un paese straordinario per certi versi; un paese dove si mangia da dio, dove ci sono luoghi incantevoli che almeno una volta nella vita dovresti visitare. È un paese che porto sempre nel cuore, la mia seconda patria che dieci anni fa mi ha aperto le sue porte e mi ha accolto benissimo. In questo paese io sono cresciuta, ho trovato me stessa, ho imparato molte cose. Qui ho conosciuto tanta gente, ho trovato amicizie di quelle che durano per tutta la vita. Qui mi sono laureata, ben due volte, e proprio qui che ho iniziato a scrivere il mio primo libro, pubblicato l'anno scorso in Serbia. E in questo paese c'è una città circondata dalle montagne e dai laghi, una città che considerò mia e in cui vivo: la mia bellissima Trento. Potrei dirvi tante cose di questo paese, della sua gente, dei bei posti che vale la pena visitare, del cibo buonissimo che mi piace. Potrei, e di sicuro lo farò.. però non adesso! Alla prossima!

Step number two… Korak broj dva, malo ćemo da ćaskamo i na srpskom. Srpskom, hrvatskom, bosanskom.. Kako god da se jezik zvao, bitno je da se mi razumemo, iz koje god zemlje bivše Jugoslavije dolazili. Eto, ja sam najbolje snalazim baš na srpskom… maternji jezik, rećićete, šta je tu čudno. Istina, čovek se najbolje izražava kada govori sopstvenim jezikom..najlakše izražava sopstvena osećanja, sopstvene misli. Najlakše je igrati se rečima, a to je ono što najviše volim da radim, kada dobro poznaješ "teren", kada se osećaš kao kod "svoje kuće". Kada pišeš na svom jeziku možeš biti sve što poželiš, možeš biti ironičan, podrugljiv, veseo, tužan, besan, šta god ti padne na pamet! Možeš da pišeš o svemu i o svačemu! Dobro, možeš sve te stvari da radiš i na drugim jezicima, ako ih dobro poznaješ, naravno. Ali nije to isto. Eto, ja ću ubuduće, kad god osetim potrebu za tim, malo da se igram na srpskom. Kada? Uskoro, obećavam!

Step three.. Entonces, todo que dije antes en italiano y en serbo, vale para el español. Es una lengua que mi gusta mucho, que aprendí en universidad, pero hay mucho tiempo que no la uso. Hace algunos días, leyendo el blog de Hugo Accardi, he decidido que habría iniciado a comunicar más en esta lengua tan bella, tan melódica, tan hermosa. No sé si voy a lograr en esta misión imposible, pero voy a tentar. Es un modo para no olvidar una lengua, para practicarla y porque no para encontrar nuevos amigos. Hay tan países lejos, pero puedes encontrarlos comunicando; puedes conocer un país nuevo, su historia, su gente. Todo el mundo es cerca de ti. Basta querer encontrarlo. ¡Hasta pronto!

Step four .. Maintenant, je devrais écrire quelque chose en français. Pas facile. Il y a vraiment beaucoup de temps que je ne parle pas cette langue. En 2004, J'étais à Paris avec mon amie Zsuzsanna. C'était le plus belle période de ma vie ; un mois que je ne oublierai pas jamais. J'écriai déjà de cette expérience magnifique dans un de mes interventions en blog. Dès ces jours là passait de temps, les possibilités pour parler le français sont diminué. Mais, j'ai fait un promis à mon amie Ljiljana que habite en France : je devrais chercher de pratiquer le français et ça signifie que je devrais écrire ici, quelque fois pas toujours, en cette langue. Pas maintenant, d'accord, un autre jour peut –être. A bientôt !

Well, I think that's enough for now… Tomorrow is a new day, new story, and new… language !

I <3 Kraljevo

Dear diary,

It's a cold November day. One of those days that you would like to stay in, with a cup of warm tea, with your own thoughts. Thoughts about your own life, your family and friends, your past and present. You see thousands of pictures in front of your own eyes, pictures that speak about you, better or worst days you would like to remember or to forget. A sort of small, private movie that makes you sometimes laugh, some other time cry. Picture says more than thousands of words, somebody said once and that's probably true, so I chose my picture representing my thoughts, my private movie of this last week and a couple of days more. This picture.

