OK, Confession Time

This is for Sparsely Kate/Mel: I hope what I’m going to say will be of some comfort to you, my friend.

I have been in a very similar situation as you found yourself in with your daughter, when I was 8 (I just realised how very eventful a year that one was for me!). I was the perpetrator, of course.

I don’t remember exactly the lead-up to the idea of stealing, I just remember my childhood friend Cristina, her brother Luigino and I sitting on their balcony and plotting to steal a bottle of perfume for our Barbie dolls, the next time we would go to Standa (a famous Italian supermarket, equivalent to K-Mart or Target, but they also have a food department).

In my defence, I can only say that the idea never came from me, that I remember clearly: it was Cristina that suggested it. I was never taught by my parents that stealing was right, quite the opposite, whereas I am pretty sure that Cristina and Luigino must have learned that from their mother (my mother told me years later that Marisa, Cristina’s mother, actually had a habit of doing just that).

Anyway, the day came when we all went to Standa with Marisa. We children went around the aisles until we found the perfume department with all those pretty little bottles.
I wish I could say that I was shitting my pants the whole time, but truth is I don’t remember how I felt, then. I knew what I was doing was wrong, but I don’t remember if I felt excited, scared, or ashamed. I don’t think I felt smug about it, though.
I picked up one of the bottles and held it tight to my chest, stealing glances at it every now and then (quite the cunning, nonchalant, dissimulating thief I was! Right.). Cristina and Luigino had got their bottles, too, but I think they must have put them back down, because when we got to the counter, I was the only one who was caught red-handed, when the lady asked if Marisa was also paying for what I was holding to my chest.

I wonder to this day that I did not have a heart attack, right there and then. But it was certainly then that I did start to feel it, the sudden, overwhelming shame.

I don’t remember much after that, I don’t remember if the perfume bottle was taken from me or if I gave it back of my own free will. I don’t remember the way home, except for Marisa repeating all along how I should be ashamed of myself (of course Marisa never got to know that her own daughter was the mastermind behind all this, and that she and Luigino were as guilty as I was at least, because I never said a word about them). There was no need for that, because I do remember how indeed ashamed I was and the fear of what my parents would say… or do. I thought that since I had not died on the spot, my parents would make sure to put a remedy to that.
So, when we got home, Marisa told everything to my mum. And there were other people present.

What hurt me the most was that, irony of all ironies, and shame of all shames, Cristina’s mother got to be the self-righteous, outraged parent, while my mother, who has always been a pillar of integrity, got to be the ashamed one, the one who had failed at teaching me values, exposed in front of other people, too.

My mother told my father and I waited for the sword to fall on my head, but they never laid a hand on me to punish me for what I did. They just stressed how disappointed they were in me and that I had hurt them very much.

That was enough for me. I never did it again, did not even ever think in my wildest dreams of doing it again. And to this day I haven’t. It turns out that my parents did indeed do a good job with me (even if I say so myself!), as I do like what I have become: an honest person, for whom integrity and ethics are the most important things. Certainly, that episode was a good lesson to be learned.

So, I think you have done a great job with your daughter, in that occasion: make her face the consequences of her actions was the best thing you could ever do. I am sure she will learn the lesson, as I did, and she will grow up to be an honest, trustworthy young lady. Chin up.

And here’s some more Rob for you. He will make it all better ;)!

I Have Discovered "Memes"

OK, I'll bite and steal this "meme" from Sparsely Kate (thanks!), who stole it from Judd .

So, here goes:

1. What is your current obsession?
The delightful Mr Robert Pattinson... he is just so... *hangs head in shame, speechless*

2. What’s a good coffee place?
Coffee makes my hands shake. Better chocolate, so Max Brenner in Sydney, Cesare's in Pavia, Italy, the best hot chocolate ever: so thick your spoon stands up straight in it. To die for (and one of the few things I miss).

3. Who was the last person that you hugged?
My friend Annette, who is in a really bad spot at the moment and I am very, very worried about her.

4. Do you nap a lot?
Not as much as I should.

5. Tonight, what’s for dinner?
Forgot to take a steak out of the freezer, of course, so... leftover dips from my night in with Annette, yesterday? Can't be bothered to cook... OK, OK, if I can work up the mood, maybe a cheese-and-bacon risotto.

6. What was the last thing that you bought?
Internet: Little Ashes (pre-ordered, does that count?); Real Life: sushi for lunch, at Sushiroll, Eastgardens, after watching Inkheart at Hoyts.

7. What is your favorite weather?
Sunny, maybe some nice-looking clouds to spice up the sky.

8. Tell us something about one blogger who you think will play this week?
Can I have another question? The only blogger I know has already played (see at the top of this post).

9. If you were given a free house that was full furnished, where in the world would you like it to be?
No brainer: Sydney, Australia. When do I get the keys :D?

