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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
Listen for real. Ask from the heart
There is a difference between hearing someone’s words and truly listening to them. It’s about asking "how are you?" and actually waiting for the answer; not just planning what you’re going to say next. You don't need to fix anyone’s problems. You just need to be there, fully present, with eyes that say, "what you're telling me matters." It’s a gift we don't give often enough, even to ourselves. Because everyone, absolutely everyone, needs to feel seen. Especially those who pr
Aug 91 min read
Roles
We live through many roles, many seasons. Some we choose. Others arrive on their own. Child, friend, parent. I think that’s about trying, failing, learning. Growing, one step at a time. Sometimes the stage helps us see who we really are, and also who we are no longer. And maybe that is fine. Entering, leaving, changing scenes. Until, somewhere, we feel at home.
Aug 91 min read
Granpa
Last day Grandpa finished writing his story. Some call it the 'last chapter,' but I see it more as the sacred moment the pen is passed from his hand to ours. It isn't easy for me, but I find comfort in thinking that this is the completion of a lifelong work of art. It’s a bit like listening the Grand Crescendo of a great opera, where every note comes together and everything finally makes sense. A melody that doesn't stop. It lingers in the air, one you keep singing in your mi
Aug 91 min read
Perspectives
I was thinking about how easy it is to convince ourselves that the small part of the world we see is the only one that exists. It is like living in a vast building full of windows: sometimes we become so attached to the view from our own balcony that we forget to explore the other rooms. Look out from a different window. You may be surprised by what you discover: a garden that reveals itself as a forest, a single note that unfolds into a whole symphony. Seeking other perspect
Aug 91 min read
Come with me
I imagine you on a stage. The lights are bright. The crowd is cheering. This is your moment. Look beside you. There is space. And no rule says you have to fill it alone. The word “extraordinary” is deceptive. It sounds loud, massive, inevitable. But in reality, it is often quiet. It is the silence before a hand reaches out. It is two simple words: Come with me.Because growth is almost always a collective act. Sharing the stage takes courage. The spotlight is warm. It feels li
Aug 91 min read
Where no one knows you
Sooner or later you will sit at a table where no one knows you. No one who knows who you are yesterday. No one watching you, waiting for the version they already accepted. Just a seat, a chair, and the simplest question in the world. Where do you want to begin. You are used to the usual ones. The faces that already know how you laugh, what you order, when you are about to leave. And it's good. It's home. But it's also a weight you don't feel anymore because you've been carryi
Aug 91 min read
What stays
Around that table no one was in a hurry to finish. The kitchen was warm. The old wood oven had been going for hours. The air smelled of citrus and yeast. Of something that has no name but you recognize with your first breath. Our grandparents’ hands were choosing the wheat grains one by one. And we were right there with them. Someone was looking for the right scent among a basket of citrus. Someone else was kneading in silence. No one explained anything. And we were there. Wi
Aug 91 min read
The Box
On Sundays, on grandmother’s table, there was always a box of chocolates. The thick cardboard lid. The tissue paper on top, to be lifted slowly so it wouldn’t make a sound. Underneath, the chocolates lined up, each one in its dark paper cup. No legend. You chose by looking at the shape. We would stay there, finger hovering. Searching for clues in the folds of the chocolate. Afraid of the liqueur, of the bitterness, of the pink filling that had once made us twist our mouths. G
Aug 91 min read
Mirrors
In a hurry in front of the mirror, fixing a detail before heading out. The light is good, it reflects almost everything. Yet something stays out of frame. By nature, mirrors show. They don’t tell. We do the same with people. We see a face, a gesture, a word said wrong. And we judge. As if good lighting were enough to see everything. But behind every face there’s a room we don’t know. A morning argument, a sleepless night, a fear that hasn’t found its name yet. Judging is easy
Aug 91 min read
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