欢迎光临

Welcome to China, foreign friend, your honorable presence is really cherished.

You wish, ah.

Things started pretty badly as I was waiting half a day (literally) in Rome airport, trying to find something or someone to enjoy my long wait there. My wish never come true, so I ended up waiting three hours in the most boring hall ever, trying to speak to lame strangers. I could never wish this pain even to my worst enemy, ever. Till finally the time came, and I rushed to China Airlines to check in and... wait another half an hour, tasting a bit of China as I was the only Westerner in a long queue of Asians. Welcome back to Asia babe! Oh no wait, you're still in Italy.

As the departure time approached, none of my fellow travellers had appeared. Surprise surprise, their flight from Heathrow was half an hour late, and I was going to fly by myself. Laaavley.

Eventually, Z. did turn up 30 mins before the take off, and I expressed all my relief screaming a loud "OH MY FUCKING GOD", so loud that everyone turned around; some laughing, some visibly shocked. What a poor choice of words, but nothing described better my feelings. What happened to the other eight brave comrades? Well, they lost their flight, had to stay one night over in Rome, take a flight to Tokyo the morning after, fly to Shanghai from there and discover that Alitalia had lost all their luggage, which was delivered to the hotel four days later. Alitalia has indeed new loving costumers.

Plane full of crying children, annoying mothers who would constantly try to squeeze me into a smaller space; you know, loving mothers often have the brilliant idea that their condition would allow the to do whatever, even completely lay down to relax and sleep. Careless of the poor passenger behind her seat, forced to live twelve hours of his life in barely twenty square centimeters. At some point I lost all my patience, and started to kick back the seat everytime she tried to squeeze me, ending up in a endless flight that prevented both of us from sleeping. Worth it.
I admit, I was starting to think again "why the hell did I decided to go back to China". Long ago I forgot all China's vices to embrace a pleasant memory. And BUM! Here it is, China is back with its tons of totally uncivil behaviours. Don't get me wrong: I don't care if they spit all over the street, eat as if someone is going to steal their meal, be annoying and loud and stalky since 7 am in the morning. I really don't care. But I genuinely hate cultures that overestimate themselves, do no efforts in welcoming "aliens", let free people without the least respect for others (read: motherfucking lazy mothers on planes. Make your baby shut the fuck up, and make him stop kicking me!) I didn't remember a China so similar to America; what's the use in pretending that every foreigner speaks perfect Chinese, and ignoring the poor guy if he or her has no means to make himself understood? I did remember street vendors and little shops trying to rip you off, in Shanghai is only ten times bigger.

Still, the sense of relief that I had imagined actually came when once again I saw my first dawn in Asia; and was worth all the efforts and troubles I'm going through now. I should stick on that thought for harder times, when really that awesome and perfect feeling will be the only thing stopping me from close myself up in a shell and make the same mistakes I've already committed three years ago. Keep up with the Asians, be strong, be smart, be awesome! At least as awesome as this place is (even when I get lost and need nearly two hours each time to get back. Shanghai ain't the place for me, I get lost too easily).

With Chinese love,

a constantly lost but happy misfit.

BRACE YOURSELF

Brace yourself, you're leaving your teens today. Does it means I'm supposed to be a grown-up now? I'm mourning. Don't really know what makes me so sad; it could be the fact that now everyone expects me to change greatly, and still I feel exactly like yesterday - when I was 19. 

Similar to: 31st of August's SUMMER, enjoyable, sun, hothothot, nice beach and beach volley, whereas 1st of Sept is often pictured as rainy, cloudy, a taste of Autumn. Does this make sense? I'ts just a day, less than 24 hours, weather can't change so greatly. 1st day of September's still summer, and you'll have a wonderful day at the beach enjoying the sea colours. 

Doesn't matter if, as my mother witnessed, every 1st of September since I was born has been a rainy day. Not a normal rainy day, but a pouring day, where cats and dogs where falling from the sky. 

It's still a sunny and warm day inside of me, but the world has apparently already decided that my adulthood has begun, and with it all its rain.

PSY, what would I do without you making me laugh all day long!

DETAILS OF A LANGUAGE

Some details of a language - you don't get them till you are either deeply rooted in this new idiom, or until you're able to compare it to another language that share the same idiomatic and cultural origin. 

Recently I started studying Korean. I know, I should study Chinese, I'm going to China, my degree is in Chinese bla bla bla. But I'm so fascinated by Korean. Plus, it's reverse side than Chinese: Chinese starts easy, as sounds and grammar are not so different from European languages; but man, how hard it gets after, when thousands of characters get in the way?

Korean, reverse: totally nonsense grammar (for us) and weird sound differences (for us). At least they have their own alphabet - which makes kind of sense, and after a while you listen and listen and listen and - guess what? listen, then this weirdo starts to make sense. They both need, anyway, some serious hard study, with at least 2 years of efforts to get to a fluent level of speaking. 

So, thanks to the fact that I'm ages away from such a accomplishment, my head started to make some fun connections and reasoning...which ain't probably right, and a more proficient or a native speaker would just kill me for such shameful comparisons. Still, HA. They're fun. Let's start with the only note my limited Korean vocabulary allowed me:

사람  -  사랑 

Yeah, basically the same thing. Just a tiny geometric difference, the first chose a square, the second was more likely in a circle mood. The former means people (saram) and the latter, ladies and gentlemen, love (sarang). I got sooo excited when I saw this, not-so-quietly hoping that the difference could reflect my philosophy: people are there to be loved, and to love themselves. A person was born to do this, and love has a indissoluble bond with the true nature of mankind. It can be deep deep inside but, unless you're Voldemort, always there is. It's such an hippie concept, I'm pleased with myself for having noticed it (pat-pat).