10. Name three things that you could not live without.
My family/friends, my sanity, reading.

11. What would you like in your hands right now?
I better not say, lest I sound horribly pathetic (but see Question 1 for a hint).

12. What’s one of your guilty pleasures?
See Question 1. I know, I sound single-minded on top of horribly pathetic, but what kind of obsession would it be, otherwise?

13. What would you change or eliminate about yourself?
Change: my nose and legs. Eliminate: hair, from my neck down.

14. As a child, what type of career did you want?
When I was 8 I wanted to be an egyptologist.

15. What are you missing right now?
A companion (boyfriend is too big a word).

16. What are you currently reading?
Inkheart by Cornelia Kunze and Charles Dickens's David Copperfield.

17. What do you fear the most?
Losing my sanity. Too late? Haha. Hilarious.

18. What’s the best movie that you’ve seen recently?
Comedy: The Boat That Rocked. Drama/Thriller: The Uninvited.

19. What’s your favorite book from the past year?
The Twilight Series, what else?

20. Is there a comfort food from your childhood that you still enjoy?
Never had comfort food as a child, that I can remember. I think my comfort food now is sushi.

See No Evil, Hear No Evil

Well, well, well… whaddya know… I am always amazed when I realise how blinded I am by my feelings about people, sometimes. I just can’t see any wrong-doing in them, until it’s so blatant that it smacks me right in the face. And then, there is no denying it. And there is no coming back.

So, I went to Naomi’s place, last Wednesday, to confront her about what happened on New Year’s Eve. Of course, it didn’t go according to my plan to be calm and collected. Of course, there was screaming and crying (I cry when I get emotional, whether it’s for positive or negative reasons), but the gist of it is that Naomi rejected any responsibility, did not provide any apology whatsoever and proceeded in manipulating events and facts to her own advantage, trying to shift the focus from her behaviour to me, my principles and how I lead my life. Trying to dump what happened on my shoulders, saying it was my problem that I was hurt, not hers, that I shouldn’t have been hurt in the first place. Sure, if I hadn’t given a damn about her, I wouldn’t have been so hurt. She said she felt under pressure from me. Yes because, you see, unlike her (not!), I have this overbearing presence and there’s no way she could have freely expressed her opinion with me. Right. For the record, I don’t recall any instance when she has refrained to express her views with me. The interesting thing is that this is the kind of stuff she said of another friend she had and that she lost, Robyn.
She said I treated her like she was my boyfriend. When I retorted that I treated her like she was part of my family, she said that was exactly the problem.

Ah. Too bad that over the last three hears, she, not I, was the one who would tell to anyone who would listen how we were like family, how we were like sisters. So: as long as I pay for her, as long as I’m there to pick up her pieces, then I am family. As soon as it is time to show some consideration, or even simple manners and respect, then I am not deserving of that, as I am not family. A little too convenient, I reckon.

And that’s when I stopped arguing, because what was the point? I took note of what she had just said and understood that there was nothing I could say or do to make her see. So I sat back and watched her. I really watched her. And I saw everything. How she was bending everything that has happened in the three years of our friendship to justify herself. How she was trying time and again to make me feel bad, like I was at fault, like I had to change. How in denial of herself she is. She said that she has always felt forced to fit my “narrow paths” and that I should see a counsellor. She said she was free and I was in a cage. Yes, she is free to spiral down in a pit of alcohol, destitution and lack of self-respect, jumping from one stranger to the next, exposing herself to all sorts of diseases, alienating anything and anyone good that happens in her life, because she is an artiste, you see, and she’d rather starve than give up wine and cigarettes, or roll her sleeves up and do what’s necessary to support herself like everybody else. She can keep that “freedom”.

I could have been really nasty to her, throwing all that to her face, telling her what her other so-called “close friend” says about her behind her back, the mildest word being “slut”. Making her see the shackles she has forged for her hands and feet, made of booze, constant dependence from other people for her own daily survival, and need of any man’s attention to feel validated. It would have been so easy… but why should I have done that? She is already on the brink of an abyss, daily destroying her life with her own hands, I certainly will not be the one who pushes her over the edge.

Some may argue that what happened on New Year’s Eve is not enough to break a friendship over… and, true, that specific case is not… but truth is that it’s been piling up since the beginning. It’s not the first time she has behaved like that, but I was blinded, as I said, and didn’t consciously make the connection (I probably did connect the two things subconsciously, or I wouldn’t have been so hurt, I guess), I own that as my mistake…

The irony is that she brought it up again herself, to corroborate her position… I had completely forgotten about it! The very first time it happened, when I was only newly come from Italy and did not have my bearings very well, yet. We went out to a hotel… and she disappeared to follow a guy she liked to another hotel, leaving me there on my own with people I did not know, did not understand very well, in a place I was not familiar with, not knowing where she had gone to or how to get there. I finally managed to find her again, only because I was lucky enough that one of my neighbours happened to work as a bouncer at that first hotel and he could direct me to where she had probably gone, but not before I was completely distressed and disoriented.

