#unrelletable

I have never become fully concious of this little trick my brain plays on me until one day I found out that I had gained weigth. And people around me started to make me aware of it. I am not talking about pounds and pounds, but since I had been extremely thin for almost ten years, every new kilo showed on me. Even a single one. People had been complimenting me for my shape, and I had always thanked out loud my fast metabolism for it. When actually years before I had lost a considerable amount of weight due to pretty heavy treatments I had to go through because of a bone cancer. So we were definitely not talking lucky genes back then. In order to gain that weight back - we are talking about around fifteen kilos: I was 163 cm high and right after my last treatment session my body did not weigh more than 37 kgs - it took me quite a few years. According to the medical tables, my weight was finally considered healhty for my height, age and sex two years ago. Which meant that it took me exactly eight years to go back to be in an average shape. 

But this is not what society and diet culture made me believe for the most part of those years - and still does. I can not recall how many times people had made amazed comments on how great I looked and how hard they wished their body could process food as fast as mine. I have always considered these affirmations as positive and never - even for a split second - questioned the fact that a visibly underweight body was considered the dream body by so many people. I was grateful for being so thin, and I have enjoyed fitting into the smallest pieces of clothing without the need of holding my breath or sucking my tummy in. Until I had to. 

As I said, my current weight is perfectly average. I am not either too skinny or chubby. My tummy shows little rolls when I sit, but looks flat when I stand. I still wear size 4 jeans and I have never had to buy something sized M yet. I guess I still fit into the thin category, so according to the society that glorifies thigh gaps and visible collarbones I should not worry. Just yet. Unfortunately though, the diet culture we live in began to pull its strings on me at the very moment when I realized I was no more the skinniest girl in the room. 

I do not know what came with the conciousness of being the girl who weighed less than any other. Probably the fact that I was succeeding at something, and that I would be noticed for it. I do not like being the centre of attention, but I literally loved when someone would point out how thin I was and started asking how I could manage to keep my body so fit. I have never explained the actual reason why I could wrap my fingers around my wrist and a twist them leaving out a considerable amount of space. Firstly, because I was not at a point in my life where I felt confident enough to speak about my cancer diagnosis, even though by that time I had completely healed; secondly, because I liked the fact that people thought that the shape of my body was something I had to take credit for. It made me feel as if I stood out in the crowd, not realizing that it was for a completely wrong reason. 

The actual moment of realization that I had some issues about the way my body looked came around a year and a half ago, but I would say that did not have much of an impact until the beginning of the new year. By then I had found a internship and even though I had planned to, I did not have much time to invest in working out. Everything changed with the coming of Covid and the following quarantine: having tons of free hours felt like an obligation to exercise. And so I did. 

Chloe Ting became my workout pal and the background music of her Five Weeks Shred Challenge’s videos my nightmare: I sweated for almost an hour every single day for more than a month and restricted my diet to the point where I would allow myself a treat only on Sunday. The very first weeks were the absolute worst: my tummy would groan constantly and I would feel hungry all the time. I would wake up hungry, be hungry after half an hour from breakfast, not feel satisfied at lunch and dinner, and I would literally go to bed with a hole in my stomach. The only snacks I had was fruit, and I did not eat any kind of carbohydrates apart from pasta at lunch. No bread, no biscuits, no crackers. For a good four months. Eventually my body got used to the lack of food, and started to burn calories from the inside. I lost a couple of kilos and my abs started to show, my legs became definitely more toned and I was almost completely cellulite-free. 

But all I would do, all the time, was thinking about food. I would count down the days that were left until Sunday every week, and when that day would come I binged like there was no tomorrow. Causing myself to feel extremely nauseous for the next couple of days. In case I would eat something prohibited during the weekdays, I would feel extremely disappointed with myself, as if a single teaspoon of chocolate cream would actually make a difference. I would weigh myself almost every morning and feel an ache of pain in case the scale would detect a couple of hundred grams of difference from the previous morning. My goal was to finally gain a body like the ones overcelebrated on Instagram, but luckily I did not.

Around the middle of August it finally struck me. I had listened to one episode of a podcast series - for my fellow Italians, I am talking about Palinsesto Femminista - that shed the light on the topic of body positivity and its actual mean. It took me a good couple of days to process all the amazing things I had heard on that hour long conversation involving one of the two founders of the Belle di Faccia association, but eventually it did. I was minding my own businesses trying to decide whether I was allowed a slice of bread with Nutella for breakfast and all of a sudden I found myself asking Being skinnier would make me actually happier? And the straight answer to that was no.

