Autumn: A Dirge (Percey Shelley)

.I am back in Brussels! I was welcomed by an unusually sunny weather, even though the temperature is remarkably different compared to the one in Italy. On Saturday I had to get up REALLY early, like 5am, in order to catch my flight. I am the kind of person that, when extremely tired, either feels nauseous for the lack of sleep or reacts by being hyper-active. Needless to say, this weekend I managed to keep myself extremely busy. We did not really spent the weekend lazying off, but took long walks in the countryside with Quentin's dog, gathering chestnuts and chamomile (we are chamomilophiles). We even went second-hand-furniture-hunting for the new apartment (that we don't have yet!). Cooked twice for his whole family (he has quite a large family, especially by Italian standards), baked chocolate chip cookies and chestnuts.
.I was wearing an old a vintage Armani woolen blazer I found in my mother's closet, my go-to H&M pull (which I L-O-V-E, I wish I had it in all the colors it comes in!), and my ancient Converse shoes. I bought these back in the emo days, in my first year of university, and even though they are thorn and worn out I cannot decide to part with them, as they've traveled the whole of Europe with me!
.You can finally see my remarkably unremarkable ombre hair. I wouldn't have risked LLYMLRS-like blonde ends with my almost blackish hair! Too bad though, maybe I should have.
.And here are my new glasses. Will they make me feel comfortable about wearing glasses in public? I dearly hope so, as contacts are NOT an option in my world, as eye-make up isn't. I am a bit of an eye-freak, I find them just disgusting.
.I found this other amazing Shelley poem in the English literature book I am currently reading (and I am desperately trying to save, as I normally read books in a matter of hours, no kidding. I'm one hell of a fast reader, without spoiling the pleasure of reading though. And it did come in handy university-wise.). So enjoy some romanticism and have a great start of the week!

Autumn: A Dirge


The warm sun is falling, the bleak wind is wailing,
The bare boughs are sighing, the pale flowers are dying,
And the Year
On the earth is her death-bed, in a shroud of leaves dead,
Is lying.
Come, Months, come away,
From November to May,
In your saddest array;
Follow the bier
Of the dead cold Year,
And like dim shadows watch by her sepulchre.

The chill rain is falling, the nipped worm is crawling,
The rivers are swelling, the thunder is knelling
For the Year;
The blithe swallows are flown, and the lizards each gone
To his dwelling.
Come, Months, come away;
Put on white, black and gray;
Let your light sisters play--
Ye, follow the bier
Of the dead cold Year,
And make her grave green with tear on tear. 

I was wearing:

H&M basic batwing pull,

Primark jeggins,

Converse sneakers,

Ray Ban glasses,

Casio watch

Thomas Sabo bracelet

H&M scarf.

Homage to Prato della Valle

. Lo so, quando vado a Padova posto solo (o quasi) foto di me in Prato della Valle, di me e Quentin in Prato della Valle, di me e la Fé in Prato della Valle... in realtà ho foto con quasi chiunque in Prato della Valle. Ma attenti a come parlate che il Prato non me lo si deve toccare.
.Da piccola mi ci sbucciavo le ginocchia facendo finta di destreggiarmi sui pattini (sono una troglodita anche a piedi, i mezzi di locomozione alternativi non mi si addicono). Gelati e madre che urla isterica perchè ho un apposita fessura sulla faccia per inserire il gelato, mentre il completino nuovo di Benetton non era apparentemente una valida alternativa (mamma bugiarda, ancora adesso le mie maglie di Benetton si sposano allegramente con gelato, gaufres, frittelle, granite, frappé e credo anche una volta con una fragola al cioccolato, ma non è successo in Prato e quindi è un'altra storia).
.Da adolescente era la tappa classica con il morosetto di turno (adesso i teenagers sbaciucchianti mi repellono).
. Da post-adolescente nella fase ribelle dei miei 20 anni emo (ho avuto dei 20 anni emo) ci ho imparato ad andare in skate insieme a Michelle e all'inseparabile Fé. Una delle nostre battute migliori, credo in un pomeriggio di maggio, è indubbiamente "Seppellitemi in Prato" (e lei non è nemmeno di Padova! Quanto amore!).
.Ora (da vecchia?!) è la tappa delle mie rimpatriate patavine. Prato della Valle ha visto il meglio e il peggio del peggio di me (no, aspetta, quello è il Bo'). Quindi c'è una relazione di mutuale rispetto e tolleranza tra me e l'erba del prato, che, attenzione, non mi ha mai macchiato i jeans nemmeno dopo che aveva piovuto (vedete che sono una troglodita?). Quanto amore.
.Sono tornata in belgica terra e mi sto godendo (lavorando) gli ultimi giorni brussellesi prima del trasferimento a Parigi. Per altro se il simpaticissimo locatario ci inviasse il contratto visto che arriviamo sabato sarei anche più felice.
.Ho finito Persuasion. Oh, Jane, perchè sei morta? Penso che l'unica via che mi rimane per continuare a JaneAustenare sia leggere Pride and Prejudice and Zombies o Mr Darcy, Vampire. Mon Dieu de la France.