One letter, one symbol, one name. Name of a town that I was born in and which was hit by the earthquake on 3^rd November. The same day when I was woken up by my dad's phone call that I will not forget as long as I live. "Last night there was an earthquake in Kraljevo", he told me while I was trying to realize what was happening. I turned on the TV and searched for the Serbian State channel. It was true, no mistake nor a nightmare, it was really happening. My town was destroyed and I was wandering what has happened with my flat, my building, people I grew up with who were still living there, my grandma' who luckily was living in another town with my aunt's family, but still nearby. There were a lot of questions in my mind with no clear answers. I felt fear, I felt sadness, I felt rage. Why that happened to my hometown? In my mind was still vivid a memory of Aquilla earthquake that made me so sad, as much, or even more, sad as I was in that moment. I tried to get in contact with my family and friends. Luckily they were all ok.. I was reading mails, messages, following news with so much sorrow. I was away from that town that I love still, no matter I have good and bad memories of it, and that made me upset. I couldn't do much to change things, except praying a lot and hoping that in my town will never again be such things as earthquakes. And now, when seems that everything is over, there are no smaller earthquakes anymore, I can't stop thinking of a place, people, streets that are so much connected to my past life. My roots still lay there and that's something I never forget. Something that will never change.

And yes, I do love Kraljevo, and in my hearth there is exactly this picture, this symbol that represents a town that will never give up. The town which will win this battle as always he does. And I am so proud that I was born there. Proud to be a girl from Kraljevo.

Family gatherings – I love it

Dear diary,

Here we are, face to face you and me. I know, it was time to wake up from this lethargy I was in for such a long period. My so-called life at the end was not that bad, maybe a bit boring but not that much, as I thought. The fact is that usually people, in this case me (I shouldn't speak for others), tend to be less productive when they don't feel well. As I mentioned few times, I really like writing, putting a part of myself on white paper (now on pc screen J ), that keeps me alive! But, due to the state of mind I was in, I forgot that incredible feeling. Important is that I realized that it was a huge mistake (you may sue me for abandoning you J ) and that I'm back in business again.

This summer has begun in such a nice way, we move into the new flat as I already said in previous post, and it was just the beginning of our new life, different and from some points of view, even better. The zone where our new apartment is located is really nice, calm, surrounded by parks and mountains, although a bit isolated from the city centre where we used to live before. Our neighbors seem to be quite pleasant and polite, although I sometimes (rarely though) feel the nostalgia for our former Brazilian, quite noisy, neighbors who were making parties almost every night. Living abroad is a bit different from living in your own State. In my building in Serbia, where I have lived for sixteen years (at the age of four we moved there and I was twenty when we came to Trento) I knew all my neighbors quite well, or almost, but people here are bit different. I won't say that they are cold (although I live in the north of Italy) because it's not nice speaking in that way of native citizens of your new (sort of) hometown, but I would rather say that they don't trust to the foreigners (even if for foreigner might be taken a native Italian from the south part of the country). Once you manage to gain their confidence, you may say that you have been accepted by the local community. However, we are still new in this zone, although we have some friends living nearby, and it will probably take time for making new friendships. In the meantime, we can rely on the old ones and on our relatives.

Speaking about relatives, this summer was signed by some family gatherings in our lovely Trento. Now, you may be confused, knowing that I am coming from Serbia and that all my relatives live there! Yes, that's quite true, there is no doubt about that. But, I have to disappoint you. I have even relatives here in Italy! I've known that my dad had a cousin here in Italy, who lives with his family in a small town called Capriano , which is near Brescia, but we met with them for the first time only this spring. My dad and my uncle lost contact years ago, and when my dad arrived to Italy in 2001, was not able to get in contact with him because the phone number he had was not in function anymore. Luckily, as often happens in lifetime, they got in touch again so, in May, we went to visit them. In that occasion I also met for the first time my cousins Andrea, the older one, and twins Nicola and Annamaria, and they paid us visit in summer. I was so glad to see them, although Andrea was missing because she had to work. I had so much fun that day, specially with Annamaria. Our families also had great time together and it was the day I will always remember.

