The weight of invisibility, 9th Septmeber 2019

How many times have we heard that we live in a world where picture and visibility have more power than words and intention?

I’ve found myself many times in this position of invisibility, in several situations.

But what I’m struggling with now is the knowledge that there is something that I’m missing.

I’ve studied Communication and Media so I know, I should know how marketing and PR work but still I don’t understand what takes for an idea to become interesting.

How come that suddenly something that wasn’t interesting become worth listening to? 

Many people told me “If you want to reach out to people you have to get social media!”. So after many years I did that, I got Facebook, Twitter and Linked-In (which I can’t use any longer because an attack on my account).

I must confess I’m not very active on it, I try to use it for work only, but the fact is that now I have more than 100 “friends”, technically I’ve reached out to them, but my work hasn’t gotten easier, my project hasn’t gotten faster. So Why Do I Still Feel Invisible?

I’ve got this great project (for which I wished I had three more brains, because I won’t be able to do everything on my own) that will do good for many people, not only those interested in autism but the whole society that will get in contact with it, but in front of me I keep seeing huge mountain that many times before felt unclimbable.

I know that what I have to do is to divide that mountain in many smaller rocks, it’s boring and being hyperactive it’s not what I like to do, but apparently it has to be done if one wants to reach the top of the mountain in one piece.

In the meantime I’ll start studying psychology and take care of the presentation of my book.

First date so long are:

-17/10-2019 Perugia, Ponte San Giovanni, Libreria Grande

-26/10-2019 Anghiari, Biblioteca

-9/11-2019 Arezzo, Libreria Feltrinelli

På återseende, 13 Augusti 2019

På återseende blinda blickar som går genom min själ som kalla vindar,

På återseende oändliga telefonköer som förtärar de starkaste av attityder,

På återseende skrikande barn som springer med glassen överallt förutom i munnen,

På återseende normalstörda som är mer kognitivt hindrade än kycklingar utan huvud

På återseende Nazi-feminister som kräver inget mindre än de som de kallar rasister 

Hur kommer jag att sakna allt som störde mig och som fick mig att nästan ge upp mer än en gång.

Men du, Mälaren, som har sett mig gå hand i hand med honom,

som har sett lika många av mina tårar som är dina vattendroppar,

Du, som omfamnar vår huvudstad som en mor som ser sitt barn för första gången,

som ger oss energi och vatten,

Du som fyllde mina bruna ögon med de blåaste av blått och lärde mig vad skönhet är,

Du, kommer att fortsätta rinna i mina ådror och färga mitt blod med det blåaste av blått;

För att det har inget betydelse var våra mödrar föds oss,

tillhörighet har inget med att göra med ett sjukhus adress;

jag må ha föds i vår Caput Mundi,

jag må ha klätt mig i guld och rött och skrikit “Heja Vargar!”,

men mitt hjärta är guld som dina åkrar och blå som din skärgården!  

På återseende “Tjena Bro!” och “Heja Djurgård’n!”

På återseende oändliga promenader i dina skogar

På återseende skrikande huliganer 

På återseende aspievister som försöker ta plats och få det respekt som förtjänas

Hur kommer jag att sakna det frihet du lärt mig och som fick mig att resa mig upp än en gång.

På återseende Moder Svea, 

På återseende Mälaren,

På återseende Djurgård’n.

Alltid i mitt hjärta.

Stockholm, 7th August 2019!

My fingers are on fire!

My fingers are on fire! They want to write, create, let ideas be born!

I feel like a lion, I just want to surf the wave of my creativity and let my strength explode in an atomic of life!

No, I’m not on drugs and I’m not having a psychosis, I just went to see my psychologist. 

I felt lost in Oslo and I needed to stop, visualise and feel the moment, no matter how painful it was. And it was painful, very painful. But I realise (as I may have already written) that pain is nothing but a feeling, it can’t kill. It’s not pleasant but the more we ignore it, the more we turn our back on it, the more it gets stronger. In the end it can controls us and we mustn’t let it have this power on us. So close your eyes, cry, and feel it! It takes courage but it’s nothing but pain. 

