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.)