Saturday, June 13


Would it be cliché to write that Sicily is beautiful? The past few days have been like dreaming while I was awake. I wake up at seven, have breakfast on my balcony, admire the view on the cliffs and the sea. It’s so wonderful to be able to breathe fresh air again, to admit that all my worries have been created by myself. I try to blend in and look Italian: wear skirts, dresses and heels. If I bump into someone on the street I say ‘scusi’ or ‘scusa’, even if I haven’t figured out what the difference is.
The amazing thing is that I’m never tired, since I arrived in Sicily I feel alive. Men whistle and tell me that I’m beautiful, what a relief. They say ‘a little bit of that’ and hide their face behind the darkest shades. During the day nothing happens: I look at the shops, go to the beach or visit the pool. All my judgements, all my loud and noisy thoughts are gone. Instead I read some poetry, caress the hot stones on the beach, try to look like I belong. I write down that I want to bend, not break, forget about the bruises of the past.