I would love to say that for the past month it has been a walk in the park and that I have not felt guilty eating while eating crisps or having cookies with my morning tea, but I have to reckon that there has been a change. When I work out, I do it because I like the sensation I get aftewards and not because it would get me a step closer to my dream body. Even though I still eventually think that I will go back to eat in the way I did during quarantine, I have decided that in that case I will not restrict myself like I used to. I have realized that I want to eat clean for my body to feel good, and not in order to avoid a couple of tiny rolls on my stomach. I had to brainwash myself out of the concept that what I see online is the actual reality and that it should be the norm. Every body should be valid, regardless of their weight or shape. No one should feel forced to starve themselves in order to comply with an aesthetic that is simply not realistic. I have to say that online accounts like the ones of @/namastehannah and @/danaemercer have had a great impact on my approach to exercise and reality in the past months, and in case you are struggling with the same kind of unrealistic expectations about the way your body should look like I highly recommed that you check them out. 

After six months of ups and downs in the relationship with my body image, I have come to the point that I definitely should try to worry less about the way I look. I went through something similar with the acceptance of my face, and back then not having to wear make up for half a year thanks to the fact that I had to look after to kids and knew no one in the neighbourhood kind of made me become more confident with showing my bare face. And since I had the chance to do it all over again thanks to self-isolation, I have learned to become familiar with the sleepy face I see everytime I wake up. And I have to admit that I actually started to like it. I am sure sure if I will brave enough not to put any kind of make up on when I go to classes, but we will just have to wait to find it out. Who knows.

Thus I am hoping that I will be able to go through the same process with my body as a whole as well. I am now concious of the fact that I do not have to necessarily love the shape I am in, but I simply need to accept it for what it is and all the things that it allows me to do on a daily basis. I now know that it can change a thousand times during my lifetime, or even a single day, and regardless of it, it will always be worth. Let’s be honest, most posts of flat tummies and toned booties are edited or posed anyway. So what I am going to try to do is to let go of these insanely unhealthy expectations and focus on what makes me feel good. Regardless of those around me or those who pop up on the explore page.

What I am not extremely excited about books that are hyped like there is no tomorrow is that usually they tend to disappoint my expectations. It had already happened a good couple of times before, so my biggest question was whether or not this particular piece of work would have ended up in my ‘not that fabulous after all’ list. I am glad to say that this was not the case, at all.  

Why I’m no longer talking to white people about race is, as already thousands of people have stated, a masterpiece. There is absolutely no doubt about it. Its reading is not comfortable for someone who does benefit from white privilege and has nothing but a very - very - limited knowledge of what it means not to do it. It cannot be defined an understanding, because as a white woman I will never be able to experience it. And this is basically the whole point of the book.

Being white in Britain - and I would add everywhere in Western societies - is a what is considered normal. Being white is neutral, unproblematic and common. It is presented as the reality of our countries, even to those who cannot and do not experience it. Being non-white is the alterity that is portrayed as necessarily negative and worth of less dignity. And it has enormous consequences on the everyday lives of milions of people. 

Through an analysis that starts from the very origins of racism’s history and the display of statistics that irrefutably show how actually white privilege and systemic racism influence the ordinary reality of black people and people of color in general, the author forces the reader to take their pink-coated glasses and come to terms with their way of getting through life. I must admit that this is game-changing. Once you gain the consciousness regarding the inequalities and discriminations that are constantly kept hidden or belittled, the excuse of ignorance is not relevant anymore. It is up to us whether we want to keep us accountable for our own actions and behaviour or decide to be consciuosly racist and go on with our life as if nothing happened. Because in the end this is all it is about.

Systemic racism is critical because it is so entangled into our institutions and systems that we do not see it for what it is. For example, the fact that we do not see many balck people in positions of power or simply in our work environment is not due to the fact that there are not skilled black people who are able to carry out certain jobs. The real reason behind the lack of their presence is the discrimination that is pursed against them, whether is it voluntarily or not. The fact that our history is a racist one, makes it extremely easy for prejudices and stereotypes to climb their way up from a apparently lovely neighbour to an important HR manager. And because of it it makes it also extremely hard - if not impossible - for people who are not white to live their lives without having to face the consequences of a racist view of the world that has not been dealt with properly.

The level of difficulty that black people encounter in their way to success is high, and it starts from the very beginning. Our societies are so full of racist bias that even the birth of a black child can be a risk for their mother. As it has been pointed out in various studies, the prejudice that pictures black women as strong and almost unable to feel pain because of it can cause neglection by medical staff, in all kinds of situations. The same kind of bias apply to young kids at all levels of education, making it almost impossible for young black adults to achieve a school carreer as successful as their white peers. And even when in rare cases it does happen, the world of employment preserves those discriminations with the consequence that high  positions of power are almost never occupied by someone whose skin is not white. 

