maybe we didn’t get to do all we planned to. maybe we all wish we had one last dance before 2020 even gave us a chance. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ but we still learnt to live, even between all the sokkie workshops; and we still learnt to love, even when the going got tough; and most of all we still learnt to dance, even when it felt like we can’t. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ and I guess that - that is all that really matters.
By Mila Ottavini
On the 23rd of August 2020 a friend of mine, Eshen Moodley, his website, namely, GPCY Expanded Minds. He asked me to write some pieces for the site, and below are what I wrote for some of his catalogues. The link to his website is: https://gpcy23.myportfolio.com
I believe in soul mates. I really do. What I don’t believe in, however, is best friends. I don’t think you can just say – this one, this one right here – that’s my best friend who will be here forever and always. I also don’t think that you can place certain friends in higher regard than others. No. People come and go through our lives for different reasons. People move cities and things change. But truly, the connection will never change. That’s why I believe in soul mates and not best friends. When you have a connection so strong with someone, not just romantic, but platonic too – it’s eternal. It’s eternal and you know it. Because even when they’re gone, and you hear the song that you always used to sing with them, the strings of your heart pull tighter. When you walk past all of the places that you laughed with them till your bellies ached, you can’t help but smile. And when it’s 3am and your chest feels emptier than it’s ever been, all you wish for is their voice. Because you loved them. Because you will always love them. And if you read this, and your heart rises up in your chest, you must know that you’ve had at least one soul mate in your life. Chances are that you’ve had more than one. How lucky our souls are to burn so brightly in love with other souls.
There is something about the day you turn 18. All of a sudden the universe has transferred freedom into your hands. The ability to do and be whoever you desire. In theory, it sounds like one of the most exciting days of your life. It is up there with those momentous occasions most people dream of – leaving high school, graduating from university, buying your first home and getting married. But in reality, turning 18 was not the perfect picture I had painted in my head. Sure, I got my driver’s license, I could legally drink, soon I’d be off to my dream university and I’d leave high school far behind me. But it was scary. It was damn scary. Suddenly I had this responsibility to survive. If anything failed now in my life, the only person responsible would be me. The crippling anxiety of growing up is masked behind the big birthday party we all look forward to. But it was that day, that very birthday party, that I realised I needed to step up. That there is more than the perfect picture I had painted in my head. And maybe that actually isn’t scary at all. Maybe that is the most exciting thing that any of us will realise. And I realised it when the clock turned and I became 18 – there is more. Much, much more.
I’m a terrible hopeless romantic. I often fall in love with the covers of books. My knees are weak for many strangers that have once smiled at me. I can create a whole love story in my mind just sitting on a train staring out the window. For me, everything could be a love story.
But there was something unique about my love story with Italy. Maybe it’s because it’s in my blood. Italy is in every essence of my being.
I think I love Italy because everything about it is so loud. Every person you come across in this country is loud. They’re loud because they have something to say. And I love that.
The food screams it’s own existence too, because it was prepared with love and pride. What is there not to love about that.
The sceneries in Italy are so overwhelmingly loud that sometimes my dreams of the country make me sad. It makes me sad because before Italy, I never knew you could miss a place so vividly. I can close my eyes and I can see the vibrant colours of Burano, every beach bar in Porto San Giorgio, the flowers of Norcia, the remnants of the Roman empire, the turquoise waters of Lago di Garda… I can see it all.
Maybe that’s what love is. Maybe love is loud. It doesn’t hide itself and it etches a memory that you’ll never be able to shake. I just hope I never lose this love.
Little did I know my love for you laid across the platform where he looked up and smiled.
a year later and I think about her every day. Every single day. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ I long for her warm waters, and her strong statures. the lack of her air has left me in despair. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ I am unaware of when we can join again. but I no longer pine for her because I have peace knowing God has kept me home to finish His masterpiece. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ and there is so much more of her that I desire to discover but maybe I need to learn something here. and maybe one day I will miss this place just as much as I miss her.
