Pride 
"A cloud of smoke, which all run away, do not see anything, the police tear gas, the fear, I hand in my father looking for a way out." Arena were quelling a demonstration in Milan. I must have been no more than ten years. My life starts there, hanging that hand, the memory of my childhood more clearly just begun. The next slide memory in elementary school "Ruffini," famous for being the next great Leonardo's fresco "The Last Supper", but then again there were rows of Japanese to Corso Magenta. Fusi Gigliola The teacher kept me in consideration, not because the most talented, but because the most bizarre. I knew amaze me. Once he gave a task: Fill both sides of the notebook "or". I was at home, watching TV, I did not want, and my mother was not some attention to my tasks were different times, the children were in the hands of institutions, of which adults they trusted him blindly. Not like now with the parents alerted to alleged or actual carnal accusations. I was very interested in the sad "or" and wanted to see the cartoons. I began to draw bigger and bigger, to fill an entire page, four "or" on a single page. The next day at school I suffered the humiliation first, my notebook was thrown into the air in the middle of class. I had gone too far. Silently I picked it up and put me back to the place. I realized that there was a limit to the acceptance of different, the balls were not to go too! I treasure it. I was promoted to the fifth to answer all the questions and carrying out manual work, such as a clay pallosissimo rosary and a cross stitch embroidery, which I still hung in the bedroom of my childhood. A full marks, redeemed, move pride. From there, the medium was a jump. My parents had an open mind, so open to trust a school experiment at the Milan Conservatory. The school would join in the experimental, the Institute for the Blind and the dear master of the Conservatory Abbado was to look like a cruel scientist. I walked shyly, wearing a skirt loden sad that my mother loved so much. The first day I noticed the lack of rules, I was immediately taken for a ride, because all too well dressed. The first quarter report card had my good grades but a bad opinion about me: "She is not engaged, hard to socialize, even if he has good returns." I picked up the situation, literally. I gave up the returns and devoted myself to the work of leaders. The lessons, run by me, ended up being a game of hide and seek, and time around a bottle of Italian. The teachers followed, looking for those who would be able to submit. Not to mention the blind, innocent victims, who crushed the dots Brail not to make them lighter, finishing with a shove down the stairs. On a personal level was a success. In the short time I was the one who could command to insert a spoon in the ass to the class nerd. Second term: "The girl had a loss in performance. Its insertion is complete, however, shows clear signs of leadership ability." It was a successful experiment, as a school, but my pride still came out the winner. The rest was a disaster. But it was there that I met Julie Comella, long platinum blonde hair, always disheveled, flared jeans, sweaters wide; a blowjob in school, which of us was not at that age, apart from the usual nerd. Julius was beautiful and damned; a leader! We understand now, but it was too conventionally accepted. In the eyes of others could not love us, we had to be at all, grant us, we were not allowed to be a couple, it was anti-political, was a fascist. We loved pretending nothing, suffering the lack of intimacy. At parties we had to kiss everybody, not to show preferences, seconded to be superior, but suffers from die observed you tongue in my mouth, with strangers. Every slap, every heartbeat in the privacy, torture, every smile, a misunderstanding. We knew we love each other, but that was not the time and place. He was the son of an actor, that I approached him even more. I was the daughter of a theatrical impresario, always on tour and missing too much to want, once back home, to get my head in my problems, and a mother only ever accompanied by glasses of Lambrusco and discs Aznavour. One evening, while my brother and I were in bed, we heard a bang in the bathroom. Fell banging his head on the edge of the bath, had blood on their hands and looking distraught with grief. Matthew and I, looked hide the shame and the lost dignity. We drove away in a bad way. Even now I hate Aznavour. Julius made a party in the rehearsal room of his father. The whole class participated. We played a strange game, like dodgeball. The row of men at the center was to capture one of the many females who tried to reach the opposite bank and reversed. I did everything to fall into his arms, to be taken, captured, to