The main issue about these kind of dangerous prejudices that have consequences on the everyday life of milions of people is that they are also almost always invisible to those who perpetuate them. Being aware of them and of the way we carry them on is the first necessary step towards a more equal world. Why I’m no longer talking to white people about race does the amazing job of putting us in front of our responsibilities and, in case we do not consider ourselves racist people, it forces us to come to terms with our own bias and our own actions. Going through this book is not a walk in the park, because it forces us to face the reality in which we live. Saying that we are not racist is not enough anymore - and honestly I do not even know whether it has ever been enough. If we want to truly create a more equal world, we must be actively anti-racist. Which means that we need to focus on ourselves first and recognize our own mistakes, whether we committed them consciously or not. We have to recognize our own wrong behaviours and we must do our best to do better. And, most importantly, we must be ready to consciously give up our white privilege and be ready to live up to the consequences of it, which might not be exactly nice. 

This book has the enormous credit of opening the eyes of those who were privileged enough to keep them shut. It calls for action and it calls for an immediate action. We must start from the bottom, changing our mentality and the beliefs and mindsets of those around us. Reading this book put us at a crossroad: we can either decide to change things or we can keep up living in the same way we have until today. When the moment comes, I hope we will have made the right choice.

La sera del 31 dicembre stilavo liste di almeno venti punti con tutto ciò che desideravo mettere in atto a partire dal giorno successivo, come se grazie ad un incantesimo la mia forza di volontà si quadruplicasse nel giro di una nottata e mi permettesse di trovare il tempo, ma soprattutto la voglia, di compiere delle attività o portare avanti delle rinunce a lungo termine che durante i precedenti 365 giorni non avevo mai scovato. Ovviamente, difficilmente le mie autoimposizioni superavano la prima settimana. E questo triste decorso dei miei buoni propositi esulava dalla loro natura: poteva trattarsi del cominciare ad andare a correre tanto quanto il trascorrere meno di due ore al giorno davanti alla televisione. Di qualsiasi cosa si trattasse, la mia determinazione si esauriva al massimo dopo 72 ore. 

Ad eccezione di quest’anno. Il motivo? Vorrei conoscerlo anche io. Eppure, so che la ragione per cui a distanza di quattro mesi dalla fatidica data in cui la vita sembra magicamente ricominciare è data dalla coinquilina indesiderata che abita la mia mente da quando ho memoria. Il suo nome potrà suonare familiare, dal momento che molto probabilmente non è del tutto sconosciuta. Si chiama ansia, e siamo praticamente inseparabili dall’età della pietra. Ovvero dalle elementari.

Tutto quello che sto scrivendo in questo momento non è stato ancora diagnosticato né da uno psicologo né da un medico, ma il fatto che la mia dottoressa di medicina generale mi abbia consigliato di prendere una pillola di Xanax quando mai ne sentissi il bisogno la dice lunga sul motivo per cui sono quasi totalmente sicura di ciò che dico. E non temete, ho la ricetta per una visita psichiatrica che aspetta solo la riapertura degli ambulatori per poter essere usata.

Ma torniamo a noi. Ad inizio anno ho deciso che volevo creare delle abitudini più salutari; tra queste: allenarmi almeno tre volte alla settimana - ora sono diventate sei -, mangiare tre porzioni di frutta e/o verdura e divieto assoluto di ingerire zuccheri non naturali ogni giorno della settimana ad esclusione della domenica - e in questo momento sto cercando di capire se posso evitare anche questa eccezione -, non utilizzare il telefono per più di un’ora e mezza al giorno, bere almeno otto bicchieri di acqua, meditare e fare yoga quotidianamente, trascorrere almeno venti minuti su Duolinguo per - cercare di - imparare alla bell’e meglio l’arabo e il francese, non toccare il cellulare per almeno un’ora prima di andare a dormire e dopo essermi svegliata, leggere almeno cento pagine al giorno. 

Ecco, a vedere tutto scritto l’effetto è decisamente inquietante. E non si tratta nemmeno di tutti i paletti che mi impongo quotidianamente. Aggiungete ora l’ingrediente principale che mi consente di tenere traccia degli eventuali traguardi o delle volte in cui non riesco a completare questa infinita to do list: il bullet journaling. Non fraintendetemi, adoro l’universo che gira intorno a questo concetto. Perderei ore a mettere like alle foto di agende stupende su Instagram e potrei vendere il mio bene più prezioso per essere in grado di creare calligrafie meravigliose. Ma questo non è il punto.