Words in the video:
We all have that one thing that we are absolutely terrified of doing. A thing that we have been instructed to do, or we just know we have to do it. This fear is so crippling that we disregard any attempt at doing this terrifying act.
Look, I don’t know what you are afraid of doing or even why you are afraid of doing it. But there are some things in life that we just have to do – no matter how scared we may be.
Maybe you’re too scared to put on your running shoes again after the last injury you sustained.
Or you’re too afraid to start that new training programme because you think you’re not strong or dedicated enough.
You’re setting yourself up for failure before you even start.
Perhaps, you’re too nervous to tell that person that you haven’t been able to stop thinking about how you really feel, fearing the sting of rejection.
Or maybe you’re too proud to forgive that person that did you wrong, and let them back in your life. You just don’t want to believe that they can change.
Maybe you just need to have that difficult conversation with that person you love, but you’re too scared they’ll runaway anyway.
Love is scary. And love is a risk – but it is an action. And it is the greatest action you can ever take.
Maybe you’re panicking about that one class you have, and you fear that even if you put in that extra 10% effort, you won’t make it through.
You could be frantic, trying to apply for your dream school – secretly believing you’re not good enough to get in.
Maybe you have an entire book inside of you, and you’ve never been able to shake off the fear enough so that you can write it.
But you know you were called to that purpose. And purpose takes courage.
There could even be something you’re too petrified to stop.
Maybe you need to put an end to that relationship or friendship that is making you something you’re not – taking you further and further away from your destiny.
Or possibly there is that addiction that you just can’t seem to quit – and it is destroying you slowly every day.
Maybe you just need to put your phone down, forget about what the online world is saying about you, and finally look into the eyes of the one in front of you, who has been longing to spend some time with you.
I don’t know what it is that you are scared of. But one thing I do know is that in this really great book, it says the words “Do not be afraid” 365 times. Let me say that again – the bible tells us 365 times to not be afraid. We are reminded everyday that we have been given the power to do whatever it is we know we need to do. And I can be say it 365 more times, and it will still not be overused, but my friend, you need not be afraid.
You need to speak this aloud. Maybe also write it down – whatever it is that you are afraid of doing. And after saying this, or writing this, affirm these words in your heart, “this is scary. But the creator of the universe told me to not be afraid. So I will do this.”
But you need to really believe this. Whatever you are most afraid of doing, usually becomes the greatest accomplishments you look back on. You may be one fearful soul, but your nature can quickly become fearless – don’t let yourself miss out on your destiny.
By Mila Ottavini
they tried to crown her with every label she was not: they called her failure when she won every battle, they called her traitor when her purpose began to unravel. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ so she crowned herself with everything she knew she was her crown was made of courage when her strength began to flourish, and her crown was made of grace when she was ready to finish her race. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ but mostly, she wore it with such humility because she was filled with great destiny that not even the enemy could steal so irreverently.
By Mila Ottavini
I have this success story that I’ve always been too afraid to share. For some reason, something made me think that my story is insignificant and not important. This, however, is a lie that the devil makes many of us believe. I know that the our stories can help lift others up from a deep pit. Our testimonies give people the opportunity to hear of the bright light they have the opportunity to stand in.
So don’t be ashamed of the testimony about the Lord or of me, his prisoner. Instead, share the suffering for the good news, depending on God’s power.
2 Timothy 1:8
This is my testimony – and I am no longer ashamed of it.
I was relatively young when I first started experiencing depression. Likewise for most people, depression and anxiety often come as a package deal. This package deal was my truth when I was 15 years old.
A lot of people would have never noticed, because I was active, had people in my life that cared about me and was doing well in school. But inside my chest, a dark hole slowly started to grow. I didn’t value myself enough to do anything about it, so I allowed the hole to grow bigger and bigger until it enveloped my entire life.
To this day, I still don’t know how it started. There wasn’t a specific terrible occurrence, and I often felt guilty for feeling the way I did when I actually had a pretty good teenage life. But what I did not understand was that depression is not something we can use logic to solve.
