Salutatory Address - Speech

Point.

A year and a day ago I left.
When I think back to that September 4 envy my innocence and my complete unconsciousness.
This year was my hyperbaric chamber of emotions.
Now, I feel rich and poor in others' experiences illusions.

Arash greeted me and said good luck. "Arash, I have to tell me good luck," "No, Cecilia, I have no luck."

hitting the wall of consciousness kills hope.

Goodnight, and Good Luck.

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verweile doch, du bist so schön!

Cunningham writes that people have the illusion of life experiences exceptional, unusual and very exciting compared to other lives human. I have this illusion. Today I had a perfect day, many people would envy. It was a rare day, an exceptional day.
The Chechen boy, with whom I shed tears of joy, anger and pain came back to say goodbye. We said a lot, without an interpreter and without words. We laughed and we promised not to forget. from now on will be engraved in my memory forever. A gentleman
Kosovo and I have cared for a small Chechen just one year. The love for this child has brought us together more than one culture, language and a common citizenship. Watching him play has a sense of normalcy to a picture out of the ordinary. A small
of Guinea fell asleep in my arms. When he sees me in the corridors opens its arms to me, recognize me, trust me. When his mother comes to pick him up, cries and clings to my legs. I am proud but at the same time it breaks my heart to see him terrified of losing me.
-5 days and I go to the center. I can not imagine a farewell, I can not shape the words that I utter. It is not humanly bearable create reports and then leave.
I plunged into this adventure without a clear idea of \u200b\u200bwhat I lived and I got involved for the bones from the lives of people who met him. I do not see the refugees, I see Ahmed, Zahra, Said ... I see the eyes watching, listening to the mouths that talk about and sniffed the smell of the person in front of me.
Whenever a school cycle ended I was sad to leave the people to whom I loved but I knew that they would take their way. Here I leave for mothers, children and men who risk a forcible return to a country that is no longer theirs, and let people migrate still migrate legacy of dashed hopes and dreams too shy to be made. I leave many question marks pasted on the vine.
are psychologically destabilized, I sucked a few drops of each trauma, I gave up any illusions about justice triumphant good. They are stories that do not believe and I do not want to tell people who ask me about this experience and that certainly will not tell my children one day (more disillusioned that disappointed!). Every little achievement has cost deep pain, conquest irrelevant to the price paid.

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Brussels, mon amour

footing during a trivial at Parc Royal, watching the darkening pink sky behind the palais des beaux arts, I had an epiphany: I'm in love with Brussels.

petty philosophy says that we realize the value of things once you are lost. I have not lost yet this city and yet I already feel the nostalgia and no, listen and André De apsetterò tomorrow for nostalgia.

What I love about this city? I love it so much the contradictions that make me angry or I love the people that have crossed my path?

I could not answer, and I love her enough. And a little 'love this, no? To love without knowing why and suffer.

After a week's holiday in France I returned to my work with the fear of not finding someone. Someone's gone, someone has arrived. I still do not get used to the routine of the center made of welcome and goodbye. I still shed tears for every good-bye to me in spite of social workers I have to repeat from one year to make me the bones, or mad to distance between these walls.

Maybe I'm really mad because I see things I never thought to see elsewhere: a Somali mother who takes a small Chechen arms and cuddle as his own son, Kosovar Albanians Serbs and Roma who play billiards together, Cameroon which the Albanians call "brother" ... I wish the world would go crazy and see what I see on the street, the supermarket, school and public squares. Too bad that this madness will develop only in the cage of despair.

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Head down

I live in a borderline neighborhood where cross Turkish and Muslim North African immigration and legalized prostitution. The
by looking at the sidewalk, not looking up.
If you do not look at the ground, to risk tripping over too many kilos of immodizia piled on the sidewalk.
If you do not look at the ground, I would see the bodies of semi-naked African girls waiting for their customers, lying languidly in a chair covered with dirty towels, in front of a window overlooking the street. On the same street
gypsy children play barefoot and alone, playing in the street, between the legs of people. Playing football or running a bicycle, stopping every few yards to pass through or clients of prostitutes. They play in front of the windows as if they were playing in a park.
If you do not look at the ground, cross the lustful gaze of men who cazzeggiano close to the walls (in Algeria are said to have a job to prevent the walls from falling), that when I step say "bonjour Mademoiselle, ça va?" and that, if I'm not around, I cry "putain" . Never raised his eyes, lest they receive a minimum notice of consent to their advances vulgar and crude.
Sometimes I feel responsible even exaggerated attention I get! Why not begin to cover their heads with a hijab? Why wear a skirt? Look, Cecilia, your neighbors are well protected by long burka and do not show their ankles, let alone the knees!
Disorientation.

