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We are the generation that migrates out of curiosity, because we feel like doing so, or because we are looking for adventures. We are maybe the m… Read More
We are the generation that migrates out of curiosity, because we feel like doing so, or because we are looking for adventures. We are maybe the most cowardly generation, and the most beloved one. We are defined by separateness and nostalgia. It’s not our punishment, it’s our choice. Our voyage consists in accepting the chaos, accepting and not controlling it all; accepting what is, at the moment, an almost invisible loss… Read Less
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Domenica


WhenI was little, I often went barefoot into my father’s study in orderto open the drawer where he kept all the pictures of our family. Ispend a lot of time browsing through these photo albums, which hadbeen cataloged by date and color. When he came home after work, hewould sometimes notice that I had been there and not left things asthey had been before…that something had changed. And that annoyedhim.


Whilewalking through the streets of Madrid, I sometimes see people who Ithink I’ve known years ago when I still lived in my home town, inSicily; I see street corners that remind me of the street cornerswhere I used to hide when I was little; the ghost of smells longgone, that suddenly appear, surprising you, just to disappear in thenext instant, leaving you just enough time to recognize and thenforget them again.


Inever see the sea, nor do I see its ghost.


Tenyears from now, I’ll open this drawer and realize that from 2010onward I’ll be in my family album no longer. It’s them, withtheir birthday cakes, their Christmases, their excursions, and Iwon’t be there anymore.
I am the face that appears on Skype.


Weare the generation that migrates out of curiosity, because we feellike doing so, or because we are looking for adventures. We are maybethe most cowardly generation, and the most beloved one. Weare defined by separateness and nostalgia. It’snot our punishment, it’s our choice. Our voyage consists inaccepting the chaos, accepting and not controlling it all; acceptingwhat is, at the moment, an almost invisible loss…



StefaniaFiguccia 22.02.2012





Domenica


Cuandoera pequeña, entraba sin zapatos en el estudio de mi padre paraabrir el cajóndonde teníatodas las fotos denuestra familia. Pasaba mucho tiempo ojeando esos albumes catalogadospor fecha y por color. Cuando el volvíadel trabajo a veces se enteraba de que habíaestado por ahíy que no habíadejado todo en el mismo orden...que algo habíacambiado. Y esto le molestaba.


Paseandopor las calles de Madrid a veces me encuentro con gente que creohaber conocido hace años en mi ciudad, en Sicilia; veo esquinas queme recuerdan las esquinas donde me escondíade pequeña, los fantasmas de los olores que llegan y te sorprenden alas espaldas y que un segundo despues desaparecen, dejandote solo eltiempo para reconocerlos y enseguida olvidarlos.


Nuncaveo mar, ni su fantasma.


Endiez años abriré ese cajóny me darécuenta de que a partir del 2010 yo ya no estoy en mi album defamilia. Son ellos, con sus tartas de cumpleaños, sus navidades, susexcursiones y yo ya no estoy. 

Yo soy la cara que aparece en lapantalla de Skype.


Somosla generaciónque migra por curiosidad, por ganas de huir o en busqueda deaventuras, quizas la mas cobarde y la mas querida. La separacióny la nostalgia son nuestra condición,no por castigo, si no por elección.Nuestro viaje es aceptar el caos, aceptar no controlarlo todo,aceptar lo que de momento es una perdida casi invisible...


Stefania Figuccia  22.02.2012