Dolce guilt

Easter is over and babbo is home again. He woke me up this morning, coming into my room smelling of cool air and Eau Sauvage, still in his overcoat. He kissed me on the cheek and placed a pink paper box beside me. Open it when you're fully awake he whispered and silently walked out. As a child I was always happy when he came home with precious gifts he had bought on his business trips, but nowadays I always get a weird ambivalent feeling from it. I'm still thankful, but I think he does it mostly out of guilt over leaving me so often. I guess it means that he loves me and wishes he could spend more time at home, but if he actually did it would be worth more than any haute couture piece in the world.

I went back to sleep a little later, hugging my new pearl white Dolce&Gabbana cashmere sweater. 


A sinner?

As I've said, Easter is supposedly important to my family. Yet business seems to be even more important to my father since he suddenly left us late last night. After receiving a simple phone call he excused himself and said he would be back on Wednesday. He didn't even say where he was going.

I got upset and somehow managed to sneak out and go to Avy's house. Her mom opened the door, smelling of pot and alcohol, and did almost not seem to recognize me. I felt so lost, confused and alone sitting on Avy's bed in her room upstairs, but when she came out of the shower in a bra and panties and wrapped a Burberry blanket around herself, I thought: is this not what God intended?

This morning I woke up next to her and left before she woke up. I wanted to preserve that feeling of perfect innocence and not spoil it by talking too much.

(Sorry sweetie, I'll call you later.)

Much love.


Cross my heart

In a little while, I can breathe again. This day, Good Friday, has been one of sadness and grief. We have mourned Jesus Christ and silently thought about his sacrifice for humanity. I know I'm supposed to be humbled with shame and guilt, but I'm not. It bothers me for the sake of my family that raised me in the Catholic tradition. I want to feel what they feel and be one of them, but I keep feeling left out. I know it's my own fault for not believing hard enough or in the right way, but I don't know what to do about it. Instead, I keep quiet when father asks me if I'm greatful for what Jesus did for us. I try to nod like I really mean it, and avoid looking at him. I'm the worst liar, and that makes me hate lying even more.

It's not that I don't believe, I'm just not ashamed like I should be. I'm trying to work on it and I hope that the ones who care can see it.


A doubting sceptic

Holy Thursday, the day of the Cenacolo. Easter has always been important to my family, because of our religion of course. Both my parents were born to be catholics, and so, by blood, I am too. As a child I never questioned the doctrines, they were there for a reason and who was I to think differently? Who was I to dispute a cultural heritage that had been in the family for hundreds if not thousands of years? I went along and even came to love the traditions, the closeness, the church.

But as the years passed and I got older, I started seeing all the evil in the world. Not close at hand, but from a distance. I've always been sheltered, for better or for for worse, but I'm not blind. I began to wonder how it was possible for the world to be evil if God is good, but I hadn't yet understod there was a name for that contradiction.

Now I do.


The ocean stays the same

The view of an ocean never changes. Niether time nor weather alters its horizon, it stays the same, as it has always been, and it could be situated just about anywhere in the world.

It reminds me of LA. My parents came here from Italy, Avy's father was Swedish, I have friends from Japan, Australia, Mexico and France, all with different cultural heritages and habits. Isn't it strange how we all ended up in this city where the seasons never change and everything is measured in money and appearence.

In one sense it's a good thing that people are free to go wherever they want, in another it feels like the end of some imaginary road. A final destination, a last resting place for the soon-to-be dead.

The City of Angels. How ironic.


Home is where my heart is

Back in the US, always with that nagging feeling of ambiguity. This is home as in where my house is, but it's not where I love to be the most. Isn't that what a home is all about, a place where you feel like you belong, always?

My family is Italian, my blood is filled with the scents and impressions of beautiful Toscana.

And at the same time I know I'll get over it in a day or two and feel at home here as well. It's just the hours in between that kill me every time.

Love, amore,


Vintage heaven

I'm in love, sono innamorata. This city is so beautiful, I wish we could stay here forever. Walking in Trastevere at night is heaven, everything is fashion here.

Dad is taking me out for dinner at La Pergola, I'm going in my newly found vintage Kenzo dress. Cute, yes?

City of angels

Yes, I know that's another name for Los Angeles, but in Rome I've found a contestant for the title. This is the view from the top of the Scalinata della Santissima Trinità dei Monti, or the Spanish Steps in English. The street leading away from the piazza is the Via dei Condotti. Here I find my angels lined up like a gateway to heaven: Prada, Gucci, Dior, Fendi, Valentino, Ferragamo... You'll have to forgive me if I wallow in indulgence here, but isn't this what life tastes like at its very finest?

I just bought these darling Gucci boots for my il mio carissimo babbo, he's so worth the €1200. Now to find something for myself, it's back to the streets.

A dopo,


To leave

Up and about but barely awake. Today I'm going to Rome with my father, he says he has some business to attend to and asked me to come. It's only for two days, but I'm sure I'll have time to go up and down the Corso, Via Condotti and Via Babuino a few times. So the next time you'll see me I'll hopefully be wearing something soft, airy and transparent, as a tribute to spring.

Un bacio,



Dear blog. I'm the one my sweetest Avy calls S. I'll be here for a while if you don't mind. I'll nurture you and care for you, like friends do, like friends should. You're my friend, and I'll tell you everything if you just let me. Please have patience with me. I'll try to make it worth your while.