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Goodbye 2010! I'll wait for 2011! A Merry Christmas

Not everything went as I wanted. The claims were few: to spend Christmas together with a few relatives, feel good together, cuddle Pagnotta, spend a few days in good company and study. Studying so much these days a little less hectic.

shattered ... all this damn cold. 10 days locked in the house, and now goes to the antibiotic. The study has gone to hell and indietrissimo with the program, the walks and romantic dinners even mentioned.

Well, I am a little sick of sick.

For the rest I'm not complaining ... I would say that I have little to complain about, I would be ungrateful!

2010 is now over, it 'been a year full of emotions, not all positive, people who are no longer with us have left huge gaps, so much pain but also lots of good memories from hold tight to not forget them. It 'been a year of many puppets scent to know. In Geneva, I rediscovered the thrill of keeping the arms a baby with you peers and languid eyes will warm your heart. Giorgia, guanciona my niece, I wish I could have more chances to snatch many smiles.

Then there's the girl Paola who still do not know.

short, a whirlwind of emotions that throw my thoughts away.

E 'was the year of so many choices, so many thoughts, so many decisions and stances. And 'the year that I am more pissed with myself for the wrong choices for the time lost, my constant procrastination. The year of some whim satisfied. And 'the year in which the signs are back in my life. I chose my way of small steps I must follow.

The year 2011 will be a year of growth. Not only for all those girls, I hope for me too.

growth and challenges. It will be tough, I already feel tired. I can not give up, I have to fight and move on. It will be the year of great strides. And there always will be just rewards. There will also be pain, I know. I hope it's worth living it!

will also be the year of the flight from the nest. My, I think and hope, and also to my brother. It will be the year of growth for someone else. The thought is already at the moment which will be painful for all, leave us in suspense every day, waiting for a call that there tranquilizzi at least for a few hours my brother on a mission in Afghanistan. I dare not even imagine the anxiety that will result, commitment for us to stay close and support especially those who live more heavily at home.

It will be a year of personal growth, but also as a family. The affection, something should be and even commitment to each other.

'm optimistic about everything, and this is a great motivation that pushes me to commit.

I put on some objective reach the more frivolous the most important.

1. Lose a few kilograms and go back to my weight.

2. Sign up in the gym.

3. Be constant in all my commitments.

4. Complete the first level of lis.

5. Finish all the exams and the thesis.

6. Graduate.

There is also another little thing, but it is not a goal, is no longer a constant path that I have to remember: do not be too taken by myself to remind me of who is next. And commit to live the obstacles to overcome and move on.

will be tough, but I can do it.

And if two of us wanting to be less tiring!

I wish you all a happy and peaceful new year, full of warmth and love.

My best wishes go especially to those who pass this day like many others:

who has no other way to pass it if not in isolation or in disease,

children who grow up without dreams and no expectations for the future

to those in hospitals,

who no longer has anyone

who instead of rejoicing is facing so much pain,

who has no food nor a house, nor anyone close to embrace.

Those who have no more dreams,

to those who have but can not achieve them.

Who does not hope for more,

who lives attached to a hope.

Who does not believe in anything,

to those who need to believe in something.

who can no longer pray,

to those who pray for a living.

that love can still flooded in your life and help you discover what it means yet

love and be loved.

I would like to do something for everyone. For now, I can only give you my thoughts!

With all my heart ...

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"that every day is better looking than its predecessor and that the former is already so beautiful and intense as not being able to imagine a better one ... that, however, I am sure will happen ... ... Congratulations."

Happy and peaceful Christmas to you all!