Chi ha anche solo lontanamente un’idea rispetto a cosa sia il bullet journaling, sa benissimo che uno degli elementi più comuni che lo contraddistinguono è quello degli habit trackers. Questi schemi, che possono essere più o meno articolati a seconda dell’abilità e della creatività di chi li disegna, hanno il preciso scopo di permettere di tener conto delle attività che sono state svolte o meno durante la giornata. Quello segnato sulle pagine della mia agenda prevede che nel caso le abbia portate a termine possa colorare il riquadro della data corrispondente; se invece non le ho completate, devo apporvi una x. 

Se c’è una ragione per cui ciò che sembra contraddistinguermi negli ultimi mesi è la costanza, quel motivo è solo il puro terrore che mi prende alla bocca dello stomaco ogni volta in cui sono consapevole di dover scrivere quella croce. Non si tratta di determinazione, o non del tutto. Si tratta di non voler contraddire quella ossessione del controllo che non mi permette di svegliarmi la mattina senza pensare di poter improvvisare la mia giornata. Che non mi consente di addormentarmi tranquillamente se so di non aver portato a termine tutto ciò che mi ero prefissata di completare. 

Non so se sia colpa della situazione paradossale che stiamo affrontando, per cui il mio bisogno di dover controllare almeno le parti della vita che continuano a poter essere dipendenti dalla mia volontà si è alzato esponenzialmente. Probabilmente la mancanza di certezze di questi ultimi tempi si è trasformata nella necessità di porre dei paletti intorno a ciò che la mia persona è ancora in grado di tenere sotto controllo. Fatto sta che se qualche mese fa pensavo che le abitudini si costruissero con il tempo, ora ho imparato che forse questo postulato non vale per me. 

Adjusting to the new situation has had its ups and downs, and I still hope to be able to get back to work as soon as possible. With everything that has happened in the past months, however, I feel like I have learned the ability to come to terms with situations not sticking to my initial plans and I have mastered the skill of going with the flow. Up until a certain point, I guess - and I am curious to witness where my next breaking point is. Having a bunch of more free hours and not being forced to call it a day at 5.30 in the evening has had its advantages; on the other hand, it has also meant that I allow myself to linger in bed a little longer even when my to do’s list reaches inimmaginable heights - which is not ideal at all. Broadly speaking, however, I think I have found a new routine that is apparently working - and that is mainly due to the fact that the control maniac in me has taken over. So here’s the list of what is keeping me sane during these uncertain times - at least until the new twist takes place.

1. Finding time to do something that I love. During the first week or two, all I would do during the day was studying. I used to get up, have breakfast in front of the first class of the day and then stare at my pc for the rest of the day trying to keep up with work. I felt like I was spending all my time doing nothing fun at all, even though I was definitely enjoying the content of my lectures. That is why I have decided to make some time for a bit of stuff that I actually love doing. I have started reading a book as soon as I wake up and before falling asleep - and that ususally ends up in me reading for a good hour even when I promise myself I will put the book down in half an hour at max. I have picked up journaling again, even if I do not spend as much time as I used to back in  summer, and I have finally gone back to This Is Us after a whole month and a half of not being able to watch even a single episode. It is needless to say that my current favourite moment of the week is Sunday evening, when I curl up in bed ready to binge on it with a boiling hot cup of tea.

2. Organising time in a rational way. I do not remember where, but a couple of weeks ago I read that we tend to underestimate the time we need to complete our tasks. And this tends to be the main reason why we often end up with tons of uncompleted stuff even though we thought we could manage it all. So what I have started to do is to overestimate the time that I assume I would take in order to take a partisular task off my to do’s list, and arrange my daily workload according to it. I have to be honest: I have ended up postponing a couple of readings more than once, but usually I manage to tickle everything off before dinner time. Which is great. I also imposed myself the rule of leaving Sundays out of my schedule for academic work, to the point where I do not even have a section for it on my bullet journal. This allows me the mind space of knowing that I have an entire day of - apparent - relax from lectures & co. 

3. Dividing spaces according to different activities. I have only recently started to do it, but it has already been life changing. Apparently our brain relates the places where we carry out certain activities to those particuar tasks, and acts accrdingly. So I have forced myself to study, eat, sleep and rest in different spots of the house. For istance, I go through my academic work only at my desk - except from when it is definitely too cold to sit covered in two layers of blanket - and I never use my phone when I am on my bed, even when I am there chilling. In this way my brain has started to associate study-related activities and switching off to two different places - and this is way I literally cannot be productive when I am under covers, even though it may be three in the afternoon. 

