Caledonia

"You are the most patriotic person I've ever met...just not about your own country!" a friend said to me some time ago. I guess it's true. I have never felt very patriotic about Italy. Although I appreciate the good things the bel paese has to offer - and there are many, starting with gelato - I also see it from an outsider's perspective - because I am not Italian and because I lived abroad for quite a while. It has always been a bit easier for me to idealise Slovenia, the "promised land" that has been "taken away from us". But in this case too, I follow the news a bit too much to be able to idealise things. With Scotland it is different. The moment I fly over those green fields covered with white dots (yes, I tend to get overexcited about sheep - try to understand, we don't see as many of them here!), I forget about the SNP, the rain, health and safety rules & fire alarms in the middle of the night and the X25 bus that always stops in the middle of nowhere (well, to be honest I sometimes still get nightmares about being left all alone in the fields). All I remember are the friendly people, the good food, the sunny days, bagpipe music and all the amazing spots around Edinburgh and, last but not least the sexy Scottish accent ;)

I know what your counter arguments are going to be: 

- Scottish people are not friendly. I know not all Scottish people are friendly, but come to Trieste for a couple of days and you'll see what rude people are really like! They never hold the door for you, they stare at people in wheelchairs as if we where U.F.O.s and they never apologize when they accidentally push you. 

- What do you mean, "good food"? Yes, if you have friends who are really good and creative chefs. And the friend Mars bar is not actually that bad if you only have a tiny bit. 

- There are on average 4 sunny days per year in bonnie Scotland, but when the sun does come out the excitement is so big that everyone is out having a picnic. 

- Bagpipes are annoying. They really are. But my brain works with associations so I've learned to like them (bagpipes = guys in kilts ;). 

- Nothing to say about Edinburgh. If we exclude the roadworks in the city centre and that have been going on for far too long (will we ever get to see the tramway?) it is an amazing town.

                  

            I always get as far as "and I should become a stranger..." and then I break into tears. 

           Drama  queen.

This time last year I was on holiday in Edinburgh, having a great time. This year it will take a bit longer before I manage to visit. The good thing is I know I'll always be at home in Scotland because, as my mum says: "Home is where your toothbrush is." and I know for a fact that there's a toothbrush waiting for me in toon so that when Caledonia calls I can say: "Och aye, I am coming!" Start getting ready, pals! :)

PoP all the way!

I meant to write something more entertaining/inspiring/life changing, but I have a terrible cold and I just got back from work (never trust your colleague aka boss when they say they'll give you a lift home - you'll never leave the office!). This entry is more of a "note to self" kind of thing. 

- In the end, the catastrophe I thought I was responsible for yesterday wasn't a real catastrophe because the external hard drive I dropped on the floor and which I thought I broke is not broken! It just doesn't work very well but it hasn't died completely. 

Conclusion no. 1: NEVER spend a whole afternoon commiserating yourself for something you might have done wrong. Often things are not as bad as the seem.  I owe an apology to an amazing lassie for cheering me up and always being there for me. 

Conclusion no. 2: I am really lucky to have some amazing people around! Thank you! I'll try to be more positive, I promise!

- I spend the whole day taking notes at a commercial meeting ("Your notes are just amazing! It's incredible how fast you write. Can I ask you to take the minutes of the meeting?", I was told 5 minutes before the start of the meeting. Of course I had no notepads with me, of course I was completely unprepared and of course I was half as smart as everyone else). I took notes for 8h and god knows if I'll be able to decipher them tomorrow...Something to worry about tomorrow, not today. 

Conclusion no. 3: People do not realise what note taking (or interpreting, for that matter) involves. Intepreters get frustrated and angry and yet we often can't do much about it because (unfortunately) real life is in now way close to  AIIC guidlines.

Conclusion no. 4: Although one should never judge people by the way they look, in real life this happens all the time and people you were usually friendly with, suddenly look down on you. Reminder: always make an effort to look decent, if not smart. 

I have the feeling there will be more opportunities for me to feel inadequate/ stupid/ inexperienced but until that happens, I can definitely say...

Conclusion no. 5: the Power of Positivity rocks!

