MARGA

Or at least the first that I remember. I grew up in a family where music mattered and everyone had their own specific taste and preferences. Mostly the Italian music chirping over the radio that was constantly on – my mother used to say that as a baby I would not sleep without it; or the more sophisticated Neapolitan, Folk or Tango songs that my grandfather played on his accordion and guitar. As a child I used to spend a lot of time with my cousin, Alessandra, as we both were taken care of by our grandparents. And together we used to sing with grandpa while he was playing, and it was actually, for both of us, our first band! And we developed a common music taste, enjoying the singing as one of everything that came to our ears. When I was about 11-12 years old, two new different music

I wrote a few novel-like books in Italian, my native language, and for some reason they never found their way to publication, even though it went very close (one of them is on amazon kindle, btw). One of the reasons why the book that I love more, The Sense of Things, was rejected in a publication contest where contenders had to submit their pieces anonymously, was that “it’s clear that though the main character is a woman, this book is written by a man, so it feels like a falsification of femininity”. That gave me a long breathless-pause moment. And prevented me for trying and get published for a while. Why should I bother to write for a world, or in a world, where femininity cannot ride the glorious and epic adventure of being a free individual, a player of life, looking for meaning till the moment she creates meaning

A normal day in Covid time I wake up always very eager to live my day. Happy, I would say, most of the times. And when I am not happy I am at least trustful that the day will bring something beautiful. And I start to do my things… Cat feeding, coffee, vitamins, quick check at messages, sometimes the news, writing down relevant thoughts or lists of the important things to do, the planning of my work day – Sangeeta rings the bell and then she starts cleaning my place – a very necessary yoga to keep my back straight, shower and getting ready to go out, a very loved long walk often interposed by phone calls or vocal messages to friends, or photography sessions, and often followed by shopping or other chores, home, shower, tea break, phone calls or writing down relevant thoughts and ideas again… or posting on