4. Looking forward for a single thing everyday - and rewarding myself. Not being able to do much, I have found my purpose in cooking meals that I am over the moon to eat. This does not happen every day, but planning my weekly meals helps in setting the tone for lunches and dinners of the following seven days and making me excited over them. I have noticed that I start the day in a uplifedt mood when I know that I will eat something I absolutely love before going to bed - and that goes from the easiest recipe of homemade ramen to the most sugary cake I have ever baked. When I do not have the most delicious dishes planned, it comes to knowing that I will be able to enjoy an episode of a tv series or the current trash-tv reality, painting my nails with red nail polish or treating myself to a video from my favourite YouTubers. It all comes down to the small things.

5. Routine is key. I guess I am not saying anything new, but for someone who relies on timing, planning and taking off things from a to do’s list building a consistent routine is the main goal to create peace of mind and stability. I tend to go to bed and wake up around the same hour everyday - leaving out of it only Sunday mornings - and the first actions I take are always the same. I make my bed, get the pc and notebooks ready for the first lecture of the day, get dressed, prepare breakfast and give my room a little clean up before sitting at my desk. I never switch my phone off airplane mode before an hour after I wake up and I put it back on it an hour before going to bed. I tend not to use it at lunch and dinner and I follow a similar path when it comes to the evenings. I finish my work for the day, tidy up my desk, have a shower with my favourite current playlist on and then I head to dinner. Knowing that I have a few stable moments in my day makes it definitely easier to come to terms with the unpredictability of the current situation. 

Saying that the last eighteen months have been hectic is an understatement. I have lived in three different places, shifted back and forth between two languages - and often mixing the two - changed three jobs, cleaned three - four actually - houses, made countless plans and turned them upside down just as many times. I went from sharing a double room with one of the most special people I have ever met to having an ensuite room all for my self, then going back to my original room and moving again in a shared flat. I went from eating at the university canteen twice a day to cooking and meal prepping for a family of six, and then from having to adjust dinner to the taste of two children to experimenting with the help of my new housemate. I went from being obsessed with Instagram to deleting the app, and then back to it six months later. I have launched a blog that I have tried to keep updated every week - even though I failed quite a few times -, left it aside for a good couple of months, and then went back to writing when the measures against lockdown forced the restaurant where I worked to close. 

Even though the past year and a half has been quite intense, that is nothing in comparison of what has gone on during the past month. When I received the e-mail that stated my acceptance into the Master Degree of my dreams, excitment took over. I was constantly daydreaming about campus life already in July, and when the time to move went by I was over the moon with the idea of meeting new people and starting over once again. Little did I know that Covid had completely different plans.

By mid-October I had found my own new rythm: I was following lectures online - and I attended them in person when I had the chance -, working five evenings per week, put out a study routine and stuck to it for most days. Because of my job, I did not manage to meet my new classmates, but back then I thought that I  simply needed to improve my time-management and I would have found a spot for a bit of social life outside my flat as well. Guess what - in two weeks’ time everything changed. The new regulations put in place by the Italian government forced restaurants to close at 6 p.m., which meant no more waitressing around and no more late nights at work. On one had, I was happy not to rush out the door at 5.45 p.m. every day and be able to enjoy dinner with my flatmates; on the other, I had to figure out a way of surviving on my savings for the following months. I strongly hope that I will be allowed back into work in a couple of months - if that was not to happen, feel free to leave any suggestion for online jobs that pay well. 

The fact that I adjusted to a new routine in the matter of a couple of days tells a lot about the powerful ability of human beings to adapt to new situations, or maybe I was simply too close to a physical breakdown that my body did not struggle much with the chance of getting a good two additional hours of sleep. Since day one of no more going to bed at two in the morning, I have tried to create a new daily pattern to follow. Needless to say that I have not managed to wake up at seven yet, and that when it comes to nine o’ clock classes I tend to take notes while I am still in bed and in my pjs. However, I have found time for those activities that I was forced to cut off from my daily structure beacuse of the lack of time. I have started to read for an hour in the morning, I have cooked meals that I was excited for most evenings and I have managed to complete all my tasks before dinner time almost everyday. I have gone back to journaling, even though the pages I create now are way less engaging than the ones I used to turn to last summer. I take my time and leave Sundays out of my study schedule, something that was unthinkable of just a couple of weeks ago. I have started to writing again, and if this post will go up on Saturday, it may signify that a new period has definitaly begun. 

