If I want to be honest with myself first of all and then with all people that allegedly can be interested in what I say, I never felt too much as being Italian.
When I was young I was many times mistaken for French, Russian, German...rarely people thought I was Italian. And when I said I was Italian they were surprised.
I have never shared qualities that could be connotated as Italian, just because I didn't feel it or a little.
Since I was a lad I had an aversion to food, for loud family reunions, which I tried to avoid with every means, even though now I remember them with nostalgia, above all I miss the familiar faces of many relatives who have disappeared forever from my sight.
I never wished to be like my father. My father was a politician: I was too shy to be speaking in front of a large auditorium.
I remember that many times, between my 30s and 40s, I jokingly said that I was the last of the Etruscans, because people were still telling me that I didn't look like an Italian.
And the Italian mentality was a bit far from my worldview.
If I had an appointment at 5:00 pam at 5:00 I was there.
But the Italy I grew up in was a beautiful Italy. We lived between Italians and we had respect for each other.
When I was little we could sleep without locking the door of our houses.
Until the 80s I could recognize though myself as Italian. But after the 80s Italy radically changed and the distance between me and Italy became unbridgeable.
It is unbelievable how I am suffering for my country now that I am not living there anymore. Now that I know I couldn't live there any longer. Now that I realize what kind of nuts has become my folk. How prone they are to comply and complain about everything. How selfish they are, spoiled by too much well-being, dolce vita.
How they have tarnished their identity, have mixed every kind of race and provenience without reacting to the disappearing of their own identity.
They accept all it is imposed on them without reacting (of course I am talking about the majority, I know that there s a minority which is trying to change the direction).
And I miss the steady brightness of Italian light in summer, the laziness of Italian life which you perfectly breath only during the summer on the beach, which Tim Parks so well depicts in "Cocco Fresco" the opening tale of An Italian Education.
When I was young I was many times mistaken for French, Russian, German...rarely people thought I was Italian. And when I said I was Italian they were surprised.
I have never shared qualities that could be connotated as Italian, just because I didn't feel it or a little.
Since I was a lad I had an aversion to food, for loud family reunions, which I tried to avoid with every means, even though now I remember them with nostalgia, above all I miss the familiar faces of many relatives who have disappeared forever from my sight.
I never wished to be like my father. My father was a politician: I was too shy to be speaking in front of a large auditorium.
I remember that many times, between my 30s and 40s, I jokingly said that I was the last of the Etruscans, because people were still telling me that I didn't look like an Italian.
And the Italian mentality was a bit far from my worldview.
If I had an appointment at 5:00 pam at 5:00 I was there.
But the Italy I grew up in was a beautiful Italy. We lived between Italians and we had respect for each other.
When I was little we could sleep without locking the door of our houses.
Until the 80s I could recognize though myself as Italian. But after the 80s Italy radically changed and the distance between me and Italy became unbridgeable.
It is unbelievable how I am suffering for my country now that I am not living there anymore. Now that I know I couldn't live there any longer. Now that I realize what kind of nuts has become my folk. How prone they are to comply and complain about everything. How selfish they are, spoiled by too much well-being, dolce vita.
How they have tarnished their identity, have mixed every kind of race and provenience without reacting to the disappearing of their own identity.
They accept all it is imposed on them without reacting (of course I am talking about the majority, I know that there s a minority which is trying to change the direction).
And I miss the steady brightness of Italian light in summer, the laziness of Italian life which you perfectly breath only during the summer on the beach, which Tim Parks so well depicts in "Cocco Fresco" the opening tale of An Italian Education.
And once again I understand as at the bottom of every human society lies one very important factor: the human factor.
The human factor determines what life is and what a society is.
And the fabric of the Italian human factor is now very cheap, and without a future, I might add.
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