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c


the building was known to everyone in the village. was in the middle between the old walls and the villagers, when they passed, there We threw at least a fleeting glance. no, it was certainly the style of the imperial administration building, was also far from rich baroque and flirty to the family home of the most powerful country and he was not the sleek and austere Gothic church. was simply beautiful, a Renaissance semplicitàa perhaps, linear, light but with an indefinable something that made it inevitable, in the sense that you could not ignore in any way: in the perception of the square took on a certain evidence, although inexplicable in words.

tall columns in relief lined the square geometry of the facade sleek, lean and sharp edges of the indentations in prominence, both compassionate and tough, with small niches richly decorated ornamental indecipherable and whimsical, perhaps of oriental origin, which gives harmony to the whole. to observe the building we came upon an ambiguous attraction, with carved stones that formed that seemed to come straight from the depths of time and that mute while revealing a deep sense of existence .

many then, over the years, have been stored. had traveled the long and sensual corridors lit by tall windows, were wandering into the room in an intricate system of spaces and doors, with rooms now full of light now enveloped in the gloom. But no one could well to see if he had actually visited all the rooms, always had the impression that there was some other door to open, remained a secret in the previous exploration. This gave off in the visitor a feeling a bit 'unnerving, at times irreverent, despite the atmosphere of the building remained immersed in a delicate balance and pleasant. alternated with moments of empathy were so uncomfortable, in a constant game of mirrors in which it seemed that the building itself was hidden to conceal the eyes of the visitor to turn its real essence.

basically no one knew the story well. much speculation past owners mad with lust, greed and vices of parties. others remembered instead of discrete gentlemen and merciful, who lived in harmony in the search for God was perhaps the shelter of a wealthy don giovanni dedicated to love life or perhaps had been the home of a lonely merchant who came to relax. in fact it was known with certainty. nothing leaked from those rooms, halls or from the back garden. the lives of those who had once lived was untraceable. There was certainly a rich library, an excellent collection of works of art and music room care. surely those who had had built and furnished with exquisite taste, abnormal sensitivity and a high cultural level. but who was he?
all leaked not the revocation of a common past but abandoned a sense Continuous standby , as if life would be there soon pick up where it left off for reasons unknown. everything seemed suspended as is the case for holiday homes where the rooms are closed pending the forthcoming holiday season. something must have happened, perhaps even irreparable, and seemed to be waiting for a new event to bring life back into the building.

many of you came with the intention of revealing hidden secrets, many intimate images to make their home, but in reality no one could consider not just family. the palace, sly, indecipherable continued to fascinate travelers with its charm.

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for you geniuses ... it was an honor to have accompanied so far!

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train


Alberto as salt every morning on a commuter train Piossasco of 7.15, the direction of Porta Nuova, Turin. 25 minutes journey time 10 minutes at a brisk pace to get to the Piazza San Carlo 2 branch of the Banca San Paolo. enters the car and with an involuntary movement, and now automatically look for it. the note at the bottom on the right. Today, as agreed, he sits in front of her. does not know what it's called, but they are now months that are found most mornings on the same train, in the same car, the first of the convoy, in order to get in and out more quickly when you arrive at the station. Once he had tried to smile, but she lowered her eyes, as if he had not noticed.
Alberto sits down and crosses his eyes resentful of his neighbor, an elderly man wrapped in a scarf and heavy coat, held close to the dirty, full of dandruff. has a chubby face but crossed by worries of old age, holding a yellow envelope, similar to the post and is absorbed in some kind of cursed the bottom unnecessary concerns. Alberto asks where he is going, certainly not at work. perhaps in hospital or a medical examination, you respond with a little 'cynicism. in the front seat, next to her, there's a young guy, jerk face, haircut pop star, thick glasses as used in an intellectual fashion of the current season, near the lip piercing, jeans a bit ' shooting boots and athletic black guy from the Bronx with his pants tucked in, the acid orange laces out. Play with the i-pod immaccolato a white piece of mail, "club music".
Alberto remembers the first time I went in '92, a techno rave-jungle, completely made of mescaline, when electronic music was basically a niche, an escape from the monotonous nightlife in Turin, were the years of the first European holidays where you experiment with new genres of first ecstasy pills. a reality far removed from today, think, who lost the drive-conformist, dj overpaid, "in" who plan to repeat the nth guests offering bland music, without energy.
already, he thinks, who knows where is the energy of those years . is over, perhaps with the University of Economics, ended with his marriage to Helen and the subsequent divorce after a few years and after many attempts to have a child. once, before I knew spontaneous abortion, were convinced that they resent almost done. who knows, maybe it would have been different.
Alberto pulls out his book, Theorem by Pier Paolo Pasolini, but as the pages the visitor arrives in the house, she obsessively peeking in reality. boots and tight trousers outline the thin legs and proportionate, a sweater and attached the simple model hips and breasts under the jacket open. is shy and sensual, with green eyes turned to the world, bob brown hair and a bit 'of freckles to color the facial features fine and elegant, sometimes leaked a little embarrassed about life. is immersed in a photocopied dossier, probably something the university, is younger than him, will have 26, 27. you'll be graduating, or maybe follow his doctorate. something humanistic, definitely.