Also, thanks to Lee Jae-ha (Lee Seung-gi) for sowing the idea lol.

Chinese? Well, I could name a dozen examples. But let's just start with the funnier one...

机

Ji, literally meaning machine. The fun about this word (which nowadays acts more as a suffix) is that transforms every other word into a modern term. Example: poor Chinese farmers, once upon a time used to wash their clothes by hand at the Yangtze river shores: they used to xiyi (洗衣), wash clothes. Adding the infamous ji, you get a washing machine (洗衣机). Birds fly; luckily an airplane ain't a mechanical bird (鸟机) like they're called in most of Cast-away-style movies, but it's simply a flying machine (飞机). Even funnier, if you add chang (field) to the flying machine, what could you get? The only place where these huge things like to rest and meet: the airport (飞机场). Receiving+Sounds+Machine (收音机) makes a radio, as well as Record+Sound+Machine (录音机)... yeah, a tape-recorder.  

So, everything+机 becomes the definition for modern stuff. The ones that still make me laugh my ass off are the Hand-Machine (手机) and the Ear-machine (耳机)... or else called, mobile phone and headphones. I'm seriously in love with Mandarin.

THE FAIREST OF THEM ALL

 Right, if some murderous thingy had happened yesterday night, I bet half of the World could be excused thanks to the same event - who was not watching the Olympics opening ceremony? 

Right, Mr.Bean won cheating. WTF?

Honestly, I was waiting indeed for Danny Boyle's show. At first, I saw a happy green place, with hard-working but smily farmers - and I was like WUT? But then Boyle's style came out, and I was glad he portrayed a rich humanity, reflecting his Trainspotting view more than the latest Slumdog's style. A colourful reality that is a result of beastly impulses, neurosis and controversies rather than an outcome of sympathy and loooove. My mother kept saying how beautiful and encouraging was his view, a positive insight of mankind's best - sorry, where did you see that? For at least the first half I saw destruction, a progress that claimed a really harsh payment in both environment and social relationships. Few men looking up their future, pretending it'd be bright for everyone else, that instead came out to be our own destruction: a tough analysis, a criticism of today's world. The inferno-like kilns embedded the metaphor, and I was both delighted by the insight and scared that the whole ceremony would have kept this path, not really in line with the Olympics' morale.
The message, to me, was crystal clear: if we really want to forge a brighter future, we can't forget our past mistake, neither we should hide them. The future is built on our past, regardless of how bad were our actions. A reflection on what hopefully is going to be our past, and as our ancestors worked hard for a dream we should as well forge our hopes into reality, create peace from war, and mould new principles, from a muddy now to a bright tomorrow. Like the Olympic circles lifting up from kilns. 

One ring to rule them, One ring to find them, One ring the bring them all...

away from Mordor-like kilns?

A ceremony embedding both seriousness (who else would tribute NHS? That was awesome) and a lot of fun. I have never laughed because of a ceremony - I felt amazed, concerned, renewed, informed, but never amused. Starting from a 40 feet tall Voldemort, passing through super-heroines with Mary Poppins's shape, till the kiss that pretty much shut the whole room down.

I laughed my ass off watching that. GO MARY!!

Compared to the we-have-to-be-seriously-awesome-goddamn engaged by Beijing few years before, this was much more relaxed. Take it easy, man. It quite sounded like a message to Asian-feeling driven nations: okay, you gotta be perfect and disciplined, but a laugh sometimes? 

For someone constantly divided between her western inheritance and a deep love for Asia (aka, me) this was too much of a comparison. Two different thoughts crashing together, a serious clash of civilisation brought on within four years time and in a neutral stadium. Which one will be victorious, taking up the lead of the world? Discipline and greatness China-style or Enjoy-it-and-it'll-be-better UK way?

NONSENSE.

 It's not wrong, it's not right, it's just different. A concept that perfectly applies in this context, and it's confirmed by athletes' behaviors I've seen so far. Cultural differences pushed far away for a fair competitions. The greatest thing I've seen was a Chinese swimmer hugging a USA competitor; a warm hugh to genuinely congratulate for her triumph. SOWHAT? That's the awesome Olympic feeling. 

I'm just sorry for the Korean fencer kicked out twice by Italians...lol

OH MYYY? EXOs.

At first, I saw this. And my first reaction was "Oooh myyy, hey gorgeous!"

The second feeling was, needless to say, relief. Just look at these guys. Try to guess who's Korean, and who's Chinese. I might as well write one post about my methods to recognize whether an Asian is Korean, Chinese, Japanese, Thai or Ect: but I'm positive I'd sound quite racist. Even if it really works. Anyway, the second though was "God, when Chinese guys are beautiful, Koreans can't stand comparison." I mean, look at those guys at the bottom, they're particular, beautiful, hot, and definitely out of the pedophilia/androgynous zone so widely spread in Asian Pop culture. YAY!

Then, this. The VIDEO. 