In September we had guests from Serbia for the first time. My dad went there for a holiday and brought us my mum's sister Jela, my dear aunt, who stayed in for a week. It was really so nice having her around. Mum was on holiday too and was really happy because of her sister's visit. We all went a bit around Trento, in the mountains where our friend Gino has a restaurant, but also went out of town. We spent such a lovely day at the Garda lake, and we also did some shopping in Verona. Pity that my aunt had to go back that soon but we all hope that she would come to visit us again, maybe with my cousins. Luckily, I also saw my uncle who came with a friend to pick up my aunt who really doesn't like to travel alone.

It was really such a nice summer. I am only a bit sad because I had to stay at home because of my health problems, but a life is made of that: good and bad vibrations. Hopefully, the good-ones win the battle. Always, or almost always. And I will remember this summer not for the negative aspects of it, but mostly because of these two family gatherings that I love. God bless friends and family without whom our lives would have really no sense.

New house, New life!

Dear diary,

Long time no see! I know, I've been quite lazy. To be honest, these last months of my life were not of those that are worthwhile to be mentioned. Nothing special happened. Actually, that's not quite true. There is something. We moved to the new flat! Yes, I've almost forgot it. Apparently I forgot a lot of things that has happened recently but.. I'll do my best to relive in these days all those nice moments.

As I said, we moved in a new flat in July. We have been looking for this flat for long time, but probably it was not the right moment. By this summer, we were just not lucky enough, but finally our dream has come true. I don't want to remember those days when people used to insult me just because I'm a foreigner, before telling me that the flat I saw to be rented in the newspapers is not available any more. I was really happy when the woman who is the owner of our flat told me she didn't care about my family's nationality. I know when you have a lot of negative experiences, it's difficult to trust people but I will always be grateful to her for kindness and the way she treats us. Every time when she comes to take a rent, she brings us vegetables or fruits from her garden and it's like having a sort of grandma', specially because my grandma' lives far away, in Serbia. However, as I said, I don't want to look back, I want to look forward, so let me tell you few words about this our new "kingdom".

From the first instant I enter into this flat, I felt like I was at home. It was like there was some special connection between us and this house. We all felt something strange in the air, or as we say that this house was literally waiting for us. It is very similar to our flat in Serbia, except one small difference: there are two big balconies with a very nice view, and in Serbia we have just one and not that large. The flat has been already furnished but we added some our stuff. My mum likes decorating rooms and since she was not satisfied with the old furniture belonging to the owner, she made some changes. Luckily we were allowed to do so.

I like every room, but my favorite corner is my own "kingdom" in pink and violet, with my books, pictures and postcards. I like my room really so much that I spend the most of my time inside of it. I read books, listening to the music and writing, which is my soul food, if I may say so. Without writing I couldn't imagine my life anymore, although this passion for the literature contributed to the emotional crisis I've been passing through recently. But that is some other story.

New flat, new life! We are all so happy now, relaxed and glad that our search at the end was fruitful. Pity that the summer ended, I can't pass anymore my days at the balcony in a company of some good book. I shall wait for the spring I guess!

Déjà vu

Dear diary,

There`s been long time since I wrote you last time. I needed some time for myself, for my thoughts and decisions to be taken. Wish I could escape far, far away from here but I know that it will not solve any of my problems. Maybe I just need a holiday, a trip to somewhere in order to recharge batteries and start all over again.