Chiara salt every morning on the commuter train Rosta of 7.05, still on the car right behind the engine, so when you arrive at the Porta Nuova railway station is just near the exit, ready to take the bus the door behind Piazza Vittorio letters where he teaches in a private high school while trying to finish his doctoral thesis research on some of semiotics. sits next to a boy. actually has a few years younger than her, but his eyes still reeks of adolescence and now feels Clare woman. smiccio looks at him without much interest, stopping to imagine that, had they been contemporaries, among them two that occurred would still interstellar distances. seems the boy a bit 'shallow, full of friends, beautiful, athletic, always trying to make nice with the girls. the kind of guy that you never had, never even wanted. so even if someone, gender, age when he was just buzzing in the head insistently, but his interest was never returned ...
shortly after she gets a little old sloppy, which was now only the most evil of life, something sboffonchia breathless, perhaps asking for permission to sit or perhaps cursed the cold. straight out of a Dickens novel. makes a great pain in the bottom.
Piossasco salt to that guy, what goes on a journey to pretend to read but that actually sets the time. and she looks at him, even if it does so more discreetly. makes her feel a bit 'uncomfortable, even if there is something that attracts him. always reads interesting books, essays or novels Russians, every once in a while 'literary classic Italian, Pirandello, Calvino ... three four day holds Pasolini. But here, no one aspect serious, intellectual, indeed. dress is always accurate at all points, with a jacket or tie 24 hours type manager that stuff. to look at him then he seemed anything but a white collar, it's weird, maybe even dessert.

Alberto stares while she concentrates on the pages of her file in her womb. if there would be, if he could. or not. indeed its not. experienced a rejection to his own thoughts. Now imagine instead of a walk with her, to be told to cook and eat together quietly, with a good red wine, Nebbiolo. and after, then yes, making love.
would attack button, ask What is reading, but fails. is like petrified on the seat, besieged by the prying eyes of passers-around lackluster. there was the empty train ... is uncomfortable, you feel stupid, surely knows that if he opens his mouth stutter something obvious, trivial. and perhaps lose his time daydreaming, you will surely have a life and over. Alberto lowers his gaze on Theorem.

Chiara stiffens when he realizes that he observed. Shooting would raise his eyes and point straight at me, but do not dare. is the fifth time I read the same paragraph and still did not understand what is written. and continues to read as if it were a shelter, a warm place and protective. What does this here? played nervously with a pen, press the button to eject the tip compulsively repeating. click click click ... you create in her a feeling of expectation, as if waiting for a major response to a question that has never done. is a feeling that continues, placid, spiteful. fantasies take shape in his mind, memories and desires that are mixed promiscuously. simply, clearly wants to end this debilitating lack of communication. But what is there to say after all? should perhaps clarify something? is still looking at the file, some process of the brain automatically reads the words in the background but no intelligence to pay attention.

Clare finally gets up eyes, eyes that never had it, I decided as an inevitable event, to look at him, smiling, to give a sign. at that precise moment, even a micro second before, Alberto plunges back into the revealing story of middle-class house Pasolini.