Sunday, April 20, 2008

Memorabilia #4

abdullah stasera va a dubai con il suo nuovo coinquilino maniaco sessuale riccardo.
mmmh, mi sa che mi sono messa con l'ennesimo figlio di puttana...

April 5, 2008

mai previsione fu piu' azzeccata...

April 20, 2008

Memorabilia #3

appena ho conosciuto abdullah, il mio attuale "ragazzo", ne parlavo con la mia amica flavia ed abbiamo riso parecchio della sua serieta' nel propormi il matrimonio e del momento (teorico) in cui lo avrei presentato alla mia famigghia:
"mamma, papa', questo e' abdullah, il mio fidanzato e l'uomo che voglio sposare..."
"e' afghano" ---> infarto n.1: fa fuori mio padre
"ha 36 anni" ---> infarto n.2: fa fuori mia madre
"e' divorziato" ---> infarto n.3: fa fuori mia nonna
"ha 2 figli" ---> infarto n.4: mia sorella sopravvive (e' ancora giovane e forte), ma paralizzata
"ha avuto in passato problemi di alcoolismo e depressione ed ha tentato il suicidio" ---> mio fratello scoppia a ridere e dice che solo un pazzo mi si poteva incollare.

lo so che non e' bello ridere delle disgrazie della gente, ma la cosa divertente e' che ora che mia madre verra' ad abu dhabi a trovarmi, ABDULLAH LA VUOLE CONOSCERE!!!

che fare?

April 5, 2008

Memorabilia #2

farouq. farouq is a good guy. i feel it...
but maybe the stupid test i've taken on facebook was right and i'll always fall for bad guys only.
but why? why human nature is so mocking? why we usually love people who make us bad and suffer and we do not consider good people suitable for ourselves?
love is a wild animal. it's like a lion you cannot tame, a bull on San Firmin's parade. out of any control. you can try to anticipate its moves, you can try to entrap it, you can try to escape from it, but you'll always fail. power is not in your hands. power is in its hands. and you cannot fight that power. love is a monster.
my colleague reema once told me that one of her friends married a man that she didn't like, but this man loved her to death and was willing to do everything just to make her happy and after getting married to him, her friend was so happy that she started to love him. so, reema's moral was: if you feel that someone loves you so much, marry him, even if you don't like him, and he will make you happy in any way.
is this the right answer? i am not sure.

April 2, 2008


mum... am i doing the same like you when you kept saying grandma about my dad "he is a good man, clever, cultivated, he is not like all the other motherfuckers out there..."?
(ok, maybe you never said motherfuckers!)

April 1, 2008

Priceless Antiques... (now that it's over!)

messing my life even more. why do i give chances to people to hurt me? why can't i just stand apart and look at this circus instead of being one of the fools on the panoramic wheel bringing you to the top and then down and down and down again till someone comes to you and tells you that the ride you paid for is finished?
it would be much easier remaining aside and don't try to be a main carachter... but, do i really want to be a main character? do i think i'm better than others?
or maybe i'm the one who messes others' lives... like it happened with G. and N. ... like it happened (i discovered lately) with F. and C. ... like probably will happen with abdullah too... i donno... perhaps he really loves me. perhaps he really can't live without me... perhaps. then why i'm not in love with him? why not always at least? sometimes i love him. and sometimes i don't. i think i love him when i realize that i want a family and that he really would be a perfect father for my children.
but most of the time i don't love him.
and... human beings are selfish... and i'm a selfish human being... so i want someone perfect for me... i rather want a perfect husband than a perfect father... sorry for being honest!
or maybe i also want (well, need) a perfect father, but for me not for my children.
dad called me a couple of days ago. strangely, because it was only 2 weeks that i didn't talk to him... but manu told me that he saw on the PC recent pics of me with the new haircut and that he was almost crying in front of the screen.
no matter what, la famigghia e' la famigghia and i miss all of them.
actually i miss their support... i miss fighting with my mom and then crying and asking her pardon while she cuddles me and explaining her why i was upset... i miss her hands on my shoulders and my cheeks and my head... i miss when my nose becomes a big red potato and starts dripping while i cry... and i miss her blowing my nose in those moments... i donno from where she always finds a handkerchief to blow my nose... here i only cry when i'm with abdullah... he's a kind of my family right here right now...
but it's not enough.
after what happened last year i cannot trust anyone... not him. and not K. ...
Mohamed was a room in my home, a ventricle in my heart, a synapsis in my brain... wherever i go and whatever i do he'll be with me always... like a tattoo inside my DNA... even with laser i can't remove him... i got an e-mail from him last week... saying "tu me mankesssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss"... he will never change. and i do hope he won't... his charme is in his carefree approach to life and responsibilities, in being a child even if now he is a father...
he is with me when i go home in italy: he is with me in my own home. my whole home is still full of him. i open my wardrobe and i find the coat and t-shirt i wore the first time we went out together. i look for a pair of earrings and i find the jewel he brought me after his first trip to alexandria. i choose which book i wanna read and i eye the Gamal Al-Ghitani's novel we broke our heads on that night in barbara's home. i open the cupboard to pick a clean glass and i see the tea and sweets he brought for my family from paris.
so i go out. and i pass by the hotel where we spent four wonderful days, the bar where we drunk cappuccino and ate cornetto, the corniche where we used to walk and that reminded him of some places near alexandria, the beach we went at 6.00 AM just cause he wanted to see the sunrise, the bus stop from where he left to rome and i fought with the bus driver.
then i take a bus, probably the same where we sat and i took pictures of him. and i take the plane, reminding me of all the planes i took to reach him. venice. paris. cairo. alexandria. finally i arrive to abu dhabi, the only place in the world where i don't think about him. even if i still get his picture and his first phone number written on a small piece of paper in my wallet here. but i try not to open it. and not to think about it.
maybe i should answer. "tu me manques aussi". the truth.
i want to be the same that he's to me to someone. i want to be important for someone. i want to be a room in someone's home. i wanna be a room in K.'s home.
March 31, 2008

Love matters

and also this one is over...
i was waiting for this moment, really!
i knew it was about to come. but i'd never thought it would come like this. like a fist straight in your face. like a TGV in the middle of the french countryside. like a Hummer which doesn't stop at a red signal.
like this. without any guard on. without the possibility to make any move. without any warning bell and with no time to pull the security handle.
no security exits allowed.
actually no kindness allowed.
no reasons and explainations and/or excuses.

last week i said on the phone: "i don't give a fuck about love. love is nothing. love is shit. i don't want love, i want respect. love doesn't matter without respect."

now i'm thinking that probably love matters, no matter what.

and also i'm thinking: does Dr. Marini carry bad luck?