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…
It’s 2pm on a Sunday in March and I’m sitting by the windowsill having my morning coffee. Ordinarily, my morning wouldn’t have started at 2pm, but time is different now and there is little ‘ordinary’ left about our world today.
The sunlight streaming through the window that gently kisses my face tells me spring has…
It’s strange.
You arrive to a new land, there are people to greet you.
At first you don’t understand; in fact, you don’t understand for quite a while.
But speaking your mother tongue never did you any good anyway. Communication was always hard for you.
They say things with their hidden contexts and words you…