MY ROOTS Carolina Venturini
I have never particularly loved my land, I denied, the 'I escaped, I despised the simplicity and closure, that mentality that often have called "rural" and "limited" so many times I've gone through books, fantasy, travel, educational choices that led me to discover parts of the world, to seek in every way to break away from the legacy that permeated parochial and permeates all 'now reality in which I live, the limits of which I have always felt suffocated. I chose not to sink my roots in this dark land, my mind has always been cast away, drawn to the metropolis full of opportunities and growth paths.
I've never heard of Friuli, nor have I ever wanted to learn or speak Friulian, although I appreciate that some theater companies perform in the language and the poignant, intimate songs Alpini. I was never interested in the history of my country or the region, as well as the issues "classic" of the Great War and the earthquake.
Now, at this precise moment in my life, I find myself taking a journey that will lead me to abandon my country, to move to the great Rome.
And, all 'a sudden, I realize that I suffer all' idea to leave forever a place that came into my deep, although I have fought hard. I always knew, in fact, in my heart, my life would not have belonged to the Basilian. But I never realized how the unique characteristics of the Friuli plain shy and reserved, depict the main features of myself, so silent but strong. Now that I realize I am going to start with melancholy awareness of what I owe to these places.
There was a time when lost everything, inwardly, I knew the dark, and loss of hope, faith and strength.
'S only relief I found was a place for me became, over time, a symbol of rebirth, of spiritual contact, closeness with the deepest emotions, freedom, of knowledge.
This place is commonly called "the hill vary, a small hill in the countryside, halfway between the Basilian and Bless, about a ten minute walk from my house.
Walking, running activities that had helped me to vent my anger, in those hard months, the need for solitude directing me to seek intimacy in places hidden from the human judgments. The Hill
vary became my secret hideout, personal, inviolable. Has always fascinated me, ever since I was little girl there with parents and girlfriends during the "July Varianese", the country festival, the 'precious and highly anticipated event that moved me every year.
I enjoyed dancing and watching dance the 'joy of ballroom dancing, dreaming and daydreaming. I never ventured alone or in the cobbled streets in the grassy paths that draw the boundaries of the hill.
's main entrance, bordered by pine forest and low, I was always touched the soul: the arching branches, the kids and magic lights, lit on days of celebration, a squirrel that leaps among the branches, the sparrows and trotting hum, the light breath of wind, some red grapes, the sun filtering through the leaves, creating a play of light which are reflected in webs and dew drops. There is something of a wild, romantic, nostalgic, full of anecdotes of the past but this constantly touching and breathtaking.
There are flashes of the day on which this hill is uninhabited: the 'dawn is the moment I prefer.
It 's too early for the children come to play, the guys hanging out, gossiping mothers, athletes in training, the couple to love each other.
All 'alba the hill is mine, mine and animals that inhabit it. All 'alba silence is no fear. C 'is a poignant and unforgettable scent of earth and leaves that blend together, wet meadow, and even the smell of the sun begins to heat, feel the spring come sniffing the subtle essence of blooming flowers. After passing the 'entrance, take the path that leads to the war memorial, you will reach the point at' peak: the war memorial is a plaque erected vertically, behind which one can hide, sit, and that is what we usually I do, when I pick up there on the right the sea, left the Alps, in front of the church of San Leonardo, all 'round Nature, pigments, fragrances, lizards, the' dogs barking in the distance, a constant cycle of life continues , placid, calm, reassuring, motherly.
It 's a place of memory and I, this symbol of remembrance, I learned how to allay my regret, to quiet my turbulent soul, to pay those tears that cover the letting go.
C 'was music to my Ipod, initially. Later there was the rhythm of my breath, calm.
smell the 'air, I looked around, I learned how to put thoughts and meanwhile, slowly reborn, I found the strength to make choices, to get up and go racing again, reinforced.
The solitude of this place, the wonder of the sun that rises in the sky, 'observe the rhythms of nature, I have been teachers. In this hill there is also a special space for children to play, with swings, baby walkers, slides, nets, benches strategic.
's swing is always been my favorite game as a child, I seemed to fly, I seemed to touch the sky with a finger. This space for children is really beautiful, I dare say unintentionally symbolic: it is enclosed by a series of trees that surround a circular space, a nearby fountain. A circle whose center is expressed in his youth, and life, hope, joy, inhale deeply and all this in my leather suit. A massive stone defines a fork in the path not far away how can we not hear the call of the words of Jung, the 'Old and tickles the mind, the' eco druid legends, the 'emotion that invades the heart that trembles wondering if he has the courage to hold this time which is in contact.
In this magical place so I could meditate, read, cry, lie in the sun and contemplate the sky throb with the Tricolour Arrows in the sky and tell me, writing pages and pages of a diary or talking to God with open hearts investing my fury, despair, joy or love. I heard through the Earth as my roots alive. The war memorial has told me of a story away, but alive and vibrant tutt 'hour in the memories of people floating in the' river water, indelible in the mountain trails.
The first time I went in Rome felt instinctively that it would be a city crucial to my existence and so it was and still is. In Rome, I met an extra portion of the world, discovering the injury bitter legacy between 'Friulan dependence with the' alcohol.
I know sometimes the arrogance of the big city that looks with contempt the small town farmer and I recognized parts of myself in this behavior, uncovering inflamed with anger and desire for revenge. Offense, not seen. I know the smog, feeling nostalgic for my clean air, the long file of cubic blocks of flats, anonymous, concrete poignant longing so the long streets of houses with gardens, the 'absence of green with the changing of the earth.
During my stay in the capital, I felt the stinging regret to my secret hideout, the strong limitation to go, free, the street. All this led me to 'extreme opposite.
And now, only now, I understand the need for a balance. During one of my joints on the hill I heard that vibrate in my opinion is the 'essence in Friulian landscape all' round: c 'was a tractor in the distance, plowing the ground and I felt the furrow button and ready to welcome new life . I felt the tenacity, I tasted the story, for a moment it was like to recognize those who continue to work calloused hands, the hardness in the facial features, eyes that unfolds a long history of sacrifices, joys, invasions, destruction and rebirth. The person I love has often reproached me for my ability to answer a "do alone, I arrange, combine, I manage. " And now I smile realizing that this autonomy is my own cultural heritage as infiltration of a more ancient, deep, meaningful, which is beyond these years, and is lost in the images of photos' s age and history pages. In Rome, visiting the Museo del Risorgimento, I cried reading Ungaretti, feeling that invisible thread yet settled with my land, empathically nearby. Every time I go back in the hills and breath, turning off the 'Ipod, absorbing drafts of rebirth. In my heart these precious moments of life, enriched. Rediscover
my roots, to go away. In order to make, appreciate and love, even from distance. To follow the course of my destiny, no longer on the brink, unable to stay, really. Everywhere I went, I was not happy, I could not feel loose and free of regret. I rediscover my roots, my strength and opportunity. And I go back a little bit more whole.
Now I can go because it no longer disconnected. Now I can take the time that Rome offers, without betraying my roots. In the heart always, my land, my Friuli.
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