Tag: traveling

In A Bit


For days, I’ve been asking for a sign to my future self

hoping my teeth won’t get stained for the coffee, for the ash, for the gin .

Here’s to thoughts thought halfway

that never seem to let me decide when to go right and when to go left

at the crossroad I want to take the wrong way.

And all I want to do is be still before making the wrong choice

And all I end up doing is look for the answer at the bottom of this glass

hoping things will fall all into place

filled with rocks that are never big enough to hide me.

And I never said I was good at giving advice

but I’ll be waiting there,


Da giorni chiedo un segno alla me del futuro

E spero che i denti non si macchino di caffè

Di cenere

Di gin

Un brindisi ai pensieri fatti a metà

Che non mi lasciano scegliere fra destra o sinistra

Al bivio che vorrei prendere contromano

E tutto quello che vorrei fare è mettere tutto in pausa prima di fare la scelta sbagliata

Che sono i guai che vorrei fare 

E tutto quello che faccio è cercare le risposte nel fondo del bicchiere che mi da la risposta sbagliata che sei tu

E ne finisco un altro sperando in un’altra risposta

E lo riempio di rocce che non sono mai grandi abbastanza da nascondermi

E non ho mai detto di essere brava a dare consigli

ma forse una parte di me ti aspetterà sempre lì 

dove non ci raggiungeremo mai


Hong Kong

CORNERS, TRAVEL September 22, 2018


A month ago,

my father gave me a ring and asked


I’ll be in Hong Kong for a couple days, do you want to join ?




11 hours on a plane,

and I was there.



We spent our time wandering the streets of Causeway Bay,

the Star Ferry to the other side of the river,


and trains

and buses,


visas to cross the Chinese border,

kids in uniforms,

old men smoking in construction boots,

smuggling of bags,

cheap cigarettes.


The salty air from the sea,

the clouds promising the arrival of the typhoon.




Hong Kong is a contradiction of colours

and a quick combination of flavours,


who would’ve thought that

street markets fit so well

in the skyline ?


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36 hours in Rome with Ma’


The first day of Spring is my mother’s birthday.


I’m no good at birthday gifts

– she must have a pile of pattern socks and teas in metallic boxes by now.



So I bought two train tickets.


We woke up at 4.30am

and with no clues, she followed me to the station when it still was night outside. She found out few minutes before the departure I was taking her to Rome.



Time to leave our bag to the apartment in the centre (Maison Romana)

and we left wandering around its cobbled streets.

We’d only stop when the stomach complained or when our feet were hurting or when the view got too pretty.


And what we realized is that you don’t need the whole world in your pocket

to find yourself happy.



Sometimes, a sunrise and two days of long walks and a plate of pasta and mugs of coffee and the sun warming your bones can turn into the softest birthday gift.


And it’s nice to wet your lips with wine after cheering to yourself, to early mornings on a train, to Rome and to things to come.



Whatever works.

As simple as that.












































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  • Maison Romana, apartment
  • Pasticceria Regoli, breakfast
  • Trastevere, afternoon stroll
  • Papa Re, lunch // carciofi alla romana + puntarelle

Hard edges and Bad coffee but with laughter


I should be leaving the city in a handful of minutes

– fractions of the life I’ve tried on for a few days.


I’m at the bar down the road,

keeping my fingers crossed to meet some of those people you only meet in your travels,

bare enough to tone down the tangles messing around with my sleep,

good enough to smooth these hard edges of mine.


Keeping my fingers crossed to finally find a place to make home

– even if just for a handful of months,

even if just for a slice of time.



But I sit here,

playing darts with my days trying to hit the mark,

ignoring this bad sight of mine and my perpetual fear of not being enough,

of making a false step,


hoping to hit that fucking mark.



There are two bartenders making my coffee on a random early spring day

and I almost asked them if maybe,

by any chance,

they needed another pair of spare hands to dry all those chipped ceramic plates.

If maybe,

by any chance,

they were looking for another laughter to join theirs when dropping things

behind the counter, not taking things too seriously.


Because I came to realize that the infinite thirst I’ve been trying to swab for all this time with clothes I don’t have the occasions to wear and black ink,

kicking in my sleep and begging me to listen,

was nothing but a cry for lightheartedness,

fresh air

and coffees from whichever bar down the road of an ordinary city.



Lightness isn’t superficiality,

it is daring to be yourself,

trying lives on until you find the one that fits snugly.


I’m surely no expert when it comes to matters of the heart,

nor am I fortune-teller interpreting stars and signs,

but I’ve learnt that  the best gift you can give yourself is to let go of

the buoy of taking yourself too seriously

and get lost.


And when the soles of your shoes are paper-thin

and you run out of breath,

sit on a bench,

enjoy the view

and then go back to getting lost until you stumble on what you’ve been looking for.

