In front of the hills of Arthur’s Seat, Margherita Nerini-Garcia stands before the Mornington Peninsular shore. Margherita, my nonna, pulls off her dress and throws herself into the water like a puppy without a lead. She lifts her feet, kicking the buckle of the current from underneath her. It is here, in the surge of…
I’ve never been very good at following traditions. I don’t have any annual family meetups, Saturdays are almost never for the boys and I can’t even dedicate myself solely to one coffee shop. So when I travel and I see all these people buying a pin in every country they go to, or religiously tracking…