I can image the producer ticking his checklist. English Epic Intro, done. Cute and hot singers, done. Quotes from Sailor Moon's Exoplanets, done. Sailor Star Fighter Chinese and Korean version, done. Tree of life legend, done. Super-bad villain yet-to-be-uncovered, done. Innovative one market two countries two (or one?) boy band strategy, done. (Which was a stroke of pure genius). 

I wasn't too shocked or surprised. There was the same basic lack of originality, good dancing skills, good-looking boys, and then what's more? It was just a fusion between ShinEE and TVXQ. Don't get me wrong, I love pop-art, pop-life, pop-flashing and saturated colours. Pop-levity. I simply can't stand Pop music. Until 4:19, when the story changed, and a wild Chinese-Canadian appeared:

I can't find or ctrl+stamp the skeleton make-up, he or his producers must regret performing that. But, still. What's that, Aladdin Sane Asian version? I am amazed and horrified at the same time. Horrified because... well, there's not really a because. I can't - to put it simply - accept crossovers and mixture of music genres, especially when you have a pop song and producers decide to randomly insert some rock-rap-alternative-soul-emo details. And wushu. And Flying kicks. Which was awesome, btw.

But. On the other hand, it is true that originality comes from audacity. The big problem is that not always results are as stunning as we imagined it. Anyway, I have never seen something like that in Asia. Something that goes beyond the pretty boy imagery, and introduces the artist in the shiny and glittery pop world. We're far from a true achievement, but this, for Asian markets, it's a breath of fresh air. It's new, it's breaking the brick wall between art and Confucian regime/tradition. And the damn Chinese boy band leader is half Canadian. Are we seriously seeing a true opening of the Asian Great Wall? After Kim Jong-un dancing with Daisy and Mickey Mouse, everything is possible. A unpleasant feeling of fear ignited after half an hour of reflection: they're on the way of perfection. They dance, sing, look (naturally?) beautiful. Producers, through idols, are starting to let go their conception of art, and they are starting creating a new wave, a mixture of old tradition and new ideas combined to form the perfect performance. It's amazing, and once more, I'm glad I'm trying to keep up with the Asians. I'm truly starting to believe that soon they'll take over the world, with a Sino-Korean-Chinese alliance, and in couple of decades we're gonna see the first Hunger Games, contestants: round-eyes. 

The tiny little inner-me feels like Jun-pyo. Imma upset. 

  

LAME

Shit just got real. 

AFS Korea does exist!

Which completely destroyed my dreams of becoming AFS Korea founder. I'm kinda joking about the issue, but deep deep inside I was sad indeed. I still am. Slowly this stupid idea was starting to overcome every realistic future prospective, and creating an AFS office from zero was truly becoming a dream I would have done everything to accomplish.

So, now, I find myself again being at the mercy of the waves, with no goal, no ultimate purpose to pursue, no vaguely precise plan ahead. I'd say I am screwed.

YAY!

Luckily there's still DPRK that needs an AFS office. 

加油！Fighting！ 

God, I'm seriously getting Drama addiction.

YOLO

As this nonsense sentence quickly gains the cool status among teenagers' vocabulary, I'm stuck here back in my hometown, witnessing the cutest mixture of extensive farming and huge polluting factories, which btw inhabitants genuinely define it "home sweet home". BAZINGA!

Uhm, lame. 

Mother keeps pointing out how much money she spends on my education, that I should lose some weight before I go back to China; my car does not follow my orders and instead tries to run over innocent pedestrians; an unknown dialect is spoken pretty much everywhere, and now I'm unable to understand a word. God, that used to be my dialect, I could at least grab a dozen words out of a sentence, enough to make my granny think I could speak bresciano.
Oh, yeah, pressures on "you should stop volunteering and start looking for a job", candidly ignoring the fact that I chose to spend these few weeks in my family's company instead of serving margaritas to enriched tourists on white beaches nearby crystal seas. I would have ended up with money, suntan, maybe sexual fulfillment. Instead, I'm dying trying NOT to incite slaughterous instincts in my mother. 

Life is good, but with this scenario thank God we only live once. So I'm trying to genuinely find anything that can keep my mind busy - not as easy as it may seem, when the only distraction is...my laptop. I spend half of my day studying Korean (when I should study Chinese) and the other half trying to drive a car properly. I even considered the idea of reconciling with other peers in town, but the idea of being treated as a freak that never stays home and just grabs the first occasion to leave is everything but tempting. And I'm positive I'll spend the whole summer trying to teach a few chinese or korean words to people who have the least intention to learn and the greatest need to confirm that these languages are way to complicated to be learned. Which, btw, is true. I'm the stupid one.
A week spent in Pisa with those amazing volunteers and pax for the summer program raised a bit my morale, but now I'm in the desperate need of a talk in Brit English, or - jeez, at least in English. Which, as mentioned before, is kinda impossible, considering that even our official language is an uncommon and mysterious tool...

God, where am I?

Feels like the third world.

Oh, wait. Berlusconi's still trying to gain power and rule Italy.

We still are a third world country. 

STRAWBERRIES ON A PERFECT CAKE

Use your imagination. So far I can say that the best cake I've ever tasted it's an english carrot cake, with fresh carrot-ish flavor mixed with the perfect honey-like savor given by brown sugar, that literally melts in your mouth. Inside the dough is so soft and bubbly, doesn't stay long in your stomach, and after a perfectly satisfying piece you feel as light as a cloud.