I remember the panic attacks. I had this crippling fear that I would always be alone, even with so many people surrounding me, and this deep sadness eroded itself into anxious reactions. At the time, someone very close to me knew and saw the panic attacks that I was experiencing. The day that I passed out at a music festival, only because of my social anxiety and crippling depression, they decided that they had to tell my parents about it.
I will always be thankful that they did, even though I wasn’t thankful then. Sometimes when the pit of anxiety and depression gets dug deeper and deeper, your only option is to get help. Real help. I started various medications to help with the panic attacks and the depression.
I definitely think that medication is very important for a person who is seriously struggling and is too deep in their hole to climb out themselves. But it is a temporary solution. No one really tells you how addictive the medication is that they give you. They don’t tell you that the pills will numb the pain you’re feeling, but will also numb the joy you’re meant to experience. But again, I needed the medication then. The medication did however not take my anxiety and depression away, but merely dealt with the symptoms of what I was experiencing
I went through my teenage years, from age 15 to age 19, on these pills. I thought that this is all life would ever be for me, relying on medication to be stable and relatively okay. And I was okay. But I was not free from my depression or anxiety at all. There were also days were the medication didn’t work, and my only option (as it felt then) was to stay in bed and cry until it didn’t hurt as much.
My heart swells for the girl that I used to be as I write this. I think the hardest thing about depression is when you watch yourself from the outside. When you see this random human struggling to fight against something invisible. It’s almost as if you see someone you love going through something you have no idea how to help them with. But you’re actually that person and it makes it even more confusing and painful. I hope this makes sense.
I remember my matric dance, and that it was a good day, but not as good as everyone told me it would be. Or my 18th birthday, or graduating high school, or falling in love, or whatever everyone hypes up for teenagers. It was all just okay, and nothing in life made me want to rejoice in my youth. I felt incapable of doing that.
When I went to university, I was hoping that something would change. That anything would change. And this is my testimony, that everything absolutely did change.
I was in this new place, meeting all these amazing new people, and yet I was so far from everything that I loved. I was so excited, but so broken to be away from any sense of security. Then I came face to face with Him. I saw His face, and I saw Him hanging on a cross because of me. For me. And I saw the pain in His eyes, the pain He had taken on for this girl that I had become, who was depressed and anxious and was deep within all the mistakes and failures of her life. I saw how He looked at me, and He wasn’t angry. And I couldn’t understand that. I put Him up there, and He took on my pain, but He did it because He loved me. That’s when I realised I needed to stop being so broken. Because someone was broken for me not to be broken. It felt like double pain and that just didn’t make sense.
Of course the moment I experienced salvation was life changing, but my depression and anxiety obviously didn’t disappear in an instance. It just doesn’t work like that. However, I finally had the motivation to get rid of it, and I finally felt like I wasn’t fighting the battle alone. Someone had already won the biggest battle, and all I had to do is become best friends with that someone. He really is my best friend.
But this journey took a lot of work. I’m not going to sit here and pretend like from that moment forward it was easy. Because Christians are not excluded from the pain of life – we just have the best therapist anyone could ask for.
So I got baptised. That helped a lot. It washed my entire life clean. But I needed more. I needed to know the truth. So after years of sitting in a school chapel and not experiencing the truth that was right in front of me, I had to decide to do some hard work to get rid of my depression. I had to decide that I wanted to get better. And I really did get better. I got so much better that on the 17th of September 2019, after 4 years, I stopped taking my medication. The medication I was on is so addictive that many patients go into a rehabilitation to get off of it, but I just stopped. Cold turkey. I was told that I would probably fall apart. But honestly, besides some normal withdrawal symptoms, I was fine. I was fine because I had a counsellor I could speak to every day, free of charge. Of course it was not a straight path, and I had times when I fell back into holes of depression, but I never stayed there. I was somehow always picked up out of whatever hole I found myself in.
