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A father’s letters to his daughter
Sandro Pertini
It was 1980. Sandro Pertini, President of the Italian Republic, had travelled to Urbino to meet with a group of university students. At one point, a young man heckled him. Pertini didn’t flinch. He had known censorship, the real kind, first-hand, and had paid for it with prison and internal exile. He took the floor. He restated his position. And then he did the most extraordinary thing of all: he defended that young man’s right to challenge him, reminding him that being able
Earlier letters
Sandro Pertini
It was 1980. Sandro Pertini, President of the Italian Republic, had travelled to Urbino to meet with a group of university students. At one point, a young man heckled him. Pertini didn’t flinch. He had known censorship, the real kind, first-hand, and had paid for it with prison and internal exile. He took the floor. He restated his position. And then he did the most extraordinary thing of all: he defended that young man’s right to challenge him, reminding him that being able
2 days ago1 min read
Regional Trains
The other day I was heading home. All that was left was the regional train. The one that stops everywhere.
3 days ago2 min read
Sit Here
There are people who, when they walk into a home for the first time, stay standing longer than they need to.
5 days ago1 min read
Happiness
Perfect happiness is rare and fleeting. So you have to seize it.
6 days ago1 min read
The Face You'll Never See
There is a face you will never see. You look for it in mirrors, in photographs, in a shop window as you walk by. A letter about the part of us that lives only in the eyes of others.
Oct 102 min read
Saint Gennaro
In Naples, on the nineteenth of September, the Duomo fills long before dawn. There are the women in the front rows, the ones who take the same seats every year and know each other by name. There are the young people at the back, come out of curiosity or to accompany a grandmother. And there is a glass ampoule, kept for centuries, that the city watches the way you watch someone in your own family. Then the waiting begins. It can last a few minutes or several hours. Nobody know
Oct 42 min read
The time of the moon
At some point in life, we realise that running is no longer enough. It's not enough to know where north is, what comes next, or how long until the weekend. A moment comes when we feel like slowing down. Out of curiosity more than weariness. To see what's really there along the way. Perhaps simply out of a wish to add a touch of poetry to our lives. To step outside in the morning and notice whether the air smells of sea or of rain. To talk with an old friend and listen t
Oct 41 min read
Two Jars
There are two jars of salt in your cupboard. One has been there since the first week, a year ago. You bought it on a Tuesday, I think. You still didn’t know what was already in the house. You had a list of all the things you thought you would need, as if beginning a new life were simply a matter of remembering to buy everything. The first year leaves things like that behind. Small duplicates. A second extension cord. Two umbrellas, because the first was always in the wrong ro
Oct 31 min read
Three Years
The first thing to go was her voice. You noticed it one evening. You tried to hear her say your name, and it didn't come. Her face came. Her hands came. The voice stayed away. You didn't tell anyone. But some voices are not kept in memory. They are kept lower. When you were born, she held you every afternoon. Your head in her hand. The window open. She sang. Always the same song, always very low, as if it were a secret. You were too small to remember. It went in anyway. Then
Oct 11 min read
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