Speaking about trips, these days I remembered one of my favorite trips and that inexplicable feeling that followed me since the plane landed at the Charles de Gaulle airport. It was September of 2004. In summer of that year Zsuzsanna and I decided to go to Paris to study French. We studied together at the time, at the University of Trieste, and we lived at the same dormitory in Gorizia. She was younger than me but we had a lot of things in common, included the crazy professor of French language De Gioia who pretended from his students to spend some time abroad, and inevitable we became close friends. After thinking a lot about our French destination, we opted for Paris where we founded a suitable language course at the Alliance Française. One of girls we knew who spent her Erasmus program in Paris suggested to us a nice dormitory near the Notre Damme Church, so after we got accepted there, everything was ready for the journey of our dreams. At least of my dreams because since we arrived there, Zsuzsanna was not that much thrilled about the city as I was from the very beginning.

I remember clearly as it was yesterday. I went to Milan quite early, as my flight was at 7:20 A.M. My dad took me at the airport by car as it was not possible to take a train that early in order to get there on time. A friend of my dad who was living in Paris and working as a taxi driver had to wait for me at the Paris airport. Zsuzsanna was already there as she took a night train from Venice. I was so excited that I was counting minutes to landing. I was trying to imagine how it would be my first meeting with that town that I was always thinking about as the place where I would live in one day but even in my wild dreams I would not have imagined that strange feeling of belonging.

The plane landed at 9 A.M. Bonjour Paris, here I am, I thought while I was going out. Inevitable I remembered Rastignac and his Paris, a character of Balzac's "Father Goriot", a guy from province who goes to live in a French capital. I was doing pretty much the same thing as my permanence in Paris was of one month. After taking my luggage I went out of the airport building hoping to see my dad's friend but there was no sign of him. Initially I got panicked but after a while I calmed down and called my dad back to Italy as I didn't have a phone number of this taxi driver I saw for the last time while I was a little girl and barely remembered how he looked like. Later on I found out that the guy was expecting me in the evening, as he thought I would have arrived at 9 P.M, so I had to take the other taxi. It was the right occasion for practicing my French for the first time. I found one free taxi at the front door so I gave the address of my dormitory to a driver and after few minutes we left the airport heading to the town. During the journey I was chatting with the driver who was trying to show me importing buildings and surroundings on our way.

Since the very beginning, I had a strange feeling. My heart was beating so fast as I was excited to be there but it was not all about that. One part of me was scared because I felt like I was going back home. Everything was so familiar to me and it was not because I saw it on the pictures. I heard about this feeling, people call it déjà vu, already seen. I don't know was it really my case, but every day I spent in Paris I felt the same thing. It was so strong, so scary but also at the same time quite pleasant. I traveled a lot, I visited other cities known before only on pictures, but the feeling was not the same. Never again. On my way back to Italy I was so sad. I started to cry as we were departing and I couldn't stop myself. I didn't want to leave and I promised to myself that I would go back. Unfortunately, I had no occasion to go back but one day I will. I strongly believe in that.

Happy Easter..Buona Pasqua.. Srećan Uskrs....

Dear diary,

I am very happy today. You will ask why? Simply. Today is one of my favourite Christian festivities: Easter! Ever since I was a child, I was a fan of this festivity. When I was a kid, I would get up first to choose the best egg and I still do it. My mum says that I am childish, although I am 30 years old, but Easter gives me a lot of joy. Still.

In Serbia we have a tradition of coloring eggs, decorating them and during three days of festivities each of us choose an egg and then we challenge each other in a sort of battle. And if you crash the egg of your adversary, you win! I lost once this morning, once I won. But the day is long, so we will see.

Today is also a Catholic Easter. This year we celebrate it together, Catholics and Ortodoxs. I am taking this occasion to send my greetings to all my friends, in Italy and Serbia.

Happy Easter! Buona Pasqua! Srećan Uskrs

1st April 1999 – The day I will never forget

Dear diary,

Last week there has been the 10^th anniversary since my country, which was called Yugoslavia at the time, was bombed for the first time on 24^th March, 1999 by NATO forces. The attacks on Yugoslavia, which consisted of two republics Serbia and Montenegro but one who was constantly attacked was Serbia, lasted from March 24 to June 11. Two and a half long months of my life which I will never forget.