.EN . I know, when I go to Padua I post only (or almost) pictures of me in Prato della Valle, me and Quentin in Prato della Valle, me and Fe in Prato della Valle ... I actually have pictures with almost anyone in Prato della Valle. But be careful what you say about my Prato, it is an oversensitive subject for me.

.When I was little I used to scrape my knees, pretending to master the fine art of rollerskating (I'm a troglodyte on foot, alternative means of locomotion I do not comprehend). Ice cream, and my mother screaming hysterically because I do have a special slot on my face in which to put the ice cream, while the new Benetton outfit she just bought me was apparently not a suitable alternative (treacherous mom, even now my Benetton t-shirts happily marry with ice cream, waffles, frittelle, slush, milk shakes and I also believe once a strawberry with chocolate, but it did not happen in Prato, which then makes it another story.)
.As a teenager, it was where you would go with your middle/high school sweetheart (now teenagers eating each other's faces repel me).
.In the post-adolescent rebellious emo phase of me aged 20 (yes, when I was 20 I was kind of emo, so what) I've learned to ride a skateboard there, with Michelle and Fe. One of our best lines, I think it was one afternoon in May, is undoubtedly "Bury me in Prato" (and she is not even from Padua, how much love!).
.Now (in my elderly years?) it is where I first go when I come to visit mom and dad in Padua. Prato della Valle has seen the best and the worst of the worst of me (no, wait, that was in front of the Bo '). So there is a relationship of mutual respect and tolerance between me and that grass, which, mind you, has never stained my jeans even after it had rained (you see I'm a troglodyte?). Love love.
.I returned in Belgian ground and I'm enjoying (working) the last day of Brussels, before moving to Paris. It would be way nicer if the tenant should send us the contract because I happen to start working on Tuesday. Uh la la.
.I finished Persuasion. Oh, Jane, why did you die? I think the only way left for me to continue janeaustening is Pride and Prejudice or Mr. Darcy or Zombies, Vampire. Mon Dieu de la France.

(not) Singing in the rain

(skinny jeans Meltin'Pot, shoes Converse, tank top Primark, foulard vintage from my Grandma <3, shades vintage from my Grandma <3, watch golden necklace Urban Outfitters)

Piove. Ma piove che non potete capire. Piove proprio di cattiveria. Sono momenti come questi che mi fanno domandare, ma io, in questo paese, che ci faccio? No, forse sono i momenti in cui mi rendo conto che siamo al 3 di maggio, e che fuori ci sono 6°C. Lo trovo inverosimile.

Io ho orrore della pioggia. La tollero quei tre giorni necessari in estate, ma quando si tratta di un continuum spazio temporale come in questo caso, io potrei farle del male, alla pioggia.

Ti svegli, e piove. Vai a lezione, e piove. Esci, e piove. E in tutto questo puoi considerarti fortunato se non c'è vento, perchè altrimenti tutto il gear contro i diluvi diventa un po' inutile, e ti ritrovi umidiccio come l'ambiente circostante. Muffoso. Ewww.

Quindi immaginate come mi sento se penso che lunedì di due settimane fa, in Italia, io ero al mare. Al sole. E mi sono scottata.

Mamma. (detto à la Principe Giovanni di Robin Hood)

E adesso scusatemi, devo andare a scegliere se il mio mood è più adatto all'ombrello con le fragole, quello a righe, o quello a pois.