I came away, and I'm happy.
But, damn, there's nothing to do: I am Italian. And maybe that's the essence of this being in Australia, you can be Montecchio and feel at home.
But, in fact, there are many things that are close, very close, but on the surface of my skin. It is my life.
And then there are things that have gone into my skin. And I'm me. And what makes the difference here, that defines my identity in contrast with the landscape, are It is these things that are not visible, hidden in it: my work, Guccini, Saba, Gozzano, some phrase that comes to light in the dialect of cheese, just songs that I sing to my child on this continent, memories reappear inside my head.
I miss my home far away.
0 comments:
Post a Comment