#Nostalgia.

I don’t know whether it’s because I’m in the glorious middle phase of my PMS when I cry for no reason and eat for the same non-existent reason and wanna kick people’s asses as it was my right to, OR because I’m just way too tired and stressed out with everything this MA is making me do, but I am SO overwhelmed with feelings. Literally.

First and foremost, it’s been almost a year since I got back. It’s almost been a year since I cried my ass off because I was saying so many goodbyes all at once while at this amazing rooftop bar with breathtaking view over London. It’s been almost a year since that cruel expiry date brought me back to Italy. And as much as I try and say I moved on, we all kinda know I haven’t. And the pictures on my wall kind of  show that off. But anyway that is another story over which I will probably get even more emotional when the anniversary of departure actually comes.

Following, it’s been more than two years since I left Bologna. It was the 1st of June 2012. I still remember that weird feeling of emptiness and nostalgia I had while staring at my room, house and life all packed up. Thank God my mom was there helping me doing the hard work. My last week in Bologna was crazy, all those goodbyes and last chances I had to say and take.

For example, there was this guy I really liked and he liked me back, but we were all so stupid and timid to ask each other out. So I remember one night we randomly bumped into each other (again, for like the tenth time in two weeks) and there I knew, THAT was my chance to make things go the way I wanted them to. As soon as I got home and made up my mind I texted him that we should probably stop bumping into each other like that and purposely go out together; he agreed. We went on this super-weird date cause it was like should we pretend we’re new to each other or should we just finish what we started? Cause, you see, we had the longest history, like crushing on each other when we were 13 years old and on a vacation with our families and then meeting up again after 8 years. What destiny can do, huh? Anyway so we had this date and met up few other times before I left. I know it wasn’t much but hey, at least I found the courage to ask somebody out and BELIEVE ME that had never happened to me. I would say it was leaving Bologna that made me do it. That was me finally seizing the moment.

Also, I remember my last night in Bologna. I asked a friend out (not for dating purposes, just goodbyes) and spent this amazing night at our secret spot, a pub somewhere hidden in Bologna and talked books and music and life. I liked this guy so much, he was so different from the usual type you meet. I’ve always been extremely happy we randomly met on the streets months before. We almost got run over by some douche, I’d have killed him dumbass, and then got back home and said our goodbye. I went upstairs, I had said goodbye to everyone I knew. I walked into my house and saw nothing  but boxes all around. It felt like I got punched in my stomach, repeatedly: it hurt. Next morning I went out to do some Erasmus-related stuff then decided to take a walk. I walked all morning, my parents waiting for me to go home and leave, I walked past every spot, every shop, every street I knew and loved. I knew it wasn’t a definitive goodbye to the city, but it felt right to do so. And I miss Bologna too, everyday. Yes, I know I keep saying London is the love of my life, but Bologna was my first love, and you never forget your first love.

Finally, my 18 years old brother is on-the-way-to-graduation from high school. And Fifa World Cup is on. He’s taking what we call “maturità”. And it hit me: it’s been already four years since I took mine. Nevertheless, I still remember every single moment of those days, from the very last day at school and the water-battles to the exam and the tears of relief. All of the shouting when our team was playing and I was mad at everyone cause I was trying to study and needed silence and they were all so noisy. All of my crying cause I was stressed as fuck. Not to mention the absolutely non-sense trip to Paris exactly a month before exams started. It feels like an entire life has passed by in the meantime, which is probably true anyway.

So, wrapping up, for all these reasons, I’m getting nostalgic. Maybe it’s just because I have to move out from this house I’m staying as the contract ends in September and I have to find another place and it’ll be the sixth house I change and I was kind of really hoping I could stop moving every less-than-a-year. Maybe it’s because the more time passes by, the more I celebrate anniversaries of such sort of things as moving, graduating and all, the more I realize I’m growing up and need to understand what to do with my life for real. Or maybe it’s just PMS making oh-so-much-fun of me. Either way, I think I need to go on holiday. NOW.

#Will you be my Valentine?

*ENGLISH SPEAKERS KEEP READING*

LONDON – 14TH of February 2013. Premesso che non sono esattamente una fan della festa in sè e che di solito questa giornata la vedo esclusivamente come il compleanno del mio papy, quest’anno ho deciso di ribellarmi alla convenzione del solo-le-coppie-festeggiano-San-Valentino e quindi festeggiarlo. Con dolci e adorabili cupcakes, brunch che ti riempiono fino a esplodere, giri in negozi un po’ come dire audaci (dove ho peraltro trovato articoli che voi altri non potreste nemmeno immaginare…io personalmente prima non li immaginavo, ora probabilmente ci avrò gli incubi).

