Trial & Error.

Okay, let's face it. I want to try it all. Sweet. Sour. Hot. Bitter. Loud. Quiet. Cold. Hot. Sea. Hills. Wind. Rain. Snow. Ice. City. Pampa. Woods. Desert. Sand. Stones. Soil. Tarmac. Bicycle. Feet. Car. Bus. Train. Plane. Islands. Continents. Enclaves. Rock and Roll. Electronics. Folk. Soul. Punk. Pop. Classic. Wild nights. Quiet nights. Facts. Stories. Leisure. Work. Eduction. Science. Art. Pleasure. Despair. Success. Failure. Politics. Philosophy. Doubt. Security. Ups. Downs. Heights. Lows. Beer. Wine. Water. Champagne. Tea. Coffee. I want to try it all. Live it all. Feel it all. And, I can. I am an incredibly lucky bee, and I am well aware of it. Making use of it. I am free to taste and try everything I hunger for. And there is no need to pick a favourite, to go for one option. I can have it all. Simultaneously or consecutively. In my head, in my heart there is unlimited space for a schizophrenic potpourri that on the face of it might not constitute the perfect blend. For me, however, that's the one nuance of perfection, I am looking for. I don't need to make sense. I don't need to have a top 5 list. I can put my iPod on shuffle without batting an eye if after a Bach prelude it presents me The Brian Jonestown Massacre. Doesn't go together? Well, I doesn't have to.

How can I find out what works for me and what doesn't if I don't try it out? How can I build my personal dream and accomplish it, if there are unknown variables hovering above that I haven't figured out yet? How can I understand myself if I don't expose myself to everything tickling my eyes, my ears, my nose, my tongue, my skin, my brain, my heart? If I don't try and watch it, listen to it, smell it, taste it, touch it, think it, feel it, the unwatched, unlistened, unsmelled, untasted, untouched, unthought, unfelt blows itself up into a question mark that will haunt me forever. So, I make use of my freedom and try it out, turn it into full stops, exclamation marks and spaces. Into things to keep and things to forget. Trial and error. The good ones go into the pot. The bad ones go into the crop. That's the way I do it. That's the way I need it to be. That's my way. You don't need to understand me. Just stick around and watch, listen, smell, taste, touch, think, feel with me.

"Only the person who has experienced light and darkness, war and peace, rise and fall, only that person has truly experienced life." ~ Stefan Zweig

About a sleeping muse & the sour taste of La Dolce Vita

Six months in Italy. Six months, in which I haven’t uttered, written one single non-professional word. I have been holding my breath - in synch with my dozing muse. I have been idling, hovering above myself, waiting, holding out, hoping to wake up one day with not only two feet on the Italian soil but with my heart rooting within it. A futile attempt, a futile resistance. Six months later, the moment has come to confess that the Italian ground is offering not the right blend of nutrients for my heart to strike roots. There is no one to blame, however. Neither Italy, nor myself. It is the pairing that doesn’t work, like an equation that will always show a false result.

It is a well-known phenomenon that most of the people who spent some time living in London will always look back with nostalgia. In my case it is more than nostalgia as against the backdrop of Italy’s uniformity – that in my personal case translates into monotony –London’s qualities become a necessity without which I don’t want to live. There is no black or white, I am aware of that, but there are pros that weigh heavier than others, and there are cons that are more acceptable than others. For me, the aspects of England that one can define as negative are manageable whereas their Italian counterparts paralyse my very nature. The English delights, however, are dearly missed and beat the Italian equivalents by far. I won’t name any details as this piece is not being written to highlight my dislikes and affections when it comes to these two unequal countries. Each of them is what it is; each of them has a strong character and innate idiosyncrasies. But I am lucky enough to live in the European Union where I can chose freely where to stay, and I am even luckier to be in a professional position where I can move around the globe without the need to anchor.

It was my choice to come here and try out the “Dolce Vita”, and it was me who had to find out that the Italian way of living fails to taste sweet on my tongue.

I have been thinking a lot since I left my homeland behind three years ago, about cultural imprints and differences and the concept of culture itself. It is a multi-layered, complex topic that I don’t dare to touch upon but as an emigrant I can surely say that there might be only one place like home but that there are places outside your native country that to you feel more homey than others and constitute a home-like environment made up of like-minded people, sociological reference points as well as cultural and personal compatibility.

I have come to terms with the fact that there is a possibility of me never arriving, and I am willing to simply follow my adventurous heart – like I did twice – and go back to that place on the island to experience it with my latest findings in mind. I have the feeling that this decision will bring me home, afterall my muse found her tongue the very day my English nostalgia turned into the firm plan to leave Italy behind to reconquer that city called London.

“There is no place for grief in a house which serves the Muse.” ~ Sappho