Now, figure out what's your favorite cake. Imagine the first bite after a long stressing day - it feels like heaven. And when the perfect topping meets the perfect cake... well, your day is complete.

That's pretty much how an university student feel when finally gets is first (pardon the pun) First in your academic career. That's a goddamn good feeling. Especially after your first essays have gone so badly that you were seriously questioning your mental capacity.

Yes, it feels like strawberries on a perfect cake. 

Fondant au chocolaté...

and Carrot Cake. Now you know how to make me happy.

SPRING ALL OVER

This, is why I love this place so much. It's full of life, art, experiences. Leeds and its students always know how to properly surprise you and make your day. May it be that spring is really around us? I have never seen a sky so blue and beautiful, and grass so soft and full of colours. It's just magic.

This, on the other hand, is why I regret to be in England. Something that really, really, reaaaaally makes me feel sorry for these poor english girl, with not enough money to dress properly. Shame.

C'EST LA VIE. OR MAYBE NOT?

L. was the first person who has told me that, once abroad, the most stupid thing that an expat could ever do is to hang out just with internationals. Or - worse, with people that shares your same nationality. 

It's true. We all know it: if you hang out with locals, your language and pronunciation gets better, you get into local customs way faster and you're probably on the right path to get some good friends despite the differences.

We used to spend much of our time with true Englishmen, just to end up too drunk to even remember any interesting conversation we might have had. That's also English culture, and that's fine. Although you can never get to a level where you can genuinely share opinions, especially in this cold latitude where build up a friendship not-alcohol-based seems to be tabu. Or at least not so easy to build up for latinos :)

So we came to the conclusion (or maybe we're trying to convince ourselves that we're not making a mistake) that perhaps, sometimes, we can also hang out with the hundreds of international students that Leeds luckily has. And for once, I can write about a nice conversation we ended up with about what's good and what's not so good about English educational system.

English schools, especially universities, are widely known as having one of the best way to teach students in order to better introduce them to the work world. Seeing it from an undergraduate perspective, i cannot support neither of the two thesis, but thank to P., a MA student, we saw some clamorous fails.

It's true universities try their best to open up work possibilities. But they also rely way too much on the student himself, giving hints but never complete knowledge. I.e., isn't it weird that for a language student not even a module of Linguistic is compulsory? Linguistic is the basic to study any language, it teaches you how they have formed and it's surely a big help for those who are trying to learn a completely new lingo. Instead, is seen as an elective: in other words, you can do that or you can spend two hours of your week learning about nanotechnology. Which is cool, but how relevant is for your degree?

Also, not much importance is given to history. Which, even from my fresher's point of view, was crystal clear. I mean, I guess in Italy no lecturer would ever ask a vast audience "how many of you have ever heard of the word harem? Who knows what comintern is? Lenin, never heard of him?"

That's because at a GCSE level history is taught just from a UK vision. And later on, if a student can choose whatever he would like to learn, why should he bother? So again, a student is expected to fulfil these huuuuge gaps involuntarily left by schools. It's okay to ask for some personal interests, but isn't it too much? Why a seventeen years old kid should bother reading Anna Karenina if is not vaguely related to what he's studying?

Moreover, this again creates huge gaps between people and social classes. Is not new to Sociology that who is born in a low income family has fewer way to get to knowledge and probably, in it's life time, he will get less and less interested in something that he cannot literally learn and enjoy at school. 

I kind of see this big freedom given to students as a double-edged sword: on the one hand, it raises up an individual able to organise himself, think by himself in any situation and deal with problems a normal Italian student could never deal with. On the other hand, those who do not have the possibilities, will or just enough support to stick to one decision are lost forever.

A way of thinking highly highlighted by the new welfare and educational agenda undertaken by the government: raise by 300% university fees it's a way to discourage people who are not really willing to study from starting a degree, but also a way to stop both those who do not have the money or qualifications to enter any scholarship program.

If Einstein was born in nowadays England, the world would have never known the great physicist who changed so badly twentieth century's history.

C'est la vie. Or maybe not?

TO INSPIRE AT LEAST ONE PERSON

Once upon a time, a 12-year-old girl started to dream to become a journalist after that her mother showed her the books and reports of one of the greatest writers that Italy has ever had: miss Fallaci. She was more than a journalist, she fought every single battle she believed was worth fighting for. She put herself into what she wrote, and she devoted her whole life to show others what wasn't so easy to see. To teach us to think with our own mind instead of following the mainstream, and to deeply analyse human behaviour in both its horrible and magnificent sides. 

The girl that was so badly in love with her it's still there, somewhere. I sincerely been through many more experiences and trouble and journey and people that I would have ever imagined at that age. And the little girl learnt that what her heroin was saying was true, and was everywhere in this world. It's the magic that makes you cry just looking at a picture of a mother holding tight her child, it's what makes you turn your head disgusted every time an injustice is happening, and what makes you step forward in order to stop it. It's protection, love, fear, wisdom, courage. It's everywhere, hidden even where you wouldn't look at.

I almost forgot why I started to write, why I went abroad the first time and why I chose to pursue this kind of life - which, any expat can say, is not always as pleasant as it's pictured to be in Italy. I chose it because I reckoned it was the only way to spread the same message of peace and knowledge that she sent through her books. And as she inspired me, I want to inspire someone else. 