Ad ogni modo, dicevo che mi sono dedicata alla pasticceria. In preda a un’ispirazione romantico-culinaria sono stata fino all’1.30 am (ok devo ammettere però che ho cominciato tardi) a preparare adorabili cupcakes dell’amore. Non abbiamo avuto un rapporto facile: ho litigato con l’impasto che è cresciuto più di quanto mi aspettassi; ho litigato con la glassa che non usciva come doveva venire. L’unica cosa con cui non avrei dovuto litigare era l’icing ready-to-roll, ma s’è attaccato al mattarello mentre lo stendevo quindi decisamente ho litigato pure con lui. Insomma dopo un’ora e passa di litigi in cucina i cupcakes sono riusciti. Sono adorabili, sono belli (per essere la mia prima volta con il writing-icing me la sono cavata egregiamente direi) e sono pure buoni: un perfetto matrimonio di vaniglia e delicata glassa al limone. Ah l’amour! ❤

Lo step successivo è stato il brunch di San Valentino, per il quale ho avuto la preziosa collaborazione di un amico, innamorato del cibo come me. Sì, noi San Valentino l’abbiamo passato con l’oggetto del nostro amore…il CIBO! Dopo un’accurata selezione portata avanti per una decina di giorni abbiamo trovato The Breakfast Club (N.B. thebreakfastclubcafes.com io fossi in voi c’andrei) che mi ha conquistato già dal menù online con la proposta “The All-American” un meraviglioso connubio di cibi che uno normalmente a colazione non mangia (esclusi i pancakes, quelli vanno mangiati a qualsiasi ora del giorno e della notte). Ma del menù parlerò dopo. Comunque la questione è questa: arriviamo e fuori al locale c’è una fila con 8 persone (inutile dire che si tratta di amoreggianti coppiette). Tempo 10 minuti siamo circondati, un’altra decina di persone s’è unita alla fila (anche in questo caso inutile specificare la disposizione delle persone). Sono ovunque. Amore da tutte le parti. Mi sono sentita improvvisamente pervasa da un tasso di smielatezza per me inusuale. Il top poi è stato essere seduti a un tavolo per 4 con una coppia di sconosciuti di fianco. Momento EPICO del brunch. Ma ero con il mio The All-American quindi chissenefrega. Curiosi di sapere cos’è questo mio nuovo amore? Ebbene si tratta di un sontuoso trionfo di steaky-bacon accompagnato da home-style fried potatoes, scrambled eggs, sausage e pancakes con sciroppo d’acero. E ovviamente c’aggiungi anche i French Toasts altrimenti manca qualcosa all’apporto calorico pari a circa 10000 calorie.

Il brunch si è concluso due ore fa, ho fatto una passeggiata per Oxford Street, ho cercato qualcosa di rosso per la festa di stasera (sì, vado a una festa di San Valentino, non lo voglio manco immaginare che mi aspetta), sono entrata in audaci negozi con articoli di dubbio gusto, e tuttavia mi sento ancora uno Snorlax in letargo che deve decidere da che lato iniziare a rotolare.

Il prossimo step di questa giornata di festeggiamenti è una festa di San Valentino, per la quale consigliano di indossare qualcosa di rosso. Col cavolo! Io mi vesto di nero e mi ribello pure a questo rosso=amore=colore di San Valentino (disse colei che aveva comprato l’icing rosso apposta…). No, in realtà non ho trovato nulla di rosso e con tutto quello che ho mangiato al brunch mi sentirei probabilmente attraente come il Gabibbo.

Il bilancio di questo San Valentino è per ora estremamente positivo (sto rotolando ok, ma il cibo era ottimo) e se anche le coppie lo vivono così come me lo sto godendo io oggi posso capire perchè si ostinano a festeggiarlo ogni anno. Potrei continuare a festeggiarlo anch’io. L’importante è avere amici con cui condividere lauti e poco salutari pasti, voglia e pazienza di fare e decoare cupcakes (o qualunque altro dolce vi venga in mente). E passeggiare, non curanti della smielatezza che vi circonda. O magari anche no, curatevene e lasciatevi pervadere dall’amore. Festeggiate San Valentino come il giorno dell’amore per voi stessi.

Quindi non resta che chiedersi Will you be my Valentine? Hell yes, I will!