Imagine it like a big wave caused by an (h)earthquake, you are the cliff. Big, strong…wave after wave you’ll get to recognise the pain and suddenly you  will realise the cliff is stronger and higher than the wave.

I know what I want to do. It’s what I’ve known for a while now, but I wasn’t ready to go in for it yet.

I like to travel that’s obvious. I enjoy talking, way to obvious and what’s most important, I want to help people…what the hell I’ll open a Center! 

It will take time, money and A LOT of patience but that’s my goal now. It may not work…people keep telling me that’s not possible, that Italy is not ready. Maybe. But no one would believe that women could get a divorce in Italy for 60 years ago. For 10 years ago no one would ever have expected to see the GayPride in Perugia, but last year it happened. 
What could get worse? I’m already pennyless and homeless. Ha!

So Now starts the recruiting of my Aspievist Team!

Meanwhile I’ll keep working as a speaker, in Sweden, around Europe or wherever they call me, talking about this life that is so different and so amazing IF only we let our self be!

The 22nd my book will come out in Italy and then….I’ll surf the waves!

Oslo, 4th of August 2019

After the fear that overwhelmed me yesterday I’m now ready to start writing again.

Just a few moments ago I was standing by the window and watching a quite inspiring scene: two young seagulls were standing on a roof and calling out the attention of an adult to get food. I imagine the adult as their mother. She flew down to them but not directly to them, she landed on another roof, near but not quite, as to say “I’ve got the food but you also have to do your part”. First one of them, then the other flew by her. But she seemed to have had a change of heart so she started to walk away, with the two young almost hanging by her nebb. Frustrated, she flew away in the end.

It was time for them to grow and get their own food.

I probably imagined everything but when she flew away, there was a moment when our glaze met and it felt like we connected. I suddenly realize how much I would like to learn to fly. There was something so comforting in the way she flew. 

I thought about my mother and all the mothers that have a son or a daughter with Autism.

How hard must be! Yes it’s tough on us, but what mustn’t be for them? whom have given us birth, give us a home, let us be who we are, fought us, let us go and then open their arms toward us all the time we felt lost at sea and didn’t have anywhere to go but back to our mothers.

Even now, I’m a grown woman and yet, right now ,I just would like to go home, go back to my mom. 

But them what? As soon as I would have got my energy back I would leave like I did so many times before.

Start from zero sounds like a good fresh start but it becomes a routine it may become quite unhealthy.

My father who is a very wise men, today surprised me saying this “My darling, one doesn’t grow roots because choses to, but because the choice one makes let them grow. One may have the desire to grow them as well but to let them grow deep and strong it has to happen all naturally”

It seems to me that I’ve been seeding the mark quite a lot in the last few years but as soon as I do so I leave and let them dry. Why? I have no clue. I always thought that to be cool one has to be exotic and for me being exotic means being extravagant with lots of stories to tell. A vagabond in other words. There is nothing better than traveling to learn stories to tell!

I’m not sure though if I would recommend this life to a person that has autism. Not as a lifestyle at least. Travel is going to be my answer to almost anything, but it has to be done in a way that doesn expose us to us, and that was my mistake. I exposed myself to much and doing so my energies (that for us aspies are gold) expired very quickly. And that’s how I ended up in the staircase of a hostel in Oslo, on the phone with my boyfriend with tears that flow down my cheeks like norwegians fjords. 

I have to stop and regroup. Tomorrow I’ll take the first train and go visit him in Stockholm. Aspie to Aspie, he knows always how to give me my strenght back.

Fauske, 2nd of August 2019, 12 AM

I’m in Fauske, is about 120 km from Narvik. Yesterday I solved my restlessness by waiting until six o’clock pm when Inger has come back.

She told me that there weren’t any trains that goes from Narvik to the south of Norwegian, and that if I wanted to do so I had to take a bus to Fauske and then from there the train to Trondheim.