TrUe ColOuRs

A hard week is behind me and I can say: YES! I survived! Yesterday I had the feeling I was going to be told off for one thing I wasn't sure I did correctly. Instead, I got told off for two things that didn't have anything to do with my first fear. Life never ceases to surprise me! If there's one thing that keeps me going in this cold and rainy winter (it's been really cold here recently - bora times), it is my weird "gift" of seeing things in colours. Some of you already know about this, others might not. The fact is that I see numbers, the letters of the alphabet and the days of the week in different colours. So when I get asked to find code 1463 number I remember it because 1 is white, 4 is green, 6 is red and 3 is yellow. No, I am not making this up. Ask me in a week and the colors will still be exactly the same :)

                                    I wonder if he has synesthesia...

When I was little I thought it was normal to see numbers, letters and days the way I saw them. I just thought the colours may vary so one day I went up to my mum and asked: "Muuuuuuum? What colour is Wednesday for you?" She smiled, stroked my head (probably thinking my disability was far greater than just physical) and said: Hmmm...I think it's pink." You cannot imagine how disappointed I was when I asked her the same question a week later and she told me Wednesday was orange! I called her a liar and a cheat: "Days don't change colour!!!" That's when she started realising I wasn't joking. It took me a while to explain how everything works in my brain (and I am still not sure I got my point across, although I tried really hard!). Every number and every letter has a different colour. If one is white and 3 is yellow then 13 is white and yellow. For words it's a bit different. I only see all the letters in a word in different colours when I first hear a name or a word, after that I just see words as if they were printed in a book (thank goodness, imagine reading a 500 pages long book and seeing every single letter in a different colour. I think it would give anyone a headache!). 

After my mum disappointed me so badly, I decided not to talk about synesthesia anymore. I would just use it to my advantage all the time: when learning how to make calculations, when memorising new words, remembering appointments...But I still felt misunderstood. My life changed when I met T. I think it was in first year and we were still getting to know each other. I had started telling her that "I have this weird thing...I see numbers and letters in colours..." and was waiting for her to tell me I was completely insane, but to my great surprise she just went: "Aw, me too! How cool!" We then spent a whole evening going through the alphabet and counting to see if we had any colours in common. I would go "L is green" and T. would say: "No! it's blue" (I don't think I got this right, T., I'm sorry! :)

I now know that I am not that insane, but I also know I am not a genius or extremely talented because of synesthesia (apparently many famous musicians and artists in general had it). I just know it has always helped me, both from a practical point of view (memory-wise) and a psychological point of view (on a rainy day I just need to deal with numbers for my life to be a bit less dull). 

Despite having asked my mum a thousand times, she still hasn't told me what happens in her head when she hears the word Friday or 25,908 or a completely unknown word. My dad is hopeless too (he's also a man, which surely doesn't make things easier!). So please, please, please, tell me how it works for you. I am dying to know!!! Meanwhile I wish you all a very colorful weekend! Mine is going to be chocolatey brown :) 

Of wee favours an cakes...

When someone asks you "(...) just a wee favour...I have translated the text myself, you just need to go through it, it'll take you 20 minutes" or "It's just a page, no technical terminology...Can you do it for me. It won't take you long - you are soooo good" you know straight away they are lying. 

Let's face it: favours are never wee ones and they are never easy to do. They require time, effort and a great deal of self-persuasion  (i.e. managing to silence that little voice in your ear telling you you'd much rather read a book or watch a film than translate marketing plans and reports. Sometimes I don't mind, especially if translations have something to do with stuff that interests me. Recently I've been reading up a lot on the Israeli - Palestinian conflict and translating about it too. For free (it was for an NGO). What does bother me is that people expect you to do it for free, quickly and whenever they want it. If I am going to do it for free then at least let me do it whenever I feel inspired! Plus it's not like people doing other jobs will do them for free. Try asking a plumber to come fix your tap for free...It will never happen. 