 English speakers’ section

Even though I am not exactly the biggest fan of Valentine’s Day, and the only thing I usually celebrate on the 14th of February is my dad’s birthday, I have decided to go against the Valentine’s-Day-is-for-couples-only commonplace and celebrate. With sweet and lovely Valentine’s cupcakes and an amazingly satisfying brunch.

Anyway yes first step towards the BEST Valentine’s Day ever was bakery. Extraordinarily inspired by some random romantic/feel-like-baking feeling I have been up till 1.30 am (to be honest I started at midnight, so I didn’t spend much time doing that, but anyway, that’s not the point) baking these adorable Valentine’s cupcakes. It wasn’t easy. I sort of argued with the dough, which raised much more than what it was supposed to. I kinda like argued with the frosting, which didn’t really wanna co-operate and was playing hard to get. The only thing I shouldn’t have been having problems with was supposed to be the ready-to-roll icing, but I managed to make it stick to the rolling pin so we definitely didn’t get along very well. Anyway it took long, it was a long way to happiness but I made it. They’re adorable, they’re nice-looking (I have been great with my-very-first-time-with-the-writing-icing I must say lol) and they also taste amazing: the perfect balance between vanilla and delicate lemon frosting. Ah l’amour! ❤

Next step in this awesome Valentine’s Day was THE brunch. This friend of mine and I decided to spend Valentine’s Day celebrating our biggest love: FOOD. And so we did. After 10 days of hard work and researches we found this The Breakfast Club (N.B. thebreakfastclubcafes.com, I would visit it if I were you) with whom I fell in love thanks to this “The All-American” thing. The perfect mix of great foods normal human beings shouldn’t be eating for breakfast (not pancakes of course, those are to be eaten every time you feel like eating them). But anyway, we get there and…love was all around. Couples in front of us, behind us. We were surrounded. I felt like love was taking over me and I was just like in love with the life, and the sun, and this city. EPIC moment was to be seating next to a random couple at a four-people-table. I was with my lovely The All-America so I didn’t really care much: steaky-bacon with home-style fried potatoes, scrambled eggs, sausage and pancakes and maple syrup. And of course french toasts, essential part of a good English breakfast.

Brunch was over like 2 hours ago or something, I have been walking around Oxford Street, I have been looking for something red to wear tonight (yeah, Valentine’s party…I am afraid already). I have looked around in let’s say particularly audacious shops. But still, I feel like a sleeping Snorlax uncertain whether to roll on his left or right side.

Final step will be a Valentine’s party tonight. Suggested outfit: wear something red. Hell no I won’t! I will wear something black and stop this stupid red=love=Valentine’s Day relation (says the idiot that bought red icing because of the Valentine’s cupcakes). Truth is I didn’t find anything red so I’ll just stick to sexy-slimming-old black.

Valentine’s Day is looking great so far (okay, I am rolling like a fat seal on the ice BUT it was worth it, food was great). So if every each one of the couples celebrating out there enjoys this day as much as I am doing now, I could almost say I get them. Great (and unhealthy) food. Being around good friends. Great excuses to bake some more lovely cupcakes (or whatever sweet thing comes up to your mind). And walk, careless of the highly-loving air around you. And let love seize you. Celebrate Valentine’s Day as the day of love towards your true self.

So…Will you be my Valentine? Hell yes, I will! 

#Goodbye

Goodbye. I’ve come to realize that goodbye is the second most frequent thing you learn to say on Erasmus. First one is a smiley hello followed by a straight “I think we never met each other right? I am X by the way…”. God, it’s impressive how easy it gets to make new friends. I mean not even in kindergarten things are this easy. You just grab someone and introduce yourself. Easy as that. And you don’t even realize you’ve been talking for hours like you’ve known each other for like a lifetime?

But, as I said, that’s not the only most-frequent thing you learn on Erasmus. There’s hello, but then, here it comes…the goodbye part. Which honestly, purely kills me.

I hate goodbyes. I really do. I mean I hate that sad feeling they leave inside. I hate that “I-have-no-idea-whether-I-am-gonna-see-you-ever-again-so-please-hug-me-and-don’t-leave-me-until-I-cannot-stand-the-very-sight-of-you” feeling. I hate feeling close to someone and then just loose it. Just like that. All of a sudden he’s/she’s gone. And who knows if you’re ever gonna see him/her again.

Problem is being on Erasmus amplifies every feeling. The idea that everything is so fast and it’s gonna come to an end sooner or later, pushes people into living every relationship at its fullest. You just meet someone new and you don’t wanna miss a thing. You just wanna know everything. Not thinking about the consequences. Regardless that the goodbye is gonna be even more devastating.

