A new cycle

Another batch of days have gone by. Today is the last day of this year.

Tomorrow we are going to start it all over again.

I was thinking, there must be a reason to this cyclic way of being. There must be a reason why we are here, doing the same things all over again. I guess, the reason is surpassing, growing out of one state into another.

Sending love and light towards you, Victoria (1)

This time of the year is not always the best time of the year. While the rest of the days we are chasing dreams, spending tons of hours in offices working on projects or on that which you call work,  this is the period when we have to get through accumulations of people who are all very interested in everything. Stares, words and thoughts, cloudy mind, hidden depressions, overcome losses, unrequested advice and so on.

Let me get more specific.

I am the proud survivor of a second Christmas among Italian people who are very much related to one another. La famiglia. I got through it in my Lovegenerator mode.

Since my first encounter with the Italians, in Molova during a job interview, I was surprise, their extreme curiosity and insistence in knowing one’s personal things is remarkable. During that work interview I was, strangely, asked about my mother, my father, my personal status. I answered, taken aback. What the hell, I thought, this is about work not my status or my parents’ situation.

During that year of working in an Italian office (on Moldovan territory) I got to know them better. La Famiglia never lost territory. I got to spend a few weeks of training in Italy, in the office. There were children running around. There was a troubled  boss, screaming in the hallways, yelling in his office, a man playing the (crazy) father figure?

Well, somehow I am now living here in close proximity with the Italian piranhas  I was not prepared to face La Famiglia a year ago. They never fail to surprise me.

There is one aspect of living with the Italians that is still bugging me. Not only are they quite nosy and distrustful if they don’t get enough personal information, they go even further and make sex related jokes all the time. There was no encounter with a crowd of people here when one’s sexual aspect was not touched upon. Even when older people are present.

This is very different from what I’ve known.

In the family I come from, the culture I would say,  the grandparents are to be respected, addressed accordingly, helped. When I was little, visiting my grandparents,  I was to be good, help around, clean, bring things, take things away, address respectfully, if at all. My parents and the rest of the family didn’t highlight in any way their sex lives, during these encounters. There were discussions about politics, work, the world.

Now I am here where the grandmother of the house is seen as the “provider”, someone who has to be there all the time and take care of everything. Feeding the grown ups, the nephews and nieces and cleaning after them as well.

I do understand that this might be a single case but, hm, I am really not sure about it.

A year ago, my sensitive self, was not ready to take part to such an encounter. I am still healing bruises from that Christmas.

But…what goes around comes around, right?

A few days ago I found myself in the same situation.

I heard the same perverse jokes, I assisted to the same obscene curiosity they have. Sometimes I wonder how far will they go.

If I were not Lovegenerator, I might get offended. But I chose to (try to) understand  and get over the initial discomfort. It is discomforting as hell, as if catching someone sniffing at your worn underwear. That is creepy, insane and mental.

I guess I am giving more weight to privacy than most people.

I also realise that it depends on the people you meet.

I hope that most of the Italians are  better at doing small talk and do stay away from their perverse double nature. I mean, does your aunt make jokes about the frequency of your sexual encounters? Does your family brainsstorm on the size of your breasts, if you are a woman, or the length of your penis (and its usage), in case you are a man?!

Well, it seems that here this is quite normal. Get used to it.

Oh really, should I really get used to it?

I believe that there is a good time and place for everything. Personally, I do not want to have discussed my sexual organs with my grandfather or aunts.  According to me, this is really not appropriate because of the meanings, the emotional charge that is implied. This is delicate stuff and it should be treated as such. There is a good reason for me being here thought, since I come from a family where sexuality was demonised or ignored. I am to learn to let go and find the equilibrium. A middle way, through the maze of all complications that a human life contains.

Also, I am pretty sure that this is ( perversely joking ) the Italian way of dealing with the tension.

Oh yeah, there is an obvious ( maybe normal) love and hate tension inside La Famiglia. By joking about the most hurtful aspects of their beings they move on, get closer. Make it less dramatic. What’s the big deal about a penis or an ass?


I will choose this last possibility as the most plausible reason. Only in this way can I live here. I will laugh with them, maybe not at the same jokes, but I will join them emotionally because I am here to learn to be together with other(very different) people.

On this self imposed positive note,  I salute you with gratitude for being here during the past year.

Love is here, we have to practice seeing through the carnality, the banality, the repetitiveness of this terrestrial life. Again and again. Cycle after cycle.

First step- opening up to the possibility of seeing further. There is more. Look for it.

Sending love and light towards you, Victoria


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s