I have been writing stories, in my head, since I was a little girl. At age 34, I published my first novel, in English, not my native tongue. And I haven’t stopped writing since. Here, you will read about Los Angeles, about healing, about grief, about marriage, parenthood, love, food, basically all that I am.
Part 2. If you have missed Part 1, here’s the link: About Greed Italy, February 2019 “I mean, you see who I am,” Manuela said. “I don’t need much; a dinner out with my family every now and then, and I am happy.” My mom and I had just visited Manuela’s little grocery shop, an alimentari, as it’s called in Italian. Her store is one…
ABOUT GREED, Part 1 Have you ever slipped into a puddle of greed? I have. I don’t know when or how it happened, I just know that all of a sudden — or in a period of time that I perceived as such — I found myself miserable, frustrated, discontent, and greedy. Life didn’t feel right any more; I began to want all the things…
“P.S. I know you two, and if I’m gone, I know what you could become, because I know who you really are – a junkie who solves crimes to get high, and the doctor who never came home from the war,” Mary Watson says in The Final Problem, the finale of the BBC series Sherlock. Ben and I watched it last night, shortly before the…
Let us go now, my one true love Call the gasman, cut the power out We can set out, we can set out for the distant skies Watch the sun, watch it rising in your eyes Distant Sky, Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds I started writing this essay in my head on Monday, October 22nd, while driving to meet my friend Christy for lunch….
“Dr. Christine Blasey Ford knew that in coming forward with a sexual assault allegation against Brett Kavanaugh, she’d have to prepare for the fight of her life,” the New York Times tweeted on September 20th, 2018. I don’t know if what inspired me to finally write this essay was the combination of the words — fight of her life, or the fact that I misread them…
Teach me how to forget, replace the character set Teach me how to unlearn a lesson… Jason Isbell sings. I am in my car, in the Tarzana Post Office parking lot. Catherine is at home with Elis, the new addition to our family, a blessing — her nanny. It’s hot, the only parking spot I could find was in the sun, but I don’t really care….
Last week, I had lunch with my friend Linda. We met at noon at Mauro’s Cafe, in West Hollywood, a restaurant that was previously owned by Mauro, one of the first Italians I met when I moved to Los Angeles, in 2010. Linda and I had been meaning to meet up for a while, but not yet having a nanny, and having gotten shingles, it…
What happened when I decided to get off Instagram. Life was waiting, and I had missed life.
My mom just left; I am at LAX, in the elevator that takes me to my car, section 4G, the roof, in the already blazing sun. I can smell the ocean from here, and a light breeze tickles my skin; if Ben and Catherine were not waiting for me at home, I would say that I am not looking forward to returning to the valley….
Does time change, or is it our perception that triggers us into thinking it does when it does? Is time our enemy or friend? Does time change, or does change take time?
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