And then, well I am a mess of a person. I get depressed even on holiday, after a week or so I’ve been knowing someone. I hate not being the first to leave. Because I really, truly HATE saying that sort of goodbye which is never just a goodbye. It’s always like “I’ll see you again, I’ll talk to you”. No you won’t. And I won’t. Maybe we will at first, but we’ll loose each other.

I’ve been told once by a friend that you always meet a person twice in your life. Great! But what if twice is not enough? What if after the second time you don’t wanna say goodbye again? What if the second time only gives you more things to miss?

I guess I’ll just have to get used to it. In the meantime, I’ll keep saying “Goodbye and see you soon” to those who are leaving, hoping the second time will come. 

#FUCK IT AND MOVE TO LONDON – UK

Woke up in London yesterday. Found myself in the city near Piccadilly. Don’t really know how I got here. I got some pictures on my phone.

New names and numbers that I don’t know. Address to places like Abbey Road. Day turns to night, night turns to whatever we want. We’re young enough to say

Oh, this has gotta be the good life. This has gotta be the good life. This could really be a good life, good life. I say, “Oh, got this feeling that you can’t fight”. Like this city is on fire tonight. This could really be a good life, a good, good life.

LONDON. Hell yes, I’m in London! It’s been two months now. Probably the most intense months of my entire life. I can’t even tell whether they’ve passed by like super fast or it’s taking a life time for days to go by. I have met great people. I have lived the weirdest situations. And I fell in love. Yes, I fell in love. With this city. With its streets. Even with its public transports. I thought Bologna would have been the great love of my life, but London, London is at a whole other level.

London kidnapped me on the 20th of September, 2012. And it’s slowly freeing me up again. Giving me back pieces of me I forgot I had. I am outgoing. I am talkative. I am unbelievably confident. I gained such high rates of self-confidence I am impressed. And the funniest part is that whenever I say I’m actually a really very shy person, people start laughing, thinking I am genuinely making fun of them. Well, actually if someone told me about this outgoing, smiley,  super-active girl a few years ago I would have probably had the same reaction. Guess time and experiences help people grow up…

Anyway, I was talking about London. London is huge. Going out in this city (considering the middle-of-nowhere place where I ended up living) is a continuous trip. Underground, overground, national rail services, DLR, bus, etcetera etcetera… Plenty of choices and each one of them perfectly functioning. Constant engineering interventions, constant provision on alternatives in case your usual means of transports are fucked up and closed for a weekend intervention (yes, weekend; cause they won’t touch transports during the week to let you go wherever you need to go). The shortest “trip” I ehm let’s say enjoyed took me 35 minutes, THIRTY-FIVE! And I was lucky too…

Problem is I live in the middle of nowhere. A quite, nice neighborhood in zone 3, South-East: Forest Hill. Why? Well, I didn’t have much choices. Either that or a comfy accommodation  under a bridge. After all the house is adorable, there’s a lovely living room in which I usually spend my super-busy study days (like today, only I’m wasting time blogging instead…), a huge kitchen all furbished with everything I need to bake once in a while, and a lovely little garden in the back, which would be great if only penguins weren’t around and rain wasn’t a constant element of this city. My room is basically a closet, but in the end, I’m getting used to it.

As I said, these have been the two most-intense months of my life. And time has been passing by sooo weirdly. The more I think about it, the less I understand how my time-passing perception is working. October was long, marked by events with surgical precision. November has gone by in an instant. The only day I remember is my birthday, which is weird cause that is probably the only day I wasn’t properly sober in November. Oh and an afternoon, one of the longest afternoons of my entire life. Then? I have no idea. I can’t connect the dots. I have no memories, everything else is blurry. Out of 30 days I probably remember two, let’s say three days (yeah I don’t think I’ll ever forget my very-first-two-essays-submission). It’s like Halloween and the 1st of December were linked by one night. November was as long as a night. And it’s December already! And it’s cold. Below-zero temperatures. And ice on top of cars at night and early morning. And it’s passing by so fast already. So many people leaving. People that you’ve known for three days and it feels like they’re your lifetime neighbors [as a guy dressed-up-as-life-giving-out-lemons once told me]. People who are easy to talk to. People that no matter how crappy is the place you’re at, are gonna make it worth it.

I can’t really say what these two months have felt like. It doesn’t matter though. After all, I still have a year to find out…

#FUCK IT AND MOVE TO LONDON

Woke up in London yesterday. Found myself in the city near Piccadilly. Don’t really know how I got here. I got some pictures on my phone.