You would like to ask me, I know, why I have to remember of it right now, this night. Simply, I feel a desperate need for it, in this moment. I am listening to Lena Katina, a Russian singer, and her sad song titled "Yugoslavia" and I can almost feel my tears of that horrible night, the most horrible of my life. The night of April fools I used to like so much when I was a kid, the worst joke of spring of 1999.

It happened eleven years ago but I still have a vivid memory in my mind. I was a high school student at the time, on my third year to be precise. I am originally from a town called Kraljevo, which is situated in western part of Serbia, in a region called Šumadija, but at age of 16 I moved in Sremski Karlovaci, at north, in Vojvodina. There was the oldest Serbian gymnasium, which became as time passed by the high school that specializes in foreign languages and literature. My biggest dream was to study English language and literature, so I opted for it after the elementary school, although I knew that it would not be easy to live far away from home, 270 km, and to see parents once or twice a month. My mum was so attached to me, as I was a unique child who had health problems since birth, but at the end she accepted my decision and in 1996 I moved to Vojvodina. Mean while, in 1998, in August, my mum went in Italy, in search of work because my studies were expensive, especially a rent of room, and in époque of NATO intervention she was living in Trento, where our family lives today.

At that time, I shared a flat, a room actually, with two other girls younger than me who were also students of our school, Ivana and Svetlana, still my dear friends. Svetlana was at the second year and Ivana was at the first. All of us were living far away from Sremski Karlovci, Ivana also in Serbia, in a town near mine, and Svetlana was living up at north, at Serbian - Hungarian border. On 24^th of March, my class was in the afternoon shift, as Ivana's as well, and Svetlana was the only one who had lessons in the morning. After her second lesson, she came at home. All of our professors were speaking about the NATO bombings among themselves trying not to make us panic but somehow the word of it got spread among students. She told us that a mum of her classmate was coming to pick them up, as they lived in the same town, and she tried to convince us to leave as well. She told me: "Come with me. In my town there are lot of Hungarians so probably it will not be bombed." I wish I could do that but I knew my dad would not approve it so I decided not to leave. To be honest, I did not want to believe such a thing, for me there were just rumors, nothing else. Svetlana left, we said good- bye to each other as we would never see each other again, and Ivana and I stayed alone with our landlady and her daughters.

When we heard the first planes, it was around 8:30 p.m. We were watching some Latino telenovela when we saw on the tv screen the notice about the bombings and my hometown was bombed among first because we had a military airport. I tried to call my dad but all lines were interrupted and it was impossible to call nor in town neither outside of it. I remember that I was in panic and that night I passed it awaken, with Ivana who was crying, we both cried. The sound of airplanes above us was unbearable so we tried to neutralize it by singing. We sang an old song called: "Samo da rata ne bude", I hope that there will be no war, while we were hugging each other. In the morning Ivana`s dad came to pick her up. I was still trying to get in contact with my dad but it was impossible. He asked me: "Would like to come with us to Serbia?" In Vojvodina a lot of people were saying that we were Serbians, as they saw each other as Vojvođani, people from Vojvodina. I was really touched when I heard those words. I would have given a fortune to leave with them but I stayed.

The following day I finally managed to speak with my dad who told me to wait for him patiently because it was impossible to buy petrol at the time and he didn't allow me to come home by bus because he was afraid. So, I waited for him one week. That day some relatives of my landlady, with small children, moved in from Novi Sad because their house was near a city refinery which was a target of bombs. It was quite difficult week. I had to get used to sound of sirens, which were quite frequent so we had to hide in basement. Meanwhile, some soldiers were transferred to our gymnasium and every day you could see them patrolling and warning people to pay attention and not to go out during curfew. On 31^st March, my dad phoned me to inform that on the morning of 1^st April he would come to pick me up.