The crazier thing is that during this pandemic, a time of serious isolation, confusion, loss and anxiety, I have never felt better. Of course I’ve had my low days, just like everyone, but that is normal and okay. But for the first time in a really long time, I feel so much love in my heart. There is a lot of love inside of me in a time where the world is fighting more hate than probably ever before. And that is why I am writing this. If I look back, and if I were to tell the 16 year old girl eating alone by her locker in high school, that one day, just one day, she would be 20 years old and have so much light to share with the world – I know she would have never believed it. I sometimes still can’t believe it. That’s just how good God is. Even if this is just for one person that really needs to hear this, that is all that matters. Jesus is interested in the one lost sheep. I truly hope you find your way home, whoever you are.
Out of this testimony, I have learnt some important truths that may help someone who is struggling right now.
The biggest mistake anyone can make is to identify with their depression. To say, I am depressed, gives the enemy power. It is important not to ignore the problem of depression in your life, but you as an individual are more than what you are experiencing. Imagine someone said, “I am cancer“, just because they have cancer? Yes, there is depression in your life. You are experiencing a depression. But you are more than this depression.
As much as you try to convince yourself, you don’t deserve to have such a downtrodden spirit. No, it doesn’t matter how much wrong you’ve done, how horrible and unlikable you think you are, you do not deserve to feel this way. We are all forgiven and loved despite anything we can and will do. Whether you believe it or not, it’s the truth. Would you tell your brother he deserves to be depressed because of what he said about you last week? No. So you don’t deserve to be depressed either.
When you are in a pit of despair, you tend to forget the love you are constantly embraced in. Looking back now, there were so many people rooting for me to return to the girl they used to know. And they continued to root for me till the day I became that girl again. And more than that, someone loved you enough to die for you. Like, actually die for you. If our God said you are worthy of the death of His Son, I promise you, you are loved and worthy of love.
There is so much I could say about depression and about finding your way out. But not much can really change your current situation or the dark hole you seem to find yourself in. I can however tell you, from the one who finally found her way out of a very long tunnel, that though your valley seems endless, it does get better. This season you are experiencing may be nothing you ever dreamt about, but you are going to reach a destiny far greater than you can ever imagine. And I know that sounds cliche, and if someone told me this when I was in that deep hole, it honestly would of just made me angry. But it makes us angry because we have fooled ourselves into believing that what we believe about our future is the only finite truth. Sorry to break it to you, but you are conditioned and programmed to believe a lot of lies. And this is one of them. Because it gets better. With Jesus, it always gets better.
From one fighter to another, I wish you all the love in the world.
By Mila Ottavini
But you, Lord, are a shield around me, my glory, the One who lifts my head high.
Psalm 3:3
If you know of anyone who needs help, or you yourself needs help, never underestimate the power of a hand trying to pull you up. Speak to someone, anyone. Someone will help. Here are some South African helplines if needed:
I had straight hair once and posters of Hannah Montana and white barbie dolls pasted high up on a wall opposite my bed. I remember the shame and humiliation that descended on me when I pronounced ‘management’ as ‘maanaagement.’ I still hear those piercing laughs from my peers who thought of me as a stupid black girl then. I still hear my Grade 1 teacher shouting at me for being illiterate. There were two black girls in my class then and both of us were in the lowest group for reading – alone. While other reading groups consisted of five or more people, my group had two girls and we were both black and unable to read fluently. I decided from that day to improve my fluency so that I didn’t have to cry again on the reading carpet. Whenever my mom came home, before she got the chance to put down her bags, I demanded that she sit down at the dining table to listen to me read. I had just spent over 3 hours reading out loud my story book of five pages of a story printed in big bold letters. I only got promoted two grades later. I remember during swimming lessons along the pool side I always sat with my legs perched up. If I sat normally and comfortably my thighs would be too big in comparison to my peers. Once I visited a friend together with another friend of mine who was black. The song ‘black and yellow’ by Wiz Khalifa was playing on the radio and it so happened that my friend wore a yellow T-shirt and black jeans. My other friend (the one who we had visited) sang the lyrics ‘black and yellow, black and yellow’, while pointing to my friend’s T-shirt and arm. I shouldn’t have to tell you what her race was, I am sure you can guess it. I remember in Grade 7 I was called ‘white Obama’ by my teacher. I laughed every time he said it, but I knew deep down I hated that he referred to me like that. When I started high school, there was not a conversation I had without another person saying, ‘you speak like a white person’. My identity as a black person was constantly questioned and I was always compelled to prove that I am in fact black which was absurd. On the other hand, in a game that I love, hockey, I was told I only made the team because of the quota system. I was told, while having to sit bench for majority of the games, that I only made it because I was the best black girl and not because I was good enough regardless.