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WONDER: sm; sudden and great wonder, amazement.

Yoani Sanchez, Cuban blogger who writes posts that talk about the reality of an illiberal regime, in order to have access to a computer that is connected to the network must enter illegally in hotels reserved for foreigners claiming to be one of them. for a quarter of an hour of freedom in which the hands and knees tremble spends a very high figure ... without calculating the risk they might run.
I could write a post every 5 minutes, but I do not. Not for lack of ideas, but they are too lazy. There it is never too little account of the fortune you have.
Many emotions went through my veins these last weeks. A meeting
unexpected. I had lost track of Chechen boy transferred to another center for more than three months. The farewell made me cry of rage and pain that I could not tell him because I do not speak Russian and he does not speak any language I know. I had lost all hope of being able to find one day ... then one morning I see him in the hallway of the center. I can not explain in words what happened to my body: at a certain point, you are twisted and made me cry. We spent long moments to be covered with tears because I was crying but without being able to say we were happy. Fortunately, the case went to the harp a lady who speaks Russian and that sometimes makes the interpreter for the social workers could finally ... give a name to our emotions. I understand that friendship has no color or alphabet, just flesh, bones and blood.
An unexpected request.
- Belli your earrings, give it to me!
- No, Madam, are mine.
- I like, give it to me.
- No, Madam, are a gift to which I will not give up.
- Give it to me, I'll give you a couple more in return.
- No, Madam, I like my earrings. It 's why I have chosen them.
- ...
- ...
- One day they will lose those earrings! sentence followed by a mocking smile.
- If this happens, I'll know where to find them.
An unexpected coincidence.
ricomninciato I have my own business as a translator. This time I had to translate from French to Italian ee from French to German to an Italian and a Swiss who came to visit the center for trade (ENAR for operators in shelters).
We meet in front of the station Rixensart, greeted by a colleague of mine.
train in front of me two young people. I make so many trips by train and I stopped listening to the conversations of several traveling companions ... unaware of being spied upon (a task which amused me much when I took the train once every three weeks). I head off the train, followed by a couple of people, to my colleague. They were the two players! Et voila, the coincidence!

time expired, it's time to pick up my clothes clean and smelling in the coin-operated laundry in front of house ..

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This is the end, beautiful friend

It's time to pull the strings. Missing 99 days at the end of my European Voluntary Service in Belgium and are more confused than when I left.
It was like a detox treatment based on cigarettes and coffee.
When people ask me what life is answer with a metaphor: it is a walk in which people take you and accompany you for a while and then let go with new experiences. This year has been the journey of Santiago de Compostela where the hazard, the case was king.
Each meeting was random: I could be there, how could I not be there, but as I was, there was ... and has carved a part of me changed forever, shocked, angry or just making me showing angle of scene never considered before.
There is no turning back. Human experiences are not to do and redo the experiments, we have a chance, and we have to play better.
is why I suffer to see people of my age, or simply people who, were it not for this stupid political and bureaucratic system could be my neighbors with whom to go to drink a spritz, could be my classmates, or simply might be people master their lives, are forced to do anything: this is forcing people to wear.
Offices of social workers of the center are covered with posters praising the courage of asylum seekers: yes, it takes a lot of courage to be treated as a domestic animal which feeds and to which it provides a litter and a cushion to wait for a very uncertain outcome on which depends the rest of his life (life, not a part of it, but it in its entirety).
Waiting. The waiting is the action that there is more treacherous: you can not do otherwise. And I laugh when I think that I get nervous if I wait for a friend late appointment when there are people waiting for a piece of orange paper to live their lives, piece issued by people who judge you after an interview after which he returns home to his little family in the beautiful villa in the middle-class neighborhood to plan their holidays abroad and the asylum seeker if he returns to the limbo of maybe. What
disgust that. In
Betrothed Fra Cristoforo, commenting on the injustices of Don Rodrigo, said the day will come ... but will it truly the day when things will change? I'm skeptical.

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Mr. parcel to be delivered

not you have no other gods before me,

often made me think:

diverse people who came from the east

they said that was basically the same.

believe in a different pattern you

and I was not hurt.

believe in a different pattern you

and I was not hurt.