That night I was so upset that I barely managed to sleep. It was almost morning when I heard screaming daughters of my landlady. "Get up, get up! Hurry up!" The ground under my feet was trembling. While I was descending the stairs, our room was on the second floor, they were moving! What was going on, I was asking myself? I remember I wanted to take of my slippers but Sandra, the oldest daughter, told me not to waste the time. When we were outside, the sky was full of bright colors and it was tuning so we went in the basement. After a while, light and water were cut and we were so scared. I was in shock. I remember I was saying some stupidities trying to calm myself. I never drank a Turkish coffee but that morning I had a desperate need of it. We were trying to understand what had happened but nobody new until our neighbor, who was working at the national tv station, came to inform us that the bridge of Varadin, which was connected Sremski Karlovci and Novi Sad was crushed. Actually it connected a suburb of Novi Sad called Petrovaradin, where is the famous fortress of the same name now popular abroad for its summer music festival called Exit, to town. We all were sad. I used to walk over that bridge when the weather was beautiful and it was one of my favorite town bridges. I was sad and quite angry because that foreign bastards ruined a piece of my memory. Later that day my dad arrived and I finally left Karlovci for going back to Kraljevo.

Couple days after, my mum came from Italy because she could not stand any more lies of RAI – the Italian Radio television. She warned us about the NATO intervention, airplanes were departing from a NATO base in Aviano, but we ignored it. After her arrival, we all moved to a village, at grandma' place, where we stayed until the end. The following year I moved to Italy too, and my dad joined us in 2001. Ironically, I moved to a country which bombed mine. But that is some other story.

Today is the first April 2010. Eleven years after. Who knows what will bring this April fools but this time I want to laugh loudly. I will not forget the past, neither I can do it, but I will continue to live with it. Probably today I would not be who I am without that past and I am grateful to Lord for that.

Good night my friends, where ever you are now! God bless you!

The long weekend in Friuli – Venezia Giulia

Dear diary,

There's been almost two weeks since my last post. No, it's not that I was lazy. You know that I like to write, to open my mind and share my precious thoughts with you, but these last days I was out of town for a long weekend from 19^th until 23^rd of this month. On my way back home, I discovered that my internet was cut by my provider, for no reason at all, and the clue of the day was that I got flu! So, there was no way that I could go out and argue with the lady at Vodafone's, moreover I had 38.2° so I postponed it for betters days. However, I had to prove to myself that I was not that addicted to web and that I could stay away from my social networks, mail, motivation letters to write, job preoccupations. All that useless stress that was killing me last weeks and months had disappeared and I could finally relax with my family, and to think about the marvelous long weekend I spent with my old friends.

On Thursday, 18^th March, late in the afternoon, I took a train from Trento to Bassano and I was heading to Gorizia. A lot of things changed since I was a regular passenger on that local or should I say regional train. Suddenly, a number of intermediate stops was increased and I was obliged to change a train three times. Yes, I could take a super fast train called "Frecciarossa", without all that changes, but a price difference was quite evident so I opted for a "poor" trip version which included a change of train in Bassano, first, then Castefranco Veneto, and at last in Treviso Centrale. Years ago, while I was still a student at the faculty of Diplomatic studies in Gorizia, I was taking the same regional train, but I had to change it only in Venice, from which there was a direct inter-regional train. However, apparently since then things were quite different, so I had to accept the new situation. On the train, I met a nice guy from Senegal, with whom I had a pleasant conversation in French and who was so kind to walk me to the other train because I was afraid of some unpleasant and quite impolite foreign guy who was staring at me all the time. The next track was Bassano – Castelfranco Veneto. I do not exaggerate, but I was completely alone in the compartment! It was an old train and my first thought was: "Am I on the train phantasm?" Every next stop I was expecting somebody to step in but my prayers were not heard. I tried to relax with some music of my mp3 player, but it was useless. Luckily, there was finally a Castelfranco Veneto stop and I was relieved. Then there was other train to be taken, which was going to Treviso but this time I was not alone. I managed to relax and after last change, at eight thirty p.m., I finally arrived to Gorizia, to that town at the Italian-Slovenian boarder where I studied for almost five years, and my friend Alessandra, who was graduating the following morning, and her boyfriend Marco were waiting for me at the station. I was so happy and quite excited because of return to "good old" Gorizia after one year. Last spring, university celebrated its anniversary so we all got reunited. Unfortunately, this time I was alone, girls were out of Italy and I was honored to represent our group of friends for this special occasion of Alessandra's graduation.