These were forms of subtle racism. I could write about the overt forms but that would trick you yet again to think that racism is only valid when it is overt.
No.
Calling me white Obama was not a compliment, in actual fact, it undermines my very identity as a black person because it infers racism. It sets the notion that white is the standard of excellence and that even calling me just Obama as a compliment is not good enough. Being literate in English was not easy for me because, you can imagine, I came from a space where isiZulu was the language of instruction and communication at home therefore it was difficult to become accustomed to the English language. Now, I am not sour at the fact that I was in the lowest group for reading. If I could not read fluently, rightfully so, I should be placed there so that I can improve. However, I am upset at the humiliation I had to face as a six-year-old from being shouted at and fearing when it was reading time that I would be shouted at again. I write this with tears because I realise that young black girl never lived in her own truth. She tried to change who she was to please others. She spent days and years assimilating a culture and identity that was not hers. I am upset that, that young girl believed that her achievements were merited because of her ability to be ‘white’. I am upset that, that girl was constantly proving herself worthy because of her skin. I am upset that, that young girl believed her skin made her intellectually incapable.
I AM UPSET.
I am now upset to see that my black brothers and sisters are DYING at the hands of people that are supposed to be protecting them. I am upset that we live in a system which is built and thrives on the oppression of marginalized groups. Is it not enough that white people will always benefit from society in every shape and form? Clearly it is not – because the world, families and black people have seen roads, rivers and even their own homes covered in the blood of black people.
It is unacceptable that it is ALWAYS black voices that have to constantly stand up for themselves. It is unacceptable that the concentration of melanin determines whether black people survive past their twenty’s. It is unacceptable that black women continue to experience oppression not just from white people but also from their own male counterparts. It is unacceptable that some people are ignoring current events because they see it as a ‘black people’s problem’ when in fact, the problem is rooted from the very people ignoring it.
IT IS UNACCEPTABLE.
So, we ought to take to the streets with tired voices yet again.
Yours with a heart that is disillusioned, angry and sad
Nomfundo Mfeka
This prose was written by Nomfundo Mfeka and is in support of the #BlaveLivesMatter movement.
https://blacklivesmatters.carrd.co
Go to this website where you can sign various petitions, donate, and educate yourself about the #BlackLivesMatter movement.
First, let me start with some context so that you understand that these words are not from a person who has never had to pick up their sword and fight their battle against such a giant. I am writing this because I wish someone wrote it when I was fifteen.
I remember that day in 2015 when I suddenly became so conscious. Suddenly, I was conscious about how my thighs felt when they touch, how my stomach folds when I sit and how I feel when I look like in the mirror. It came out of nowhere. So I did the logical thing: I decided to exercise and watch what I eat a little bit more. These health decisions are normal, and there is absolutely nothing wrong with deciding to take hold of your health habits. But what was the problem was my mind – my mind wanted more than just health. My mind wanted to see a different girl in the mirror.
The first while, everything I did was absolutely normal and nothing to worry over. But with a devil like body dysmorphia, once it lays its seeds, it is bound to grow. Later on, I began to count every calorie I put into my mouth. I would make sure that my calorie deficit is way over than it should be. I would exercise without any fuel in my body. I would do cardio 7 times a week, and hardcore cardio. I would constantly body check, and the scale and the mirror never showed me what I wanted to see.