And call it by its name

– little does it matter if we’re talking about heart,


or god.



And what you may find is a bar down the road of whichever ordinary city,

where the coffee may be bad

– but it’s served by people with a smile drawn on their cheeks who laugh when they stumble behind the counter.


A tiny memo saying that it’s okay if you stumble,

that it’s fine to not be too hard on yourself.




A hot coffee, two bartenders behind the counter and all that’s within.

As simple as that.





















































The first day of Spring


I took a plane to Berlin, to breathe for a while.

Not that I have a lot to complain about – life flowing smoothly between

home-made dinners and ideas to put together in a life I get to choose.



But for some reason,

in this impeccable shoving of days like pearls in a thread,

I can’t seem to find balance and all those other phrasings to stay afloat.


So I get on trains and spend long nights in Nordic hostels of bunk beds and cheap drinks.

I look for what I want to hear in the words of those I happen to find along the way,

those things I don’t find the courage to trust – eternal promises I make with myself to plunge right into what I want and do it for real, this time.


Because this life I get to choose is waiting for me right there

on the seabed I don’t know the shape of,

under those layers of blue I keep having second thoughts about.

And I kick

and I shake

and I wiggle on this surface that now feels so tight.


And I wish I could just take a deep breath and row with who it is that I am and see what colour the seabed I dream about really is.

But for some reason, I hold tight to all trivial excuses and lighthearted talks,

stupid water wings I insist to wear not to go deep.



And I’m now drinking mint tea in an ordinary city,

yet another shot to find a place to call home, a space to fit in

– knowing for sure that all I want is to disappear in a line of bubbles flowing above my head, see the water get blue, black, and down, down a bit more,

touch the ocean floor

and grab a handful of sand.

And in that place so far from all ideas I’d ever painted in my mind until then

– in the furthest corner from what I’d ever known –

find home.



So here I find myself,

with miles under the soles of my shoes,

with the sketch of a butterfly given to me as a gift on the first day of spring.

Reminding me that spending too long anchored to the ground, you forget how to breathe.













































Full breath, Dive deep

JOURNAL March 20, 2018

I find myself in this paradox of a day, between these canals

the sun making my eyes look ajar,

like sullenly,


drinking hot tea

and biting a good attempt of pastel de nata

the wind tangling my hair


on an early weekday.


And just like this,

I find myself with my legs crossed under a table too tiny for my uncoordinated manners

and I don’t have a clear picture

nor a draft of the path to go,

no sign suggesting whether to turn right or keep stumbling on those familiar errors

that my head doesn’t seem to let go.


I don’t have a clue about where I’ll be

or how I’ll fill those hours between goodnight kisses and a quiet breakfast before the house awakes.

I’m sure I wouldn’t be doing things any other way,

not following the tricks given by who knows me by heart,

but following stars calculated to spans

and approximate sums of the shades of coffee in the mug

or of wine on the lips.



It’s time to take a full breath

and dive deep.


I’ve got a swimsuit under my jeans.















































JOURNAL July 23, 2017

There are those raw days when you feel something’s missing,


and you look for it, desperately searching for something you wouldn’t recognise the shape of, the colour or the smell.

So you jump from an addiction to the next, trying to fill this void of feels,

resolving it with the conclusion that it’s not the moment yet,

that it’s a matter of perfect timing,

good combination of ingredients

and a pinch of letting your days in the hands of this something that is puppeteering the world, like the recipe for a pie.


And in those raw days, when everything starts to crash, hold tight to this thought –

you’re here, now.


And it’s not the places you’ve been,

the people you shared the sheets with or the times you let your eyes drown in salt that make you, you.


What matters is if you’re ready to let yourself try,

and sometimes it’s good to let some homework in the hands of fate.










And it’s probable that you’ll have to go wrong,

collect scratches and learn how to deal with voices you don’t like,

houses you can’t make home and the rain.

And it’s probable that you’ll have to learn a new language, make do with the food and fly for miles.


But there will come the time that all this experimentation of different lives every handful of months, moving furniture and packing your life in a backpack to carry on your shoulders, living out of the basics and not forgetting to keep it light,

well, that’ll all make sense.


And you may not have a balanced diet,

the safety of an income or a quiet bedroom to go back to at the end of the day

Stop finding excuses, trying to fix people’s lives to keep your mind distracted from your big plans, greedy to save who doesn’t want to be rescued or leaving room for your insecurities to take over and make you doubt about all small things.


If you don’t allow yourself the freedom to go wrong and letting people in and out of your days,

you’ll miss all the fun of this hell of a ride.



So here’s to changing currents,

things come to an end and new beginnings.

So get out there, play your cards and turn your life into poetry.


All good things take time.