So I'm deeply sorry if I hadn't write in a while. I admit I was quite depressed since few people are following the blog but hey! I won't give up. If there's just one person that reading this pages or the one I wrote when I was sixteen, it will be always worth it. 

With Love,

Saya.

THAT'S THE BRIT WAY

Once more brits reminded me the massive mistake I made only thinking that their country was going to be a piece of cake for me. My brit friends should thank me for the tons of times they laugh their ass off cos of me myself. And - frankly, once they discovered what a source of amusement we were - they never stopped to take the piss out of us. I will never forget the time they finally explained me that any proper Englishmen has been taught to use "Pardon me" just in case of a little fart, not surely to mean that they haven't heard properly. But by that time I already made that posh nancy boy think i had some health issues. 

Also, when S. started to enlist all the ways he knew to say three of the most important words of english language (don't think they're such useful words, it's just being drunk, fuck, and awesome) we fell asleep before he actually finished. Though now I can say I'm drunk in a thousand possible ways (Starting from being arseholed, hammered, loaded, 'till the classic get pissed) I still use and prefer the more american "get wasted". It's an expression that has its own power, and makes you feel how destroyed you got with less than 10 letters. About awesome's slang synonyms, I personally fell in love with immense. It's such a cracking word!

Even in the kitchen I have problems in simultaneous translating: who would have imagined that to find zucchini and eggplant I should have studied french? If in Tesco I ask for such vegetables, the only answer I get is a brassed off "sorry luv, we don't sell that thing".  When you say courgette and aubergine, then maybe you'll be able to put these dear goods in your cupboard!

Once a pretty bladdered D. shout to P. something he surely meant to be a nuance of surprise, but instead it made him sound like a quite fruity old tart: "Blow me down!" And M., who didn't really know the real meaning but had just studied a new nice way to offend in brit english, answered back: "shut your clanging cake hole!". That wasn't surely my cup of tea, but at least it wasn't a dull moment either. I have never laughed so much but, honestly, who wouldn't have after such a waterfall of nonsense sentences altogether? 

I could enlist another thousand moments where I couldn't really understand a word, and I had to learn quickly in order to survive: it's a muffler and not a scarf; She is fit, and you too; that thing it's a hob, how else would you call it? You twat, can't call a girl a old lad! And so on, making my poor figures basically endless. 

But I'm easy, a easy cheeky monkey. And L. and B. are smart arses as well, so we usually get it sorted with a big big smile. Easy Peasy.

Sigh, I will never get it sorted. English people are impossible. Sob.

OH,SO CHRISTMASISH!

Officially, I came back on the 8th. Sincerely, it's just since yesterday that I fully realized that i cannot call Italy "home". I always write about my need of "leaving DA Country" because somehow I felt it like the place I belong to. Now... not really. Ah. It's nice to see again my family, have Christmas with them, but please, not more than two weeks. I genuinely reckon more than that gets unbearable. 

Officially, I came back on the 8th. Unfortunately, thanks to tonsillitis and these six-days-of-fever, I spent three days in coma and the other six praying for a fast healing miracle. Off course, it didn't happen, or I'd be finally out of this building. 

Officially and Sincerely, I'd like to be in Leeds. There was Christmas in the air, a smell of chestnuts, hot chocolate and marshmallows allover the city centre and in every single café. There were lights and decors in every street (obsolete and pretentious, not at all nice) but there were. And it was getting into the snowy weather, which was annoying cold and slippery but really Christmasish.

Christmas All made in Leeds...

There was the German Market - were sellers were speaking bulgarian, romanian and italian - dozens of small stands with tiny useless gift. With sweets, food, beer, beer, beer, muller wine, honey. Hand-crafts. Tons of chocolate (only have liqueur inside. So choose well, or you could get gianduja and whisky), candy floss, crepes, nutella. Flows of Nutella. Sweet and sour candies, colourful popcorns. Christmas-themed parties, sales, alcohol sales.

Yes, I kinda miss my english Christmas. I dare say it was more challenging, and with no present owed to someone, I felt the heart and the true meaning of this festivity. We were just a bunch of friends that loved being together...maybe no christmas feast, maybe no christmas tree (at least not the usual one), no decorations nor gifts, just a lot of smiles, drinks, and parties altogether. Just the joy of being together. 

Here... I'm driving crazy looking for a nice gift for each of the 15 people that will eat here on the 25th. I'm pushing myself in order to bear my mother. I'm trying to teach my sister english because I have to, and Italian to my host-sis also because I have to, though I should study for my exams at some points but who cares. In a couple of weeks, right after Christmas, I'll probably have to go again to Florence, and do the classical tourist trip with the exchanges, but I just wanna go back home. Back to Leeds. I hope there will be a little of its Christmas charm once I'm back in January.

BITTERNESS OF LIVING

@Sabble 

I don't wanna sound unpolite, but any information needed for international student who are wishing to study in the UK can be found either on the UCAS or on the website of your chosen university, so if anyone needs any of these informations... well, United Kingdom's educational system and its university are everywhere online, it won't be too hard to find the answers you're looking for.

Moreover, I believe every situation is different indeed. I could write my painful experiences trying to get those information required by Ucas, but I sincerely hope you won't find any of these difficulties.