The following morning, Marco came to pick me up at Alessandra's flat where I was accommodated. While we were approaching the faculty's building, my heart was beating so fast. I was so excited at idea of going back to the "red" room where the ceremony was held. Alessandra was the first to have the graduation exam. Her thesis topic was quite interesting so professors wanted to ask her some questions and she answered them all with no hesitation. She was really great and I was so moved while I was listening to her and so proud. Obviously, she got the highest mark: 110 cum lode. After the exam, we all went outside where Marco and I put on the wall the papiro. I have to explain. In Italy, they have this tradition to write on a paper panel a long poem of your life, very funny one and containing some secrets from student's life usually unknown to family members. This time, since I was alone, and besides my handwriting is quite illegible, I decided to create a collage of pictures with thoughts and messages of our friends. They all help me a lot, and the rest was a part of my favorite pc program: picassa. I like to create this kind of things, especially for my friends in occasion of their birthdays, so I had quite fun while creating it. Alessandra liked it so much. She was visibly touched while reading it. She was happy and I was even more. The surprise was perfect I'd say!

After the graduation ceremony, we all went to Nino, a bar where we used to hang out, to celebrate. My only sorrow was because the girls, Fabiola , Clara and Francesca, were not with us, but at the end, even from abroad, they sent their love and greetings. I felt like a postman when I gave her postcards Fabiola and Francesca have sent from UK. In Italy there was a TV show, conducted by a famous Raffaela Carra, who was inviting a family members of her guest from abroad, who were living far away and were not in contact with a guest, and she would say: "And now, Francesca (an example) is here!" The show was called "Caramba che fortuna", "Caramba what a fortune", and somehow I felt like I was Raffaela. We stayed for a while at Nino's, and later on, in the evening, we went to Cormons for a dinner. For two days we were celebrating: Alessandra's family, Marco's family and the guest of honor: me. On Saturday we went to Grado, at the seaside where we had a long walk. In the evening Marco's mum Anna invited us for a dinner which was very delicious and I could not do othervise but asking for the recipe. One of these days I will make it for my mum. I hope to surprise her!

I spent the entire weekend in Gorizia and beside Alessandra, I managed to meet with other old friends like Simone, with whom I took a coffee on Sunday morning, but I was most excited when I met, after five long years, my African friends: Lydie and Edwige. They are now both married and have kids. Lydie is a mum of Paolo, who has five months and is really adorable. It was so nice holding him in my arms and playing with him. Lydie was so kind to invite me at lunch, so we had time to remember old days when we both lived at the Catholic student dormitory. Edwige also has a son, his name is Eddy Francesco, and she is pregnant again. Her son is very cute, we played for some time and tried to make some photos but it was practically impossible.

After a weekend, on Monday afternoon, I went to Trieste and I stayed there for two days at Denis' place. Denis is my Croatian girl friend, although she preferred to be called Istrian, as the region she lives in: Istria. We met ten years ago, at the entrance exam, and although we were from countries which were in war, we became quite good friends. Unfortunately, although she passed exam, she was not among people who were accepted so she transferred her to the other faculty in Trieste but we remained in contact and from time to time we were seeing each other. She lives in an old building, owned by a wife of some man from Istria too, which has all inhabitants originally from the Balkans. Every Monday, this guy organizes a multiethnic parties, with food and games. So, I had to go there with Denis and her twin sister Tea, and it was nice, I had quite of fan. The only negative thing was that it was raining all the time and we couldn't go out for a walk but we spoke a lot, listened to music and she showed me her latino fitness tape. Just like me, she gained some extra kilos, and with this latino fitness program, she is practicing every day. I liked it, so Denis made a copy of it for me and I already began to practice it at home. My mum likes it too, so every evening she joins me while doing exercises.

It was really a nice long weekend, full of memories that I will keep in my heart forever. There are some pictures so I made a collage. I hope you will like it.

Good night my friends, wherever you are!