enjoy a moment of intimacy admitted, or even masked. He did the same, until a jealous voice among the guests: "Excuse me, but if Julie wanted to have a party only with Elisa, he could warn us!" And it was over. Julius would not have ever given up its role as a leader, and shortly after I left. It was difficult for me to collect the shot. Every morning I saw him flirting with other in class, indifferent to my heart twisted. One day, however, I realized the truth. While we were all together in a circle to sing a song of Baptists, "The song of the sun," crossed his eyes, he had continued to observe from a distance, was still in love! Immediately took advantage of the situation and how the evil Medusa marmorizzai, boyfriend with his best friend, Nicola. I became the perfect love, always attached to him, flaunting scandalous kisses and attention by geisha, performing all kinds of provocation, an effective way to heal my wounded pride. Julius was never at school. In this way, perhaps, I was showing his indifference. I felt stupid, as I could hope to win with him as one of the tricks as a child! I had lost. My life changed, I had deep ruts in the soul, as my guilt. I began to politics, as can a fourteen year old, with the conviction resulted more from belonging to a group, and personal. These were the years of lead, Milan was a pressure cooker. YOU KNOW IT to make it explode. They had just killed and Fausto Iaio. I went to that big event, motivated by anger, indignation, contempt. So many people, a lot of smoke, lots of police batons as they hovered in the air by skittles circus. I'm running away trying to save themselves. It was there that lend a hand saw, was Julius, beautiful, with a handkerchief over his face, brandished a big stick of wood. I looked into his eyes, grabbed me and ran strong, making their way to beating. My heart was beating crazy. We were able to overcome the trucks hell, where our comrades were locked case and beat the living daylights. We kept running, away from there, breathless, to be able to find, embrace, love finally in front of everyone. A whistle, do not know where I step over the ear, suddenly the silence around me, I immobilizzai, the body of Julius who slumped in slow motion. I, who continues to tighten. La mia vita finiva lì, in quella Appes hand, il ricordo della mia adolescenza più chiaro, per semper Spezzato.
"A cloud of smoke, which all run away, do not see anything, the police tear gas, the fear, I hand in my father looking for a way out." Arena were quelling a demonstration in Milan. I must have been no more than ten years. My life starts there, hanging that hand, the memory of my childhood more clearly just begun. The next slide memory in elementary school "Ruffini," famous for being the next great Leonardo's fresco "The Last Supper", but then again there were rows of Japanese to Corso Magenta. Fusi Gigliola The teacher kept me in consideration, not because the most talented, but because the most bizarre. I knew amaze me. Once he gave a task: Fill both sides of the notebook "or". I was at home, watching TV, I did not want, and my mother was not some attention to my tasks were different times, the children were in the hands of institutions, of which adults they trusted him blindly. Not like now with the parents alerted to alleged or actual carnal accusations. I was very interested in the sad "or" and wanted to see the cartoons. I began to draw bigger and bigger, to fill an entire page, four "or" on a single page. The next day at school I suffered the humiliation first, my notebook was thrown into the air in the middle of class. I had gone too far. Silently I picked it up and put me back to the place. I realized that there was a limit to the acceptance of different, the balls were not to go too! I treasure it. I was promoted to the fifth to answer all the questions and carrying out manual work, such as a clay pallosissimo rosary and a cross stitch embroidery, which I still hung in the bedroom of my childhood. A full marks, redeemed, move pride. From there, the medium was a jump. My parents had an open mind, so open to trust a school experiment at the Milan Conservatory. The school would join in the experimental, the Institute for the Blind and the dear master of the Conservatory Abbado was to look like a cruel scientist. I walked shyly, wearing a skirt loden sad that my mother loved so much. The first day I noticed the lack of rules, I was immediately taken for a ride, because all too well dressed. The first quarter report card had my good grades but a bad opinion about me: "She is not engaged, hard to socialize, even if he has good returns." I picked up the situation, literally. I gave up the returns and devoted myself to the work of leaders. The