Italian school is a pain in the ass.

The education system reflects the society which is part of. It's a static and dying organization that struggle to keep its head out of the water, but ultimately fails drowning into deep oceans of nepotism, incoherence and incompetence.

We focus on dead subjects, that someone in the late 20s set as the most important knowledges that any student can acquire, rather than teaching useful stuff that student can apply in the world outside school. We stuck ourselves into a narrow space within safe boundaries, that protect us (?) from the outside. The result? Students have a one year more of mandatory education, which is usually the one that other young europeans use as Gap Year to experience and acknowledge real world; university aren't really a connection to the work system; they're just a prosecution of high school where once more student have to study, study, study and basically learn by heart subject that ONCE MORE won't probably be useful in the work place.
And once we've graduated, we can either choose to:

a) Try and be defeated in the pursuit of a job.

b) Study more, to get a master or/and a PhD

          (and then not find a job anyway).

Anyone that wishes to escape from this rotten circle, and realizes it on time, goes abroad to study. Living one year in London/New york/ Berlin/ Paris (which at the end becomes at most two months, then the average italian goes back to his mama's kitchen) it's pointless, since you: won't find a job that can support you, won't learn the language, won't gain any relevant experience for you personal CV.

So the smart kid applies to a UK university for a master degree or, better, for a full undergraduate degree.

Unfortunately, the smart kid clashes against the Italian school, who sees him as an anomaly. Italian school it's absolutely not used to deal with international applications. Teachers are more likely going to be annoyed if you ask them to be your referee, and they won't answer to the simple question "Could you please give me a predicted degree of my finals?" either because they're too lazy or they don't wanna have any problem. Last but not least, they can make your life a living hell because you're a kid with ambitions, prospective and goals. Any person like YOU in Italy is seen as a cancer, or probably someone that hasn't yet been infected by the typical italian "male di vivere/ bitterness of living". So yes, the average high school will fight by all means at its disposal to deceive you. Get ready; if you survive, than you will understand why I am so happy to be here, in a place that encourages me rather than destroy my hopes and energy.

Also, most of the other student won't understand you. Cmon, they spend their final year talking about "yeah, maybe I will do medicine... or maybe law, or architecture, or engineering, or art. Maybe literature."

(WTF??? -.-)

A mixture of absolute nonsense, that makes crystal clear they have no idea of their future. Anyone who does it's either a nerd, a twat, or a misfit. Careful: they could even accuse of cheating during your finals because of this. It happened to me. That's what envy can do to people.

Italy really needs to open its eyes and start to support who have initiative. But i guess we're just going to die slowly, and recognize what we have done to our society when it's definitely too late.

Chinese school...

and Italian's. Find the differences.

PIZZA, MAFIA AND NO MORE

I wanted so badly to write something about England.

But this amazing news came unexpectedly, and i could stop myself from laughing, rejoicing, cry for relief.
It's over. He's done. Walt Disney was right, dreams DO come true.

I won't have to be ashamed anymore because an asshole is ruling Italy.

"Whereabout you are from?"

"Italy."

"Ah, bella Italia! Pizza, Mafia and Berlusconi!"

"NELCULO!"

RUN OTLEY, RUN!

Any englishman has heard about fancy dress, and had surely been in one of those massive theme parties. They're actually amazing parties, though are an excuse for girls to dress up in the bitchiest way possible without being persecuted by horny kids (me as well, LOL) and for boys to be even more stupid, if possible (?).

Lets face it: the little tiny child inside us is always grateful when we just have fun without thinking "OMG, this is so stupid, it'll ruin my status quo!".

Ghostbusters working in parties too.

In Leeds, they do much more.

Picture it: late '80s,  some extremely bored mid-aged men, dressed up, laying on the steps of a house that was supposed to hold the party of the year. Instead, it turned out to be shitty, and everybody is just chilling out by that time - which, to me, is not what people are supposed to do in parties.

Until the classical douchebag stands up shouting a loud Fu*k off!, catches the closest girl and runs to the nearest pub to get hammered; and once he's done there, he gets into the next pub, and the next, and the next, and the next. HE is the only hope last for all the party people, and HE lighted the idea that the party could yet go on, just changing location.  The whole house shook while a bunch of dressed up drunk people tried to catch up the douchebag, rolling down the stairs and jumping in the garden...

Result: people running like morons in the middle of the street, swinging from pub to pub, drinking loads of beer and, off course, dressed up in the weirdest and yet most genius way you've ever seen.

(I damn love it )

The Otley Run usually starts from Woodies, in far Headingley. It crosses the whole student district, passes through the University of Leeds and ends up at the Dry Dock, after 3 miles and 19 pubs where every participant is obliged to order a drink. Rules may change, but usually it's set that participants should have a different drink in each pub; non-alcoholic options are available, as well as charity collections to help as many people as possible to end the run. And off course: fancy dress!

Leeds people and students here in general surprise me with their fantasy and their imagination. Ideas I'd never have, that could be either genius or dramatically stupid and incoherent. Some of my block mates wore like crayon pencils, and the result was simply amazing: a dozen of colourful guys, covered with cardboards of the same colour and a massive "crayon" written on their chest. AMAZING.

 Blurred for privacy matters.