Some days ago I had an experience which proved this. I heard that one of my neighbours (yes, there are about 25 of them) is very good at making cakes and she makes amazing decorations. Since I am having a birthday party soon, I thought: why not asking her to do it. It will definitely be nicer and easier than having to go to a bakery to order it. It turns out she charges 40 euros (!!!) per kilogram and she only makes cakes which are heavier than 3kg. I have to say the cakes are really amazing, very colourful and really very artistic. She can basically make cakes of any shape: from cars to dogs, flowers etc. Tempting at first. The thing is: even if I was ready to spend 120€ for a cake (no flipping way!) would the cake really be good? I (almost) never judge things by appearance (student life teaches you the most disgusting-looking food can taste absolutely amazing), so when she asked me what decorations and shape I wanted, I really didn't know what to say. What cake would I have? One shaped like a booth/a microphone/a rugby ball/a coffee tin? Please! All I want is a good  cake. So I asked her if she could make something simple (but chocolatey and gooey). The answer? "I only make sophisticated cakes and no, I can't make it for any less than 40€. Take it or leave it." Of course I left it. I am not old enough to go bankrupt. But the real question is: would I be ready to say to the people constantly asking me favours (often friends or at least acquaintances): "Sorry guys, I charge X€ per word. Take it or leave it." (Un)fortunately I don't think I would. 

All I know is that no cake in the world will ever beat M.'s 25 home-made cream cakes. 

                    The numbers are a bit smudged because of the wet weather, but aren't they amazing?!   

Coffee rebels

I have always thought I like to have my routine, to have everything under control, but I am realising more and more that I love unexpected things and changes. They definitely make life much more interesting (I just had the most improvised birthday ever and it was so so nice!).  

I know some people who are more than happy with a job which they themselves find boring. “It's good money for what I do and, let's be honest, I do close to nothing” they say. Sometimes I envy them because they have achieved something which I never will: they are happy with what they've got. Don't get me wrong, I am a very happy with my life, but I always think there's more to it. The sense of achievement after you've accomplished something great is an amazing feeling, but before you realise it, it's gone. You start wanting more, you set yourself new goals and I personally think this is what makes us grow. I'm possibly a bit to extreme, seen as I've never had any proper time off (and by “proper” I mean at least a couple of months to travel or do whatever I want). My life has always been “gap free”, full of changes, new faces, new places...The only thing I REALLY (REALLY, REALLY!) don't like changing are friends. Making new friends is always nice, but I  often  grow really fond of some people and then I suffer like hell when I have to leave them. I've realised it's not easy to keep in touch with friends whom you don't see very often and although I do my best to stay in contact with everyone, it doesn't always work (stupid time zones!). Luckily, I am not the kind of person who gives up easily, so I warn you: I'll keep trying!  :) 

Anyway, now that I am “stuck” at home for a while , there's a lot more routine in my life: get up, go to work - without ever managing to have breakfast, God forbid! - work, work, work, come home, write dissertation, cook dinner, blog – this damn wee thing is taking me far too much time! - bed and the whole thing starts all over again. I have to say I am not  tired of it (yet), but I absolutely refuse to do the exact same things every day.

My morning coffee is the only routine I like (and need desperately). Other than that, I like having coffee with different  people every day and, most importantly, I like trying different types of coffee (otherwise what would be the point in working in a coffee company? :) But there's a problem. The baristas know every single employee. They might not know everyone by name but they certainly know what time each of us usually comes for a coffee and what coffee we take. You get three chances. If you take the same coffe for three times in a row, that's you labelled for life. Choosing a different coffee every day like I (try to) do is a clear sign of borderline personality. It's almost like treason, after all coffee has a soul too. Who are we to hurt its feelings on a whim? So every time I ask for a different coffee, the barista gives me a sad look and says: “Are you sure you don't want the same as last time? You seemed to like it...” (of course I did, I like any kind of coffee!). I've been wanting to try latte macchiato for some days now, always unsuccessfully. The barista simply refuses to hear my requests and keeps bringing me “for-you-as-usual” coffee just because at one point I had cappuccino for more than three days in a row.

One cannot just go

                    to a cappuccino...

from a "capo in bi" (my absolute favourite)...

... a double macchiato

                                                                             ... and a latte macchiato 

It might sound stupid and banal, but in a way this coffee routine can be a metaphor for our lives: people are scared of changing and trying something new. And when they finally decide to go for it, it's often other people who warn them they shouldn't.

But I am determined not to conform to the rules. I'll make sure I try all of them. Whenever and whichever way I want.

Dana, the (coffee) rebel

We are all equal (but some are better than others) – Rugby (Part 1)

I am absolutely knackered! The coach wasn't there today so the boys decided we would have to work twice as hard. Especially me, since I am the “wee one” who needs to toughen up. I am also the only girl, so you can imagine the kind of lovingly mean remarks they make on my account. Today, for example, they kept going: “Come on girl, rugby is not ballet! Push harder, push, PUSH!” (to the point that I started wondering if I was just exercising or I was actually giving birth). Of course, the moment I really started pushing hard and taking up speed, they placed themselves right in front of me and - BANG! drove straight into my wheelchair.