As proved before she was very kind to me and she called a friend of hers that could come and get as a lift to Narvik, where she lives.

This friend of hers was a man, around my father’s age, a very interesting person, a true northern norwegian! As Inger, he was very open and interested in everything I had to say about Autism and my trip.

He took a longer way to make me see the landscape of Narvik and at some point I screamed “Eccolo!” (there it is, in italian). On the side of the street stood a beautiful female moose up to eating slowly the grass around her. 

My heart was beating fast and I felt like that was one of those moments that mark oneself.

She continued to eat and than, with nonchalance, she crossed the street, look at us while still chewing and then kept following her path.

We look at each other, both deeply moved and then the only thing I could say was “Thank you for this present”.

I more encounter with the wild life today; while I was on the ferry I saw a glimt of a couple of delfine, but what really struck me of the couple of eagles that flew over the fjord.

In these moments I really think that is worth giving up everything and go. At the same time I can’t stop phylosofing about the concept of travel and home: why do we travel? What keeps us going forward?and then what is home? What is that makes us stop?

Everybody keeps asking me where I come from and where is home, I keep answering that I don’t know, I don’t remember. I know where my parents live, where my boyfriend live but I…I AM having a deep existential crisis and I would like to find the answer to all this. So long I have only more and more questions.

So many details are hammering my mind: the smell of Luleås air, exactly like Bergens air almost ten years ago, the tunnel in the mountain in Norge that my mother would have loved, the colours of the light on the bus to Fauske that made me miss my loved one.

It’s one o’clock pm now, me train leaves in nine hours. And no, there’s not much to do here.

6 AM

Four hours to go.

I’m bored and when I’m bored I get sad and see everything blue. I’ve listened to many songs, I realised I have a lot that talks about travel, leaving or in general moving on to something else.

I started my journey five days ago and I already feel like I’ve been away for several weeks, but how can one be away if there is no home to go back to? I took the very drastic choice to leave everything behind me, I sold what I could and donated the rest. What I own now is my memories and my backpack.

What is better “One for himself and God for all” or “all for one and one for all”?

All around me I hear people telling me that being self sustained and independent  is a very precious thing and that one must protect it at any cost. To work and being economically independent is at the base of this society and blablabla…to be honest I’m getting tired of this kind of mentality. I don’t say it is wrong but it’s tiring.

The fact is, at this point, that I don’t know why I’m traveling, is it for the joy of exploring and get inspiration for my writing or is it because I was suffocating in Örebro and I needed to run away? Probably both, I’d like to find an answer to this question before I decide where to go next.

The only thing I know is that (if it is not canceled) I’ll take the next train to Trondheim and from there down to Oslo.

I don’t kwho why I can’t stop thinking about Nederland, is maybe my longed beach there waiting for me?

1 Agosto 2019

Ancora a Katterjåkk, domani mattina presto voglio rimettermi in viaggio, questa volta a piedi, facendo l’autostop. Tutti i treni sono o troppo cari o al completo. Devo cominciare a scendere, sento il solito formicolio nei piedi e un’angoscia che sale, devo muovermi. Oggi ho scritto per diverse ora e l’ispirazione é finita; é ora di trovare nuove mete.

Ne ho pensate diverse, Holyhead da Patricia, Amsterdam, scendere direttamente da Rosi, ma due problemi ricorrenti fanno sempre capolino nella mia mente, la distanza, troppa ed i soldi, troppi pochi.

Sto aspettando che Inger torni dalla sua escursione giornaliera per chiederle consiglio.

Katterjåkk, 31 luglio 2019

Mi ero preparata a spendere la notte sul ciglio di non so quale strada (la 10E credo) al confine fra Norvegia e Svezia e invece, non mi stancheró mai di dirlo, la vita non smette mai di sorprendermi.

Arrivata alla stazione di Kiruna, dopo aver dormito in un ostello bello ma scomodo, non riuscivo a decidermi se andare direttamente a Narvik, o se fermarmi prima ad Abisko e da li, come giá detto andare a piedi a Riksgränsen.