She has no understanding of the fact that looking out for each other is what friends do. That you cannot drop friends like that and then expect them to be there for you again, when you need them. That is why she has never had any real female close friends before me, why she has lost my friendship now, and why she probably won’t have any close female friends in the future.
Now I can see the pattern, and certainly I don’t want to expose myself to it again, as it is bound to happen again, since she doesn’t see how her behaviour is utterly disrespectful, uncaring, and unacceptable.

So I’ll just pull out and since she feels she doesn’t owe me an apology, I don’t feel I owe her an explanation for doing so.
I don’t know… maybe we are both blinded, me by my feelings, she by her denial. At least, I occasionally get to see… but I’m not sure how good that is, as the pain is certainly excruciating. However, I’ve been through worse and come out to the other side, stronger. This is like fresh water on my skin, in comparison.

One thing I have finally understood and must commit to memory for future reference: I must learn to really observe people’s behaviour, unbiased by my affection for them, to hear what they are really saying behind their words, be detached enough to distinguish between the façade and what’s behind the curtains… and see when they match and when they don’t. Especially when they don’t.

Anno Nuovo, Vita Nuova

...which in Italian means "New Year, New Life"... it's amazing how things you thought of as "established" can change in a matter of seconds: a word not said, a moment of carelessness is enough to irreparably end a three-year friendship.

OK, a bit of background, I can just imagine the puzzled look on your face. First of all, who am I? Basically... nobody! I guess I am someone for my now globe-scattered family... and in my own mind, but outside that I am virtually invisible, and I don't mind. Why, then, start a blog? I reckon it's my need, sometimes, to just throw thoughts into the Universe, in the hope to make sense out of them, clear my mind, analyse options and possibilities.

My life so far has been eventful… in bouts. I was born in Italy, happy childhood, loving family. Can’t complain, really. Loved going to school.

Then, between age 11 and 21 things have started going downhill for a while. My father got sick, we didn’t know what it was. He went through a plethora of examinations and tests and nothing would come up.

In between all this, at age 16 I decided two things: that I would become a translator and that I would move to Australia.

Finally, it turned out that my father’s illness was all in his head: he was affected by paranoid schizophrenia.
He jumped from the building where he was working, eight months after my cousin, aged 20, had died of a hepatitis-A-infected blood transfusion (and that was what had actually already killed my father, way before he hit the pavement head first).

I was angry for many years, but I think I got over it, eventually. I came to the conclusion that it was not his fault. Actually, I believe it was not really my father who jumped from the top of that building. It was a completely different person, because he was not himself. Therefore, it had to be someone else. Maybe, if I repeat it to myself another gazillion times, I will really convince myself... OK, sometimes I still have some spurts of bitterness... so there.

Anyway, just after my father’s death, I got my diploma as a translator: goal number one was achieved.
A few years of glum, suffering, struggling ensued. My life on hold, working, working, working to help Mum (and I don't regret it or am complaining about it).

It was a trip to America that saved me, I think. At the beginning, though, I was happily spiralling down a rather different kind of trip: an “I can’t do it” trip. Then, I don’t know how or why, a light went up in my brain and I realised I was making a fundamental mistake: I kept on saying I couldn’t go to America… but I wasn’t even trying. I wasn’t even looking at my bank account to see if I could do it.
It was a revelation: I was risking becoming like my father, who gave up his dreams for a mistaken sense of duty, and I bet that was what drove him down March Hare Road.

So I finally checked my bank account and, lo and behold… the money I needed was right there! Who would have thought?!

I went to Austin, Texas, had loads of fun, came back and thought… if I did this, I can move to Australia, too!

Another few years of uneventful work work work followed, until I had enough money to finally go visit Australia… and find out if I was a March Hare, too, or if there was really something there for me.

There was. Took me three more years of hard work and patience and biting the bullet, trying to smell a hint of Sydney between the smoggy particles of Milan's air, but I made it: goal number two was achieved. And here I am.

I’ve been in Australia for more than three years, now, I have a good job that I love (although I’m not translating anymore... guess translation fulfilled its purpose in getting me here), I live on my own (impossible dream in Italy), I might be able to actually buy a home within this year… I’ve made and lost friends, the most recent on New Years’ Eve… and here we come full circle.

As I was saying, it’s amazing how things can change in a second, after months, years of “established routine”… people who were there are gone in a second, death, sea change, words said, or in this case, a word of consideration that was not said.

Makes you think “what is a friend, really?” What makes the difference between an acquaintance and a friend? Is a friend a real friend if she dumps you on New Year’s Eve, without so much as a word of apology, after you have paid for her dinner because she is constantly broke, to sleep with a man she barely knows? Or is that just an acquaintance? Is this a kind of “friend” I want to have around in my life? Is this kind of behaviour enough to end a friendship?

The jury is still deliberating.