                                         

                                      

                                                                                                 More or less like this ;)

I have come to the conclusion that there are different kinds of tackling. There's the evil tackle, which you resort to when you are playing and you really want to make your opponents' life hard no matter what; and there is the loving tackle, which more or less corresponds to the 'like' button on Facebook. The more you like someone, the more you get in their way and try to annoy them. While this might work on the rugby field, I doubt it's a good tactic in everyday life. Do you really think you could fall madly in love with someone who crashed into your car?

Not only am I the only girl, I have also been nominated official sandwich maker for all away games. My gut reaction to this was: “This is such a sexist thing to do! If you weren't sitting I would kick your ass”. But to be honest I pity them. They don't know that I am the worst sandwich maker in history. I enjoy cooking and I am quite good at it, but don't ever ask me to make you a sandwich, especially if you want soft and slimy stuff in it – anything from lettuce to tomatoes and mozzarella. It would end up in a total mess.

If you think disabled people are sympathetic towards other human beings who happen to be in their same situation, you are wrong...Well, let's say in 90% of cases. I was lucky to meet people for whom I can say without a doubt that they belong to the remaining 10%. Even so, a conversation about sport between disabled people is sometimes worse than football bets in Italy. The one I heard the other day, when my team mates were discussing who could be the next person to enter our team, went more or less like this:

- I know whom you could ask. Do you remember Luca?

- Luca who? The one who injured himself when skiing?

- Oh no, he's fresh. I mean the other Luca, the old guard. Car accident Luca.

- Nooooo! Not him! He's a bad tetra, a high one, I think he's a C7 - much worse than you. He's also totally disfado! He hasn't moved his ass for the past 10 years. He's fat like a pig, there's no way he'd keep up with us.

- Then maybe Piero.You know, Piero the young one. He'd be a wise choice.

...And back to line 2.

You probably don't have a clue what the whole conversation is about. Don't worry, I couldn't make any sense of it either. Like any other "interest group", wheelchair users too have their own jargon. Here's a wee glossary for you:

tetra - tetraplegic. Specimen of this kind can be subdivided into two subcategories (see low and high)

para - paraplegic. Same as above.

healthy - not disabled. A word which I personally dislike very much, since I consider myself very healthy despite being in a wheelchair.

low (synonym: good) – someone whose injury resulted in a damange to the lower part of the spinal chord and who can therefore use his arms and hands without any problem. The lower the injury, the better.

high (synonym: bad) – someone whose spine was injured pretty high up, which means that the upper body is affected too (back/arms/hands).

C7, C6, C5...  – Not only do wheelchair users all know each other they also know what kind of injury everyone else suffered. These are classified according to the vertebra which has been damaged. I would advise you not to dig deeper into this - quite scary.

fresh – someone who's just had an accident or has been using a wheelchair for a short time (less than 5 years)

old guard – someone who's been in a wheelchair for a long time (15 years or more)

disfado (a complete wreck) – A wheelchair user who's not active enough. People who belong to this category are usually frowned upon by the rest.

Luckily enough, my team mates seem to think I am not lazy enough to be part of this last category (phew!). I can now go to bed happy :))

                                                                           Spéciale dédicace à the Frenchies

Today is one of those days

And it's my fault. Not my job's fault, not my colleagues' fault, just mine. Don't worry, nothing bad happened, I just missed out a line in a translation. It's nothing compared to famine in Africa or forest fires in Australia, but translating is the only thing I am good at at the moment. And if I can't even do that right...well...I don't know how I'll deal with all the rest. I am ready to get told off by my colleague tomorrow (who also happens to be my neighbour, oh joy! ). What I am asking myself is...I have always thought I had "great attention for detail" (don't we all like putting that on our CV?). When the f...ornication have I lost it? Has interpreting made me focus more on speed than anything else? I don't have an answer so I will stop this stream of consciousness thing right now. Sorry about it, gentle readers. I'll come back to you with some fresh rugby news soon. I know they are much more fun to read.

Hugs from my negligent and careless self, who, however, still cares a lot about you :)