It is important to state, however, that it is not all red and roses. I have tried to be positive and optimistic every single time that my routine has been overturned, but it has not been simple. I have days when I wake up and feel completely hopeless, and I end up laying in bed overthinking my whole existance and putting off getting up and starting my day. I have my ups and downs, and sometimes it is hard to think that the one I am living in could be the reality for a number of new months to come - if not years. I am trying not to reflect too much on this, but knowing that the current situation could be a permanent one for a lot of time is discouraging to say the least. Not being able to make plans and being conscious of the fact that at the moment nothing is sure is a challenge for a control maniac as I am. I love to-do’s lists, agendas, planning out my whole existance, and no matter how many times I have managed to create a simple routine, it has been scattered in the matter of days. This is the reason why I am scared that it is not going to take long for the bubble I have created to finally blow out, and at that point for another huge anxiety attack to come back once again. For the very moment, my best self-advice is to focus on the little things that make me happy and that allow me to distress and detach from the situation. So do not mind me as I cry in front of the latest episode of This Is Us.

Coates writes a love letter to his fifteen-year-old son after him witnessing the lack of proseution for the police officers who murdered Michael Brown. When the TV news announced that they would not face any charges for the killing of the young black man, his son apologised to his parents and went upstairs in his bedroom to cry. Admitting that he did not know how to properly comfort him, the 2016 Pulitzer finalist decided to put into words his thoughts and his experience as a black man in the contemporary United States of America.

The first section of the book is structured around the childhood, adolescence and early adulthood of the writer. Born and raised in Baltimora, he expresses the hunting feeling of not being able to fit into the only two kind of schemes permitted: the gang and the school. He reckons of having been afraid of the violence in the street, of having to know certain sequences of gestures in order to understand the harsh reality of what was going on in the neighbourhood and the importance of being aware not to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. On the other hand, he does not allow the flaws of the scolastic system to go unnoticed. School recquired a code switching from all the kids that came from a basically segregated neigbourhood; their behaviour had to be completely different from the one that they would see simply walking on the streets, and that felt like their idenity was divided into two halves that could never collide into each other. The way intelligence and profit were assessed was never impartial and the writer admits that nothing he had learned at the school desk had an actual impact on his everyday life.

The distance between these two realities made him aware of feeling like he did not fit anywhere. He was not at ease in neither these two contexts until he finally reached the Mecca, commonly known as Howard University. During his years there he was finally able to deeply connect with his idenity as a young black man and cherish his cultural roots. Depicted as the source of black creativity, political discussion, cultural rediscovery and the only place where he authentically felt like he belong, this environment allowed him to research into his connection to the African continent and to discover multiple relevant figures for his own conciousness. The death of one of his peers by the hand of a white police office who followed him out of state in a case of mistaken identiy is, however, made him realised that unfortunately the reality of race in the U.S. could not be confined to certain places; the devastating force of structural racism is able to pervade every single environment and context, and the only ones where black people feel the safest make no exception.

Coates points the light into a precise direction: he states, and proves, that no matter what effort is put into place, it does not seem that the destruction of black bodies will end soon. The American Dream, made of big maisons, summer BBQs, sparkling new toys and white people, spread all over advertisement and media, reaching people of all backgrounds and cultures, does never include them in it. Better, it does erase them from it. The presence of non-white people cannot be accepted as part of the glossy and unreacheable reality of the ambitious hopes for the future of the average American citizen. And this is shown in the way the whole system makes sure that the members of certain communities are denied the access to it. Police brutality is only the tip of the iceberg of a society where black bodies and identities are considered to be less, in every aspect of life. Black bodies are exploited, tortured, abused, choked, turned into stereotypes and forced to fit into a world that has no chances of a better future for them. Being black comes with a constant fear of being the next one on the list of those killed by cops, of those targeted wrongfully, of the only ones whose credit card will be checked at the store where their own family has shopped for the past decade. Being black in the U.S.A. means being celebrated as an exception when success becomes a realiy after years of hard work, means feeling a stranger in the very country of birth. Being black means not being safe in your own home, in your own neighbourhood, in your own town. Being black means being aware that your body can be destroyed at any moment, and that who destroys your body will very likely not be persecuted for it. And in some cases, they might be praised for it.

For the author, systemic and structural racism in the U.S. is due to the fact that white people, being the ones in power, have all the kinds of interest in keeping things in the way they currently are. As he points out in more than one passage of this book, racism does not exist because race does. It is the exact opposite. Race would not have a reason for being such a relevant issue if it was not for racism. Racism is structured in the perfect way to subjugate some and free others, and this is what has been going on since the establishment of slavery in the modern age. Coates does not identify a way to get out of this system, simply because that is not the aim of his work. Through all eras and places it is almost impossible to find a society that did not subjugate another one in order to survive. Will there ever be an end to this accepted and praised violence? The answer to this question does not find an answer here. 

