The Photo Challenge #41 – Temporary

Everything is temporary. This thought can be encouraging, if you’re going through a complicated time of your life, or not so much. Anyways, it is not about its being comforting or not; the fact is that temporary, for us mortal beings, is true.
Some things take longer times then others to unravel, but everything changes until it ends. Nothing is ever the same that it was just a few moments before. This is what temporary means to me.

The picture I chose for this week’s challenge was taken last autumn in Brisighella, a medieval burg in Emilia-Romagna (Italy), where medieval architectures mesh with modern buildings under the constant gaze of the beautiful clock tower that overlooks the burg.


The Photo Challenge #32 – The Road Taken

Sometimes the road taken is not clear and smooth. Sometimes it’s more like a rough and uneven path, studded with rocks.
It’s challenging to go down a road like this. It demands energies and efforts and maybe even sacrifices.
But how rewarding is to conquer the goal that made you start the journey in the first place?


Sorry Ma’am

<English version here>

È successo, di nuovo.

È solo una mattina a caso, come centinaia di altre. Prendo l’autobus per andare a lavorare e cerco un posto per sedermi quando sale una scolaresca a bordo. Ragazzini chiassosi, ridono e chiacchierano e urlano. Li invidio: com’è possibile che i  bambini siano così vivaci e piena di energia di primo mattino mentre io vorrei solo che la mia sveglia si sciogliesse per non suonare mai più?

Sono completamente persa in questo pensiero, quando un ragazzino mi viene addosso con il suo zaino. Si gira, mi guarda e dice: “Scusi, signora”.
Scusi. S I G N O R A…
Penso di aver borbottato qualcosa. Nella mia testa penso: “Signora? Potrei essere tua sorella… beh, forse non proprio tua sorella, ma non sono così vecchia, piccolo maledetto. Quanti anni ho pure, 22? “. Poi mi ricordo che non ho più 22 anni. Poi mi ricordo che, fino a un paio di anni fa, i trentenni mi sembravano al limite dell’anzianità. Il pensiero istintivo che quel ragazzino volesse provocare si dissolve.

Non mi abituerò mai a essere chiamata signora.

Oh God! It happened again.
It was just a random morning, like hundreds of others. I took the bus to go to my workplace and I was looking for a seat when a bunch of schoolchildren got on board. They were rowdy, laughing and chatting and screaming and I was really envying them: how comes children are so lively and full of energies at 8:30 am while, every morning, I just wish my alarm clock would melt to never ring again?

I was totally lost in this thought when a little boy hit me with his back pack. He turned, looked up at me and said: “Sorry Ma’am”.
Sorry MA’AM…
I think I just mumbled something. In my head I was like: “Ma’am? I could be your sister… well, maybe not your sister but I’m no so old, you little tadpole. What am I again, 22?”. Then I remembered I’m not 22 anymore. Then I remembered that up until a couple of years ago people who turned thirty seemed so old to me. My instinctive thought that the boy was provoking me just disappeared.

I’m never getting used to be called Ma’am.