Sunday, 27 December 2015

Dreams of | Italy

(Img source: Tumblr) 

Italians. They have good taste in everything. Wine, cheese, pasta, gelato, style, art, music and books. With their dark features and seductive culture, they simply stun the world into oblivion.  If I was to be born again, I would wish to come back as an Italian. Preferably with curly black hair and an alluring sexy accent.  Perhaps as a gallery owner somewhere in Florence capturing the hearts of the new generation of romantics. Maybe as a business guru in Milan. I'd own  a fruit and vegetable market, working from early morning until dusk. Exchanging life stories with neighbouring markets and retiring to a cosy home with just the right bottle of Pinot Grigio. How about Venice? I think I'd spend my days imitating Nancy Drew on the quest to finding out what really happened to that worshipped  painter from the late 50s. Boat rides and a compass Google Maps (because new generation) would be  a part of my aesthetic.   Then there is Rome, I'd return as a common tourist to  relive the lives of those who lived before me. The memories that lie in the cracks of the colosseum and the stories that could only be told by ancient locals. To hear Italian - not to understand it - but to feel a part of it for a second or two, pretending that everything that is said could only be made up of the most charming dialogue.  


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