And then I got really sick. I was lucky enough that the people who cared about me started to notice. They tried everything, they really did. But I could not see the problem. They were the crazy ones, not me. If only I knew.
Fortunately, my parents eventually put their foot down and got me the help that I needed. I was restored to my healthy weight, and by the grace of God, I did not cause any long term damages to my body. But there was still a massive problem, the devil which was constantly telling me that I was not small enough, not pretty enough, not good enough.
You see, back then, all I wanted was to be accepted. Somehow this body dysmorphia convinced me that it would get me the acceptance I desired, so allowed it into my life. I opened the door of my heart and let it in, and it invaded me with full force. There was no room in my heart for anything else.
I was healthy, but I still weighed all my food out, kept to a strict exercise routine and constantly mocked the girl in the mirror. I didn’t get the acceptance I desired, and if anything, my self hatred drove people further and further away from me. Little did I know that the only acceptance that can ever sustain me is eternal, and higher than anything on this planet. I later found this out in 2019.
By the love of God I have been restored with a new and free mind. But there is one thing that this journey has taught me: it is definitely not easy. And that’s really why I’m writing this, because every person who endures this battle deserves to hear the hope from the other side.
This battle taught me many truths, and I hope these truths bring something to whoever needs it. And I want to make this very clear: body dysmorphia does not choose its victims according to arbitrary factors. That’s right, all genders, all sexual orientations, all races, all religions and all societal classes fight this battle alike.
The notion that the person I see in the mirror is not actually “I” makes pretty much no sense to the human mind. If that person in the mirror is not the “I” I perceive, then who really is “I”? As hard as it is to believe, your “I” is much more than is seen by the human eye or even perceived in the human mind.
Your body is earthly. Your weight is an earthly concept created by humans. Your “body goals” is only something that can be achieved in the physical. Also, these goals were never birthed out of your true desires – it was put into your mind because something or someone taught you that these body goals should be desirable. The truth is, your “I” can not be seen. The “I” has been wonderfully and fearfully constructed by the God that rules all. Once I realised this, standing in front of truly the only one that can ever love me fully and completely, I finally understood that I am way more than my body can ever be.
… the illusion, the error of thinking that, by changing the exterior world, you will change. You do not change if you merely change your exterior world.
Awareness by Anthony De Mello
We are taught that once you lose a crazy amount of weight, gain all the lean muscle, fit into that zero sized dress – then we will be perfected. I thought this too. I thought that all my wrongs would be corrected by becoming a tinnier version of myself. I’ve also watched some dear friends do the same – even men, trying to look like the cover of Men’s Health. But once you become too invested into a cycle of bad thoughts, you only start slipping further away from the person you were destined to be.
Let me make this very clear – there is nothing wrong with exercise and maintaining a good diet. The problem I am highlighting here is the vicious thought pattern that body dysmorphia brings. It will tell you that you will be loved, appreciated, adored, whatever you may desire – once you look a certain way. You need to realise the falseness in this.
Our bodies change every single day. Weight fluctuates by the hour. Our metabolisms can slow down and quicken at any moment. We ourselves can have the power to change our bodies too. But these changes will never bring the change you are looking for. If you want love, you have to love and be love. That includes loving yourself. So no, that 5kg weight drop will not make you truly accepted. Because the only acceptance only comes from The One who accepts you no matter what you look like.
I remember when I had embarked on this journey, I stopped all of the exercises that I truly enjoy. I stopped doing yoga because “it didn’t burn enough calories”. I told myself I hate running and don’t enjoy it. But really, I had a complex because a girl laughed at me when I was running and told me I look funny because of my short and stubby legs. I let body dysmorphia decide what exercise I was allowed to do, and I didn’t use exercise as it should be – as healthy movement and a kind of therapy.