Dopo quattro ore di attesa, ho deciso di andare direttamente a Narvik senza fare soste.
Il motivo é che cominciavo giá a sentirmi le formiche nei piedi (metaforicamente parlando) all’idea di dover aspettare ancora prima di arrivare li e volevo arrivare alla mia beneamata spiaggia il prima possibile (prima o poi vi spiegheró di che spiaggia sto parlando).

L’aspetto positivo delle quattro ore di attesa é che ho finalmente cominciato a scrivere il mio secondo libro, questa volta credo sará un romanzo.

Una volta salita sul treno, mi dirigo verso il posto nr.65, che si rivela essere occupato da una ragazza norvegese. Le sorrido e tranquillamente le dico che non c’é bisogno che si sposti.

Mi metto in ginocchio sul sedile di fronte al suo e, appollaiata come un condor, cominciamo a chiacchierare amenamente.

Mi ha sempre affascinato il fatto che norvegesi e svedesi possono comunicare tranquillamente pur parlando ognuno la propria lingua.

Insomma, proprio come mi successe in Galles, alla fine della conversazione lei mi ha proposto di pernottare da lei nella sua dimora Invernale/estiva a Katterjåkk, a due km dal confine.

Ora sono seduta sulla sua veranda dopo aver fatto una camminata fino al confine e aver scoperto che qui, nel profondo nord, c’é una ricraezione di un mini villaggio stil Old Wild West.

Davanti a me si apre un lago, con tanto di ghiacciaio che troneggia su di esso, il tutto, illuminato dal sole (quasi) di mezzanotte.


Kiruna, 31 luglio 2019

Una cittá fantasma. Per niente strano che nei prossimi 20 anni verrá tutta trasferita in un’altra zona dato che sta per crollare a causa delle troppe esplosioni nelle miniere di ferro.

Attraversandola alle dieci di sera l’unico suono che si percepiva era il ticchettio dei semafori in attesa di diventare verdi…tic, tac, tic, tac. L’unico suono che facesse percepire lo scorrere del tempo.

Mi sembrava di essere stata catapultata nel mondo della Bella addormentata nel bosco nel momento in cui le fatine avevano fatto l’incantesimo per far addormentare tutto il paese.

Il sole era alto nel cielo come se fossero le undici di mattina invece che di sera ma non sono rimasta alzata per vedere il sole di mezzanotte, anche perché per vederlo sono in ritardo di un mese. No, sono andata a dormire appena ho potuto.

Forse potrei riuscire a vedere qualcosa stanotte, se il tempo lo permette.

Al momento il piano, che potrebbe cambiare da un momento all’altro, é di prendere il treno per Abisko verso le tre di pomeriggio per essere li verso le cinque, e poi da li andare a piedi fino al confine con la Norvegia; secondo i miei calcoli dovrei arrivare proprio verso mezzanotte.

Devo ammettere peró che non sono preparata termicamente per una cosa del genere, ma come si dice? Basta che non piovi!

Fjällåsen, 30 juli 2019

Tåget stannade i det lilla samhället kallad Fjällåsen.
”Vi kommer att stanna för ett kortare uppehåll pga banarbete och kommer att fortsätta åka om 20 minuter” sa konduktören.
Alla steg av, någon för att röka, någon för att rasta hunden och någon annan för att ta bilden på det som verkade vara den enda huset i stan, nämligen stationshuset.
Barnen sov lugna i vagnen så mamman och pappan unnade sig en puss och en lång kram på perrongen.
Efter ett tag man hörde konduktören vissla, det var dags att hoppa på igen.
Plötsligt ett fruktansvärt skrik få alla att hoppa på tåget. Barnen är borta och konduktören ligger livslös på golvet. Någon ha mördat henne.

Det skulle kunna vara början av en av Agatha Cristies berättelse, men det var bara en av fantasierna som förverkligades i mitt huvud medan jag vapade på perrongen.