Come guardarsi allo specchio per la prima volta.

Ho vissuto momenti di forte – abbattimento, negli ultimi tempi.

Ho temuto il ritorno di quel grande mostro nero che un tempo sedeva costantemente al mio fianco, tenendomi per mano e prendendosi gioco dei miei vani tentativi di uscirne. Ho tentato di evitare di vedere gente poiché temevo a parlarne, temevo di trovarmi a disagio e rendere la cosa molto più reale e spaventosa.

Poi, oggi stavo pulendo il portafogli prima di entrare al lavoro e ho visto la mia patente.
Quattro mesi di uno stipendio da fame. Mi sono guardata attorno, in questa macchina che odio perché ha dato tanti di quei problemi che è difficile fidarsi – questa /mia/ macchina, l’attestazione più importante di quanto sono cresciuta negli ultimi due anni. Ho guardato il peluche dall’Acquario di Genova e il cuscino di Star Wars (che continua a non piacermi), e la bambolina di Tiger appesa allo specchietto, e l’Arbre Magique nuovo alla vaniglia che non sarà mai buono come quello alla pesca – trovato solamente su Mister Auto fra un kit per la frizione e le spazzole nuove per i tergicristalli.

Ho guardato la mia borsa, regalo a me stessa con il primo stipendio del nuovo lavoro.
Ho guardato le mie mani, che non sono più spaccate dall’acqua e il vapore e gli attrezzi da cucina, o dalle pulizie, o sporche di tempera, o macchiate dal lucido per argenteria.

Ho guardato le mie scarpe e comode, inizialmente comprate per fare volantinaggio nella mezz’ora di pausa fra il primo e il secondo lavoro – adesso un po’ consunte, ideali per passare la giornata in ufficio seduta alla scrivania.

Ho guardato i cataloghi di arredamento che abbondano sul sedile posteriore – nulla che potremo permetterci, ma fonte importante di idee per quello che sarà il nostro nido.

Sono davvero cresciuta.

Time is on my side ♪

They say, all you have to do is find time to help yourself and adjust.

Anxiety won’t just let me: every time something comes up my eyes get teary and my breath gets troubled, less and less seconds between an air intake and the other. The heart beats faster than it should, much faster than I remembered, so much faster than it has any right to.
The world gets darker, and it’s not only a figure of speech: I can see shadows dancing ad the edge of my sight, hugging me from behind, and I can feel their hands on me, their weight on my shoulders, their cold chests against my back.

If I had time to think I would notice that someone has closed the courtains, and I only have to get up to make the room brighter.
By getting up I would find out the cold is not coming from myself but from the door that was left open.
By moving around the room I could drink a glass of water or maybe eat some fruit and fight tachycardia.

They say, if I could find the time that would change my world.

La maledizione è stata spezzata!

Ebbene, sembra proprio che la maledizione del 2016 sia stata spezzata dalla venuta del nuovo anno. Inutile descrivere il mio entusiasmo di fronte ai più recenti sviluppi, soprattutto sul fronte locomozione automatica.
I pezzi di ricambio sono arrivati tutti per tempo, l’auto è pronta e praticamente tirata a nuovo: abbiamo fatto in una volta sola cambio e frizione 🙂 fra un annetto potrebbe esserci da fare la cinghia but I just don’t care: è pronta per macinare chilometri!!

Voglio coglierlo come un segno della rinnovata benevolenza del destino nei nostri confronti. Entro febbraio dovrebbe esserci un nuovo bando per gli appartamenti in affitto. Teniamo le dita incrociate.

The one where I introduce myself to the kitchen.

Let’s just put this out there: I love food.

I love eating, I love cooking, I love talking about food.
That’s what Italians do, like, all the time! We discuss whether we should eat a certain thing, or different recipes for the same dishes, we just bond over food.

I, for one, am very passionate about recipes and tradition, mostly because I’ve been learning it all on my own: in my house cooking was never a big deal, being the first of two daughters raised by a single mother. Later on my life I begun linking the kitchen with the kind of family life that I wish I had.
The changes did not do anything good in my family: my mother found my newfound love for homemade food stressful, and it led to some major fights.

Now, in my mother’s home, I do my own shopping and my own cooking – doing it for one can be so depressing – waiting for the day when I will cook for my partner and my family in a new, smaller, cozier home.

I will try and steal every recipe, every trick I stumble upon: by talking with waiters and chefs when I eat out and they look friendly enough, by asking sellers at the food market, or my friends’ parent, even my own colleagues at work or strangers on the public transportation.
That is because there are things, details that you can only learn from other persons because in the world wide web can get easily lost: the right kind of cream to put in a Bolognese ragu, or which cheese and how much butter to put in Pizzoccheri Valtellinesi, or what to put in an actual Parmigiana (discussions ensues)…

I am very proud of myself, I have been learning so much and am now modifying certain recipes and mixing those up all by myself.
It’s very important for me to see the progresses, from a simple tomato soup to the spectacular Salmon Lasagna brought at my in laws for Christmas.

So grown up ❤

The only one thing that I will never be good at (nor will I try: it is way too difficult to self-educate oneself) is patissery, and the reason is the same that has me getting better and cooking, which is experimenting. You can’t exactly experiment with yeast and eggs, not while still a beginner! hahaha
So, yeah. I love being in the kitchen.
It helps me relax, even if I dearly miss having someone to share a meal with while talking about your day at work.
It also helps me connect with myself, it keeps my head clear and focused on a dream/objective that is getting closer everyday.

My own home, my own rules, my kitchen, my bathroom, my books everywhere, my bed, my love.

Oh, if time could fly faster…

 

I am not an alcoholic.

Hello everyone who might be reading this;
we don’t know each other – not yet, even if with this blog I want to change that.

This is something that gets said quite often when I first meet someone new: I am not an alcoholic.

Yes, I like beer and white wine. Yes, I like to get tipsy.
Yes, I do drink on a daily basis, a glass of wine or a couple glasses of beer during dinner: it helps me unwind after a long workday, especially when Mr. N comes in play, and it helps me sleep better too, or at least it feels like that.

No, I don’t like nor do I drink spirits or hard liquor, how do you say it in English, I don’t know because even when abroad I don’t purchase nor drink superalcolici.

No, I don’t drink beer because I am feeling extremely sad or happy: I just have that single beer everyday at dinner because I’m used to that. And I spend quite a lot too, always treating me to quality stuff, so I can’t afford to just go and get wasted the single I’m feeling down: I have to “ration” it.

What have we learned today?
I like my red ale, I like my Guinness, I like my craft brewery light and fruity or black as the soul of Satan, I like my Poretti and Moretti regionale.

What about the weekend? you may ask.
Well… A bit of alcoholism may come in play. But only on a Saturday. That’s healty. I swear.