And this is exactly why these pages were a pill hard to swallow. I was conscious of the fact that being white means being privileged, but I do not think I had gathered what it actually meant until I read this particular book. Coates’ writing is powerful because is not sugarcoated, it does not show the world through pink lenses. What the white reader takes away is a new consciousness of how much the disparity between people who are neighbours, friends and even family members is wide. And this is where the change has to start. Once read this book, one cannot simply turn their face away from reality. Because if a father feels the urge to tell these things to his son in order to prepare him for what he will face in his everyday life, it is necessary to stand and fight on the right side of history. And it is not the one of white people anymore.

Memore delle esperienze più o meno felici della triennale, ho pensato che potesse essere utile mettere nero su bianco i miei buoni propositi - e dei piccoli consigli - per i prossimi due anni. Dubito che riuscirò a seguirli alla lettera, e molto probabilmente scoprirò metodi alternativi per riuscire a non impazzire del tutto mentre cercherò di bilanciare studio, lavoro e vita sociale, ma per il momento questo è tutto quello che so a riguardo. Spero che possa essere abbastanza.

1. Non rimandare le consegne all’ultimo minuto. La differenza principale tra le materie della triennale e quelle che affronterò nel corso della magistrale è il fatto che ci saranno delle richieste di lavoro tra una lezione e l’altra, oltre che per l’esame finale. Considerato inoltre che il periodo delle singole lezioni non supera i trenta giorni, è importante rimanere al passo ed evitare le nottate di studio nei quattro giorni prima del suddetto. Distribuire il carico lungo la settimana aiuterà sicuramente a non farsi prendere dal panico a poche ore dal momento fatidico - per effetti collaterali: vedi l’ormai famoso Arabo III. 

2. Tenere un giorno a settimana totalmente libero dallo studio. Non so quanto sia fattibile, ma dopo numerose esperienze in merito - e video sulla produttività su YouTube - ho capito quanto sia importante, soprattutto a livello mentale, avere la certezza di essere del tutto svincolati da qualsiasi tipo di impegno almeno un giorno alla settimana. Quello che vorrei cercare di fare è di dedicare ventiquattro ore a ciò che mi piace fare e che mi fa sentire bene senza la preoccupazione di dover finire l’ultimo capitolo di un libro o terminare una sbobina di tre ore. Sapere di non avere la necessità di portare a termine determinati compiti aiuta a ricaricare le energie e ad avere un po’ di meritato relax dopo una settimana intensa. Perciò la domenica, o un altro giorno, rimarranno obbligatoriamente vuoti sul mio planner. 

3. Dormire almeno otto ore a notte. Se il mio corpo non riposa per almeno un terzo della giornata - e messa così fa un po’ impressione - il mio cervello non funziona come dovrebbe. Durante il mio primo anno di università ero in grado di andare a dormire alle quattro ed essere perfettamente concentrata alla lezione delle 8.15, ma purtroppo non è più così. Considerato inoltre che il mio obiettivo è quello di riuscire a svegliarmi ogni giorno intorno alle sei, dovrò autoimpormi l’obbligo di essere sotto le coperte alle ventidue. Vista la chiusura delle discoteche, non dovrebbe essere troppo difficile. Almeno per il momento.

4. Svegliarsi presto e fare una buona colazione. Fino a qualche mese fa ero incapace di alzarmi dal letto prima delle dieci. Poi ho trovato un lavoro che mi costringeva a svegliarmi alle sette per riuscire a prepararmi, sistemare casa, preparare un pranzo da portare con me e far fare la passeggiata mattutina al mio cane prima di arrivarci. E mi si è aperto un mondo. Adoro essere sveglia quando ancora tutto sembra addormentato, ma faccio molta fatica ad alzarmi presto. Non ci sono formule magiche: il trucco sta tutto nell’andare a dormire presto e non rimandare la sveglia. Da quando è cominciata la quarantena ho iniziato a fare colazione leggendo una cinquantina di pagine, e questo è diventato il motivo per cui sono passata da odiare - e saltare a piè pari - questo momento, a non poterne fare a meno. Un bicchiere d’acqua, un frutto e una tazza di thé bollente sono ormai parte della mia quotidianità. E spero che mi possano seguire fedelmente anche in trasferta.