New names and numbers that I don’t know. Address to places like Abbey Road. Day turns to night, night turns to whatever we want. We’re young enough to say

Oh, this has gotta be the good life. This has gotta be the good life. This could really be a good life, good life. I say, “Oh, got this feeling that you can’t fight”. Like this city is on fire tonight. This could really be a good life, a good, good life.

LONDON. Hell yes, I’m in London! Sono qui da due mesi. I mesi più intensi della mia vita probabilmente. Non riesco nemmeno a capire se sono volati o stanno durando un’eternità. Ho conosciuto gente fantastica. Ho vissuto situazioni assurde. E mi sono innamorata. Sì, mi sono innamorata. Di questa città. Delle sue strade. Dei suoi trasporti pubblici daily and by night. Pensavo che Bologna sarebbe stata il grande amore della mia vita, ma Londra, Londra è un altro mondo.

Londra mi ha preso il 20 settembre 2012 e mi sta piano piano restituendo a me stessa. Sta tirando fuori pezzi di me che avevo dimenticato di avere. Sono estroversa. Sono logorroica. Sono, udite udite, sicura di me. Ho raggiunto un livello di sicurezza che ritenevo assolutamente improponibile. E la parte divertente è che chiunque mi abbia conosciuto, al mio “In realtà sono molto timida” è scoppiato nella risata più fragorosa possibile e ha ritenuto che lo stessi candidamente, palesemente prendendo per il culo. In effetti se un paio d’anni fa m’avessero parlato di questa estroversa, sorridente, super-intraprendente me, non c’avrei creduto manco per sbaglio. E invece…

Ma si parlava di Londra. Di me ho parlato pure troppo. Dunque. Londra è immensa. Spostarsi in questa città (considerato il luogo dimenticato da Dio in cui ho il “piacere” di risiedere) è un costante viaggio. Underground, overground, national rail services, DLR, bus e chi più ne ha più ne metta. La scelta è ampia. Ma tutto funziona alla grande. Costante manutenzione e costante provvigione di mezzi alternativi se la tua tratta per qualche motivo è fucked up dalla manutenzione. La tratta più breve mai percorsa è comunque durata ben 35 minuti (e m’è andata di lusso). La questione è perchè sono andata a buttarmi a Forest Hill, South-East, Zone 3. NON avevo alternative. O bere o affogare. Bevi e te lo fai andare a genio. E dopotutto la casa è adorabile, c’è un bel salotto abitabilissimo del quale mi approprio nei giorni di studio intenso (tipo oggi, anche se lo sto passando ad aggiornare il blog), una meravigliosa cucina dotata di tutti i comfort per pasticciare come piace a me e diventare una fornaia coi fiocchi di tanto in tanto, un simpatico giardinetto che se non ci fossero i pinguini e non piovesse quasi un giorno sì e l’altro pure potrebbe dare tante soddisfazioni. La mia stanza è praticamente uno stanzino, ma dopo i primi attimi di panico dopotutto mi ci sono abituata.

Dicevo anche che sono stati due mesi intensi. Che il tempo scorre strano. Più ci penso e meno capisco come funziona la mia percezione del tempo. Ottobre è stato lento, scandito, scadenzato con chirurgica precisione quasi. Novembre è volato. L’unico giorno che ricordo davvero è il mio compleanno. Ed è strano perchè non ero propriamente sobria. Ah, e anche uno dei pomeriggi più lunghi della mia vita. E per il resto? Boh. Non ricordo. Non riesco a connettere i neuroni. La memoria vacilla, è tutto sfocato. Novembre è volato e di 30 giorni ne ricordo solo due, facciamo tre, che ricordo pure il giorno in cui ho consegnato i primi due essays della mia vita. Per me è come se da Halloween al 1 dicembre in realtà fosse passata una notte. Novembre è durato una notte. E dicembre è già qui. Con il freddo. E il termometro che va sotto lo 0. E il ghiacchio sulle macchine nel cuore della notte e a prima mattina. E sta volando. Già lo sento volare. Dicembre. Vanno via così tante persone. Persone che conosci da tre giorni e sembra siate “vicini di casa” da tutta una vita [cit. un tipo travestito da vita che offre limoni].  Persone con cui è facile stare, con cui viene semplicemente naturale passare il proprio tempo. Persone che ti portano in clubs orrendi e alla fine ti fanno ridere comunque.

Dunque, un bilancio di questi mesi londinesi non lo posso ancora fare. Ma ci sto lavorando. Dopotutto ho ancora un anno che mi attende.