Today, I believe we should move our bodies however we want. If I want to run today, I will. How fast and how far I go doesn’t matter, what does matter is that I feel good. I love yoga, and I do it as often as I like to. I even dance now – and I don’t care that I’m not really good at it. People can laugh, but I love the feeling of dancing, so I’ll dance. I’ll lift weights if I feel like it, and I’ll jump around if I want to. And it’s nice to see progress, but I am no longer in an endless cycle of tracking if I’ve lifted enough, burnt enough and gone fast enough.
If you have the blessing of moving your body, don’t abuse it by not letting yourself move the way your body desires. God gave us this as a gift. Take it as a gift. And gifts should never be used to punish yourself because of what you ate last night. Gifts should be used to enjoy.
That award was a result of competition, which can be cruel if it is built on hatred of oneself and of others. People get a good feeling on the basis of somebody else getting a bad feeling; you win over somebody else. Isn’t that terrible? Taken for granted in a lunatic asylum!
Awareness by Anthony De Mello
One of the biggest battles of body dysmorphia is the comparisons. Comparisons with others and comparisons of where you want to be and where you are. Competitions like this always leave somebody feeling pretty bad about themselves. So why would you set yourself up to make yourself feel bad, let alone make someone else feel bad?
How another person is eating is not your business. If they want to diet, it does not affect your worth. If another person is running a marathon, it does not mean you are not good enough. Every one else is on a different part of their journeys with the bodiess they inhabit for their earthly lives, so don’t let it influence you.
Once you die to the self, you will understand the self. You are not who you think you are. Trust me. If I asked anyone back then if they see me as fat as I see myself, they would’ve laughed in my face. Once you forget about the self and don’t question your natural happiness (yes, happiness is indeed our natural state, society has just made you believe differently), the comparison game is a distant memory.
Don’t let my success story fool you: it was not only uphill. There were days were I didn’t even think about my weight, and then there were days when I was at a school dance and I cried in the bathroom because I was scared of the cake. And then there were some weeks where I would read every motivational quote on body positive, and other weeks where I would fall into the same trap of strenuous exercise and strict eating habits. But that’s okay. That’s how we heal.
What I do promise for you, however, is a turning point. There was a point in 2019 where I had grown so much out of my body dysmorphia and its habits, but I had not fully let it go. I was still conscious over myself. I could treat myself, but I still secretly felt guilty afterwards, and would check the mirror if I had suddenly ballooned up. I was still finding my worth in the compliments that others gave me. But then I met Jesus.
I am not pushing my religion here, I am simply telling my story. For me, meeting Jesus made me realise what anyone fighting such a battle needs to realise. All battles are already won. Everything I am carrying and weighing down on myself is ironic and unnecessary. There is so much more in store for me.
So for whoever reads this, and is fighting the devil of body dysmorphia alone, I just want you to know something. The battle is already won. All you have to do is allow love in.
But take heart! I have conquered the world.
John 16:33
If you know of anyone who needs help, or you yourself needs help, never underestimate the power of a hand trying to pull you up. Speak to someone, anyone. Someone will help. Here are some South African helplines if needed:
Lionello, my great grandfather, wrote a secret love letter to his forever lover, Vitellia, in 1938. She passed on this letter to my grandfather, Antonio, upon her death. The letter was handwritten, and consequently very difficult to read, so thankfully Antonio typed the entire letter out on a typewriter. My grandmother found this letter, and I knew that we had to translate it and discover this story. And I’m very glad we did. Here it is for you to read and enjoy.
To my wife, to my children, to my sister, to my family and the sincere friends of this strange Ottavini family.
In the life of each of us, there is always a moment of truth and one of fortune.
I think I found them both in the same instance, reading the writings of my father to Vitellia, Lover “Pucci” in the distant 1938, his lover forever, then his wife, and then my step mother.
A moment of truth, to have discovered the real face of my father, a moment of fortune, to taste the richness of expression of the rebellious and tormented soul of my father, that I thought I could understand and judge, but instead I think I never knew him at all.