Or the "Rubik cube" run: each person had to wear in many different colours in different combinations, exactly like a Rubik cube looks like. Once the run started, we had to exchange clothes and accessories in order to wear just a single colour by the end of the route! HELL YEAH!

We're going to have another Otley Run for L.'s birthday. It's going to be during Halloween time so... if you see some Santas, Christmas Trees or Rudolphs around Leeds don't be scared and just join us! :)

AND YOUR BROTHER TOO

It's six o'clock and it has already been two hours since I'm awake. I hate when I can't fall asleep again. 

That's why, pretty much, I'm posting bullshits on my blog ♥

Quite a funny video, though. It resumes all the habits I had to explain and perform since I landed here. Explaining our gestures has been quite tough. I also learned something: I knew we had loads of military forces, but 54 and all armed is ridiculous...

Careful englishmen: "your sister" doesn't necessarily mean that...

NOT MY CUP OF TEA

There may be a lot of important issues I could talk about. More relevant, that you can notice at your first sight.

But.

There's something that had being climbing the hit list of the most stupid english habits, and had finally reached the first position. It definitely challenges me.

 English ladies, how the fuck do you dress up?My heart is crying right now, cos this question can only bother an Italian or at most someone who really does care about fare bella figura. Though it's hard to translate this sentence, an english way to say it could be "make a good impression". Which is not always so easy, and requires a deep understanding of the environment and of the situation we're going to deal with, plus a complete control over every single detail. It's, basically, one of the hardest task ever, which really few people can manage to do it in the best way.

In England, even a fewer percentage can do so. I know, any english girl, reading this, would just say: "I dress up fashionable! WTF BTCH STP SYING BS! -.-" 

But that's EXACTLY the point. Fashion is the death of style. Dressing up in a voguish way, following the latest trend, doesn't necessarily mean to have style, neither it means that you know how to dress up properly in order to achieve the best possible image of your self. If something doesn't fit, it simply DOESN'T FIT!  It's pointless to squeeze your body into an anorexic-made-for tiny little dress, that shows every freaking cell of fat you have in your legs. I've seen sooo many salamis around uni, with shorts (can i call them like that? Cos they looked more like undies) showing unmercifully everything. I'm not perfect either, but at least I don't dress up in such a horrible way.

Dear God, I am sincerely tired of meeting whales in inguinal shorts and flashing-pink tights. With their belly out cos it's so sexy! No. You just look like a sausage in desperate need of breathing.

And even if they look kinda good, there's simply no "taste", or any freakin idea of how to put two different pieces of clothes without clashing in either colors, shapes, styles. You cannot put just a pair of thighs and then pretend you don't need to cover your ass. If I see your underclothes, then you absolutely DO NEED to put something on!

Or, worse, when they wear those dresses and those flowery and thin shirts. not even my grandma is still wearing them, they're so damn old-fashioned. True, the 50s right now are the trendiest thing ever… but, really, you just look like an old woman that cannot forget the time of her life. Black, brown and gray knee-long dresses, with awful patterns such as small and big roses, tulips, daisies and sunflowers spread all over the cloth. No sleeves allowed and an leather shit-brown belt, in order to to achieve the granny image! YAY!

Unfortunately, there's yet an important matter that plagues my soul: As you may know, most english girls had their childhood freedom destroyed by ugly uniforms. Obliged to wear them every single day during the greatest time of their life, as soon as they are allowed to wear anything they'd like to they loose any fair measure. This means tiny dresses every hour of the day, 12inches heels, corsets, unpleasant t-shirts and not working skirts (they do not cover anything, so they're not working to me).  Jesus, you are studying, not clubbing! It's definitely the POSHEST thing I've ever seen in my life. Plus, it's hella obvious they are dying of cold: hanging out pretending it's August 15th, in the middle of a snowstorm, is not the smartest thing a person could ever do. But that's exactly how english ladies behave. It's not brave dare the cold wind of Leeds in shorts and then hope to be alright the day after. It's mere stupidity, especially if it's done just to follow the rule "be fuckin' sexy every single moment of your life/be bitchy always, even at Morrison with your kids". I am not kidding, you can easily find twenty year-old moms walking in the supermarket with basically nothing on. If I were their kid I would just hide ashamed… my mom's dressing like a whore, my mom is fuckin' dressing like a whore! In a supermarket, at midday!

A concept that appears to be more important than their own health. I dunno, it's just too much for me. I'd never ever, risk my own health to appear. To "make a good impression". Take care of ourselves in order to look beautiful it's a normal behavior, but it can't overcome our own sake. It simply can't. I've always thought the inside is far more important than the outside, but it seems this concept here cannot survive. Who told me that english do not care about appearances, and that they wear the first two things they find in the wardrobe? They hadn't been in England lately for sure, or they didn't see any of the newest generations.

Btw, some girls have the BEST styles ever. They're simply beautiful and so stylish. I love 'em, I love their english way to dress. it's so original and kinda rebellious.

They're the apple of my eyes :)

Have I mentioned that I love being in britain?

(I know sometimes it doesn't seems so, ha.)