blog Cecilia sleeping ... not (in all senses). Apart
odious and costly technical mistakes that have caused my beloved Acer was out of commission for two weeks (and my piggy piggy significantly light), I could not update the blog as often in the middle and almost always on the road (Luxembourg Amsterdam ... London ... ... and soon Portugal, but this is already another chapter ...).
At its heart is the scent of spring and of changes: families who leave and family that come, memories that overlap with new experiences. And I'm finding that spring really exist even in the rainy Belgium: The days are getting longer and the skin begins to smell of honey, as in Italy.
The month of February was devoted to the organization of Battle (hip-hop/break a challenge dance in which two teams clash dancing and a jury decide the winner until I just have one): the center has formed a group of dancers who performed in a show of dance and a group of kids helped assemble and disassemble the bleachers and the various stages of the event ... well, a serious matter! Although there was little
Tze: I attached the flyers to the walls (in those days I realized that perhaps I had better iscirvermi for scouts when I was little because I have seen with great disappointment that my common sense tends to zero with ... peaks towards giganumeri with a minus in front of a tent ... fold and insert it in a special bag was more difficult than expected ... Ugh). But morally I was very present ... especially in terms of admiration master's break up, rasta, beautiful ... uh ... very good, I mean, guys in the center ... professional admiration, of course ...
Last week it was released only a place for men and a center of a city adjacent left a man after the stewards of the center have accompanied him by car to Rixensart (note: 45 minutes) to the question: what is it? They did not know rispondore. This means spending almost an hour in 3 m2 with another person without even having exchanged a single word. Now, if I stand for more than 5 minutes alone in my room (which is more or less 3 m2) I begin to talk with my succulents or go insane! Men like numbers ... men like packages to be delivered ...
In Angola it is said that those who have white hair is wise ... I'm getting very wise. My hair is salt and pepper shakes Roma women's center, which also dye their hair to girls aged 1 year have told me that if I continue to let me go so I'll never find a husband, especially at my age (22! ?!?). The center of African men, however, are not upset by the white threads in my hair, but from the fact that I have not a husband and, consequently, children. I am also quite perplexed about the fact that I go running to keep myself in shape: the woman must be round, otherwise there is a woman. They ensure that they know how to increase self-esteem!
Now I have to conclude, somewhat 'in themes like in school when nonresta that a quarter of an hour to deliver ... but in this case a quarter of an hour is the level of autonomy of the human my batteries.
Ah, the quote is DeAndre ... and what is right!

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la neige!!



September 4 return to Brussels ... and it seemed never to be playing!
Monday I rushed to the center ... a little 'because of withdrawal symptoms in children and a little' bit because ipercuriosa to see the group of Americans (hereafter the americans. .. We have not yet identitificati as separate entities, we are one big ectoplasm that moves and speaks with one voice simultaneously).
after 5 minutes we had not yet learned the names of each other but we had already organized an educational trip (destruction) in Amsterdam (which after I damned to find tickets and hostel will not attend because feverish and delirious).
but not over the surprises of my first Monday in Belgian land I felt the character of nightmare before christmas ... OVUNQUEEE SNOW! bright as snow, powdery flour, icy snow and intrusive ...
course snow + children = battle of snowballs ... which, of course, ... I could not participate in the commencement of the dances! I've never seen so many smiles in one backyard ... smiles of children, mothers, babies, social workers, of young men, educators, people who were sad but then it became a bit 'happy, however, before people were happy ... we laughed and we all felt a bit 'more united, a little' more in a family in this enormous house too outside the box.
last but not least ... Monday I met my new roommate! is French, and it will be nice to amsterdam with me (when you heal ...).
2009 has started well, better than my expectations, very best of circumstances ... until the day before yesterday when the fever has beset my mangled body from the cold (-15 ° C!!) and snow ... and a little 'spat upon by bacteria in babies from my plate when we speak on during meals (this is just universal happening even when I worked at cres doffing, my mom says the same thing happens in elementary school ... I'm learning to live with almost ... almost sad when my flatmates are not speaking with his mouth full and still sitting on their chairs during lunch ...).
are now in the position of the caterpillar in the bug (ie cecilia wrapped in multiple layers of blankets) sipping aspirin, spraying spray menthol throat and inhaling chemicals anti catarrh, circonadata by an army of used tissues and wrinkled ... luckily I have a caring roommate (and now unemployed) who takes care of me going to buy kebab help my body but, above all, my soul ...
e. .. news .... news scoop of the scoop ... HEATING (TO MY SIDE OF THE ROOM) ... IT WORKS! I had some moments in the last three days when I was even warm, funny feeling that I had forgotten that by now ...
ah ... Monday and Monsieur le batiment, alias Monsieur properties, alias!%&/§ decided that evicted us all ... but fortunately in Belgium, I've always claimed to be an extremely civilized country .. . ... and cold until March, you can not evict people because winter ... merci! ull'ultima information
small note: When he said were the h22 (manifested knocking at our door with "soft touch and lovely") and this kind of Don Rodrigo de noaltri was visibly (and smell) of alcohol .. . imenticato has everything the next day ... thankfully! All's well that ends well ...