Lucilleidi

And so it happens. Lost in the hamletic question of “writing in English or in Italian” I end up with a blank page that helps nobody.  I’m afraid that during these long spring months I’ll switch from Italian into English almost as often as my mind does. Because, I’m sorry, it’ s too early for a bilingual website. Perhaps I should seriously think about it, as serious actresses do, but at the moment I’ve a long “to do” list, waiting for me right behind the corner of this sunny, incredible Monday.

I fly to Italy and fly back to England. I don’t know where I am and sitting in a cafe in Milan I say “yes, you know, because here in London” and most of the time I don’t even realize if I say sorry instead of scusi. That, honestly, doesn’t matter, because the subject of my bilingual apologizes will anyway not believe I’m sincere. Up an down in Milano, with a warm unbelievable sun that was exactly waiting for me. Up and down in Milan, the market in Viale Papiniano, the vintage shops on the Navigli, the awesome pizza in Spontini and everything seems suddenly exotic.
Up and down in Milano, the Navigli remember me all the time spent here ten years ago, when all around was full of squats and with my  two Papini we used to go to the little squat in the corner and buy organic bread with seeds and happyness. And the long long walks that we used to do alongside the canal, looking for nothing in the vintage stoles and loosing hours in the second hand bookshop. We used to look at people and just stay there, in the little streets, too poor to have an aperitif but too full of life to go back home.
And I suddenly remember the little beautiful house that we shared, how it was, how we were living there in peace and continuous  surprise.

But school is already waiting for me and I may write more tonight or tomorrow or when this life decides it ’s time to write again.

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