lessons, run by me, ended up being a game of hide and seek, and time around a bottle of Italian. The teachers followed, looking for those who would be able to submit. Not to mention the blind, innocent victims, who crushed the dots Brail not to make them lighter, finishing with a shove down the stairs. On a personal level was a success. In the short time I was the one who could command to insert a spoon in the ass to the class nerd. Second term: "The girl had a loss in performance. Its insertion is complete, however, shows clear signs of leadership ability." It was a successful experiment, as a school, but my pride still came out the winner. The rest was a disaster. But it was there that I met Julie Comella, long platinum blonde hair, always disheveled, flared jeans, sweaters wide; a blowjob in school, which of us was not at that age, apart from the usual nerd. Julius was beautiful and damned; a leader! We understand now, but it was too conventionally accepted. In the eyes of others could not love us, we had to be at all, grant us, we were not allowed to be a couple, it was anti-political, was a fascist. We loved pretending nothing, suffering the lack of intimacy. At parties we had to kiss everybody, not to show preferences, seconded to be superior, but suffers from die observed you tongue in my mouth, with strangers. Every slap, every heartbeat in the privacy, torture, every smile, a misunderstanding. We knew we love each other, but that was not the time and place. He was the son of an actor, that I approached him even more. I was the daughter of a theatrical impresario, always on tour and missing too much to want, once back home, to get my head in my problems, and a mother only ever accompanied by glasses of Lambrusco and discs Aznavour. One evening, while my brother and I were in bed, we heard a bang in the bathroom. Fell banging his head on the edge of the bath, had blood on their hands and looking distraught with grief. Matthew and I, looked hide the shame and the lost dignity. We drove away in a bad way. Even now I hate Aznavour. Julius made a party in the rehearsal room of his father. The whole class participated. We played a strange game, like dodgeball. The row of men at the center was to capture one of the many females who tried to reach the opposite bank and reversed. I did everything to fall into his arms, to be taken, captured, to enjoy a moment of intimacy admitted, or even masked. He did the same, until a jealous voice among the guests: "Excuse me, but if Julie wanted to have a party only with Elisa, he could warn us!" And it was over. Julius would not have ever given up its role as a leader, and shortly after I left. It was difficult for me to collect the shot. Every morning I saw him flirting with other in class, indifferent to my heart twisted. One day, however, I realized the truth. While we were all together in a circle to sing a song of Baptists, "The song of the sun," crossed his eyes, he had continued to observe from a distance, was still in love! Immediately took advantage of the situation and how the evil Medusa marmorizzai, boyfriend with his best friend, Nicola. I became the perfect love, always attached to him, flaunting scandalous kisses and attention by geisha, performing all kinds of provocation, an effective way to heal my wounded pride. Julius was never at school. In this way, perhaps, I was showing his indifference. I felt stupid, as I could hope to win with him as one of the tricks as a child! I had lost. My life changed, I had deep ruts in the soul, as my guilt. I began to politics, as can a fourteen year old, with the conviction resulted more from belonging to a group, and personal. These were the years of lead, Milan was a pressure cooker. YOU KNOW IT to make it explode. They had just killed and Fausto Iaio. I went to that big event, motivated by anger, indignation, contempt. So many people, a lot of smoke, lots of police batons as they hovered in the air by skittles circus. I'm running away trying to save themselves. It was there that lend a hand saw, was Julius, beautiful, with a handkerchief over his face, brandished a big stick of wood. I looked into his eyes, grabbed me and ran strong, making their way to beating. My heart was beating crazy. We were able to overcome the trucks hell, where our comrades were locked case and beat the living daylights. We kept running, away from there, breathless, to be able to find, embrace, love finally in front of everyone. A whistle, do not know where I step over the ear, suddenly the silence around me, I immobilizzai, the body of Julius who slumped in slow motion. I, who continues to tighten. La mia vita finiva lì, in quella Appes hand, il ricordo della mia adolescenza più chiaro, per semper Spezzato. 