COUNTERBALANCE THIS COMMOTION

Here I am! It has been a long time since my last post, and actually it has also been a long time since I landed here in the Uk.
Let's say I FREAKIN' love it!
It's cold, it's windy, it's rainy, I can see the sun once every week, people talk in a hundred impossible ways but hey! It's England!
I basically landed in Leeds without knowing where I was going to sleep. I didn't really have time to organize anything - I came back from Rome just two days before my departure, tired as HELL after having taken care of a bunch of screaming foreign kids (four hundred and twelve to be precise :P) and with no time for packing. The result? I came here and I scared to death one of those nice guys of the Meet and Greet Service (Where are you going? I have no idea. Where will you sleep? Is the railway station comfortable? LOL.) My luggage was sooo light, and I was proud of it, but now I understand that the weight was like that due to the massive amount of useful things I forgot at home. My room is HEEELLA small, and until three hours ago it was in a indecent state of chaos. Three hours ago I also found (FINALLY) the laundry room, so now my bedroom looks really like a battlefield. And I AM tired, as you can read.
BUT HEY, THIS IS ENGLAND!
Course, it's not perfect. My first impression though was absolutely WOW. As B. and L. witnessed, I fell in love with british boys. Hell yeah, where have you guys been all these years? They are everywhere, surrounding me, I cannot go anywhere without feeling in heaven. I'll turn into a hooker soon, AH.
Is pretty funny though how I divide systematically all the people (boys) I meet. I am supposed to be here to wipe out prejudices and pre-conceived ideas, and yet I divide them in three shameful categories…
1) Cook's. These guys remind me SOOO much of Cook. And since this is a public blog I won't say what I'd do to them.
2) Matthew's. Cuties. They are just like my favorite singer, how could I not love 'em?
3) Nobody's. Ah. Go on, I won't see ya.
I understand is stupid share all the people in these three ways. I understand people may not like to be compared to the most awesome and yet the biggest asshole character that Skins has ever had, or that someone may not be happy of being a mirror of - no, okay, there's no person that cannot be happy of being compared to Matthew Bellamy. But damn, why everybody here look just like them? It's an english conspiracy to kill me softly.
So, I am fully enjoying British culture and its natural beauty. Meeting me you'd see the eyes of a little girl with a new, huge and delicious lollipop. No innuendos in this sentence!
But.
Somewhere in my deepest inner mind, I started to perceive and take in differences I have never expected. Is not as far as Asia, though it feels like another world: I left Italy with the feeling that these months were going to be easy, after my experience in China. That I knew already how to behave, I knew the language, I knew the right manners. I was so self-confident that I came to the point of convincing myself that I couldn't be scared by something so close, so similar, so reliable. I fell into the trap that led all those renaissance explorer to go farther and further, assuming that the farther the more different and the closer the more similar, without preparing myself to reality.
Instead, I found out England is unlike indeed.
The surface is really similar, but deeper inside you can feel some differences. Is the awkward feeling that starts from your stomach, and then spreads into your whole body; and then you're done, you cannot talk anymore. You watch, you listen, you understand, you smile like an idiot but you absolutely shut your mouth up. You are somehow scared to broke this precious and fragile balance established among all the people around you. In these moments you clearly perceive yourself as an outsider.
Talks are just too different. Greetings are different, and the way you stay with others are different. You slow down the conversation, you feel your presence superflous. The first example I could think of is: Goodbyes. The average Italian would say bye kissing someone on the chick once, twice or even three times. Otherwise it feels like you where just waiting to leave, that you didn't enjoy the company, even though you actually had a lot of fun. But here, you just don't.
It's a violent collision between two worlds and I am exactly in the middle. I know I shouldn't be here, I know this ain't the right place, I WANT to stay here though. I wanna watch the destruction of these two worlds, waiting quietly that the storm passes through to show the beautiful newborn. It's a bit melodramatic, okay, but that's exactly how I feel right now. I am shared between two worlds, and it's not really a nice feeling. I am ready to jump in the new world, but something is holding tight my feet; the only thing I can do is bouncing in and out from one world to the other whilst I look for a way to set myself free. It's the end, and I'll push myself toward a new beginning. To grow, to become a better person, to travel, to understand. There's no knowledge without sacrifice, and there's no understanding without fatigue. There's no happiness without distress.


Anyway.
Next posts less theoretical and more practical. Just to laugh a little bit bout english habits!
(hope none of my flatmates read it, AH.)

KIDS WITH NEW TOYS

Have you ever felt like a kid with a new toy?
Lately I do. I came back from B's house and I found this whole new kitchen. Well, not really new, but full with new cutlery and cookware. A wook, a couple of new professional pans, a mixer. I tried again the amazing flavour of excitement: you know, the sweet and sour aroma that imbues your mouth while eating something really awesome, that tickles the palate. Or when something new gets in your way, giving you back the will to try new things.
Pretty much this is what happened to me. New toys for my kitchen, new ethnic dishes for my (poor) family! Also I wanna try new recepies - low cost and fast ones, that I can use once I'm in Leeds. Up there the key words are: save money, eat WELL and healthy (which, translated, can be shown as "i don't wanna get so freakin fat like I did in China just because of the cultural shock") and possibly do sports.
OUCH.
I'll never do it, I know. I like weekend walks, and i could also start jogging. But as soon as the could weather gets in, I will get into hibernation. Then work, and school... i should really work hard on this point of my determination. As long as it doesn't have the word "sport" in it, I can force myself until it's done, but in the other way around... urgh. God have mercy.

Ps. It looks like Arabian Hummus and East asian ramen it's perfect to survive to uni without diabetes.

Spicy Hummus

Tantan Ramen