"You speak a very good Italian" I told her, pleased by the mastery the girl had in speaking a foreign language. She had been busy talking and answering to some hosts in the room and I couldn't help but hear the discussion. Perfect grammar and almost no accent at all. Less common than you might think, and therefore more appreciable.
"Thank you!" she replayed smiling. "The fact is..I am Italian!"
Which come as some surprise, indeed. But that was my mistake. I simply assumed by default she had to be a stranger, with maybe a good knowledge of the culture and language, but still a foreigner, not fully soaked by our own culture and therefore language nuances. Bounds to the country and the traditions, the imagination and the myths that together build up the immaterial and deep background of a community. This defines a belonging.
So that morning, a cold and lazy autumn morning, with the city still trapped in the reminiscences of the night, I was taking my usual stroll among the streets of the old city. Heading to the downtown, with a slow pace and no hurry, I passed upon the stair and roamed on the empty streets as I was used to.
Cozy places, elegant architecture, new and ancient walls mixed together. The signs of time everywhere. Themselves a language, telling stories about the places and the people. Yet, nothing interesting to my eyes too used to them. And so the grey facades of the old buildings were just ordinary views, so as the shops still closed, the cafè on the corner, and the stairs winding to the top.
It was only few meters after the entrance of the old palace that I realised there was something going on inside. An exhibition, sort of.
Colourful banners, pictures, food products. I went back and entered the room, curious. Few people inside, a girl talking. I listen to her carefully, while taking some pictures around.
"You speak a very good Italian" I told her. And so here we are. The Italian girl, attending courses at the university, busy with this work right now and others when possible. The strength of her youth and the belonging to a country, the rooth that make her a part of the future of this place.
We exchanged a few words, then I took my way.
A general blog, but still personal. The name as a tribute (my tiny, personal one) to the Crimson King. No specific matter, no specific path or target to be followed or reached. A space where to collect events, ideas, perspectives coming from the world around, but still under my own control.