5. Mangiare sano e non troppo abbondante. Se c’è una cosa che ho capito delle sessioni di esame è che mi inducono ad affogarmi di cibo, soprattutto spazzatura. Ho passato pomeriggi interi a sgranocchiare patatine mentre rileggevo appunti su appunti, per poi combattere con un abbiocco incredibile qualche ora dopo. Da quando ho cominciato invece a fare pasti più leggeri e a mangiare frutta come snack, il mio livello di concentrazione ha avuto notevoli miglioramenti. Ma ciò non toglie che ogni tanto finirò per abbuffarmi di piadine e crollare addormentata nel giro di una mezz’ora. Balance is the key.

6. Bere, bere, bere. Un altro trucchetto che ho imparato a mie spese per ottenere il massimo della concentrazione è quello dell’idratazione. Fino al mio ultimo anno, ho sempre studiato con un enorme bicchiere di Coca Cola di fianco ai libri: dal momento che non sono una fan del caffè, speravo che la caffeina della bevanda più famosa al mondo mi desse lo stesso effetto. In realtà, ingurgitavo quantità esorbitanti di zuccheri e, proprio per questo, non riuscivo a farne a meno. D’estate arrivavo a bere il mio primo bicchiere anche alle dieci della mattina. Da quando invece ho cominciato ad evitarla e bere solo acqua, o al massimo thé, non sento più quella fastidiosa sensazione di non essermi dissetata. E la mia pelle ringrazia.

7. Prendersi del tempo per se stessi, ogni giorno. Quando si frequentano le lezioni e gli esami sono alle porte, sembra che non sia possibile fare nient’altro se non trascorrere giornate intere in biblioteca in attesa del momento fatidico in cui scopriremo se le ore passate a sudare sui libri siano effettivamente servite a qualcosa. Ciò che però è estremamente importante è proprio evitare di ridurre tutto a questo. So che può essere stressante riuscire a trovare anche solo dieci minuti liberi quando sembra di non riuscire nemmeno ad avere il tempo di respirare, ma ritagliarsi almeno un’ora al giorno per fare una qualsiasi attività che permetta di staccare anche per poco dallo stress non è che salutare. Uno degli obiettivi che mi sono posta è quello di leggere almeno un’oretta prima di andare a dormire ogni giorno, anche se so che nei periodi più intensi sarà difficile tenere fede a questo buon proposito. 

8. Fare esercizio fisico. Non è necessario correre una maratona, nuotare per quattro chilometri o passare due ore a torturarsi in sala attrezzi. Basta fare un po’ di movimento. E lo dice una persona che odia gli sport con tutta se stessa. Inutile dire che durante la quaranena sono stata vittima delle sessioni massacranti dell’ormai famosissima Chloe Ting, e da quel momento il mio corpo mi chiede di fare un po’ di movimento ogni giorno. Alle volte si tratta di una passeggiata più lunga del solito, altre di un allenamento per le gambe di dieci minuti. Quello che conta è che facendo esercizio fisico il nostro organismo produce endorfine, ormoni responsabili del senso di felicità e appagamento. Per questo motivo un altro dei miei punti fermi per i prossimi due anni è quello di fare movimento ogni giorno: il mio fine ultimo non è quello di raggiungere il modello di corpo “perfetto” che dilaga su Instagram; al contrario, vorrei finalmente riuscire a sentirmi perfettamente a mio agio nel mio proprio perché cerco di prendermene cura nel miglior modo possibile.

9. Passare del tempo con persone nuove. Ho sempre fatto molta fatica a  socializzare senza imbarazzo: sono una persona estremamente timida e attaccare bottone con degli sconosciuti non è di sicuro il mio forte. Ma con il passare del tempo ho imparato che in realtà è più facile di quanto si pensi; molto spesso basta veramente provare a rompere il ghiaccio per instaurare dei rapporti che si rivelano essenziali e insostituibili. Mi auguro di non chiudermi nella mia bolla, ma di prendere il coraggio a due mani e buttarmi nella mischia. Perché so che potrebbe essere assolutamente fantastico.

10. Apprezzare le piccole cose. Quando tutto diventa infinitamente caotico sembra non esserci via di fuga, eppure è sufficiente riuscire a fare un passo indietro per apprezzare la bellezza e la semplicità della quotidianità. Che sia una tazza di thé bollente in una mattinata di pioggia, un film alla domenica sera o una serata improvvisata con i propri coinquilini, ciò che conta è imprimere questi piccoli momenti che sembrano insignificanti nella memoria. Perché sono quelli che faranno rivivere i ricordi più belli. Il mio miglior alleato in questo? Una piccola agenda quinquennale di Tiger, dove appunto quello che mi ha reso felice in ogni singola determinata giornata. Al momento sono a metà del terzo anno, e rileggere le vecchie annotazioni è sempre un tuffo al cuore. Che questo sia un buon viaggio.