The text, here attached in Integrum, left by Vitellia in an envelope. “To Franca and Antonio – to open only after my death”
With affection and sincerity
What I am writing to you is only for you and I, Pucci.
I would call it a confession if the word didn’t relate so much to the church. But it is something similar, maybe a test of my conscious in front of my guardian angel: a great, great Angel, and her name is Pucci.
In the margin, you must correct everything concerning our relationship. You will show me the corrections and your notes. You will conserve these sealed pages, not opening them again, until I authorise you to do so at my death.
Because this is also my act of faith, but it can also be my testimony for you.
With the sharpest scalpel, I want to cut my soul so that you can see it in its reality so that you can evaluate it, not for what you admire, but only for it’s value.
I want to analyse our state of affliction in the best way, and with this analysis you can evaluate with calmness and coldness what is convenient to do.
I’m fairly calm and I’m writing at night, in my office, after I’ve worked until 10pm. I’m saying this to demonstrate that, I am thinking of last night to start these pages, as I wanted to arrive here without flattering myself. I am horrified of long soliloquies that often brings one to the wrong conclusion.
I am a convinced believer. I believe that outside of us exists a superior will and power. I believe in unrelenting justice, without pity or mercy of the morals of Christianity, but true and inexorable, for the Better or the Worse.
I believe in the superiority of the forces of the Spirit, over the materials.
I believe in our soul and that it can be perfected.
I believe in the immortality of the Spirit and in the commonly called Destiny. Not in the Greek or Islamic sense, but in the explication of the contingent will, superior to ours and to which it is useless to rebel. The will that is expedient to follow and not to escape.
I believe in the power of faith, not in the sense of religion but in the literal meaning of the word, and for this I can accept and explain the miracles of each religion.
I’m not saying that my convictions will not undergo some new evolution: I started in the Christian religion which was laid upon me as a child, then I became atheist, which I believed it was achievement when I was younger, as all directed experiences allowed me to reach to my conclusions. I don’t believe that these can vary more than that.
And you must also take note when you judge me.
And to judge me of my virtue and imperfections, (more of these and less of those), you must understand my life and my upbringing.
With you I have no secrets and what I am saying to you, nearly everything, my wife doesn’t know and she can’t even imagine.
It is my opinion that every family has their own secret and their own romance. My family is no exception.
My father didn’t have the same surname as my grandfather.
I learnt of this when I was of age and in strange circumstances. In the first moment this made me depressed. Now it serves me more to worship my father and to admire him.
He was born from an adulterous relationship between the marquis Beltrame of Filottrano and a lady, (a single woman), I assume, but I am uncertain of the identity.
If the Book of Law of our time was the same as 20 years ago, my father would have been a multi-millionaire. The dispositions that regarded my father in the will were null and void, because the law regarded that the children of adultery cannot become successors. The estate of my grandfather belongs to the Dante Alighieri’s association, administered by the engineer Amos Luchetti of Filottrano. I heard this very cruel story from this engineer, who taught me at school, and when the marquis died, only then did I know that he was my grandfather, as Amos called me and told me the story, so that I could tell my father about this sadness.
I told you this, so that you can admire my father and see how inferior I am to him.
You can enquire and discover that the surname Beltrame was one of the pioneers of the expedition of Abbissinia (now known as the Ethiopian Empire). At the time of the birth of my father, the second or third expedition left again, and I believe it was to avoid their own responsibilities. My father was taken and left to a family of poor farmers, where he was left abandoned for many years. Two old people took him in, and kept him with them. (I heard that they received a sum of money from Beltrame). My father learnt to read and write at the age of eleven, he learnt from other children. Without ever going to school, he went to write the elementary examinations and was promoted as such. He registered himself without the knowledge of his guardians to the technical school, and to study in the evenings he would steal the remnants of the candles from the priest. Naturally he did not go to school often, and without books he made many miracles. I religiously kept his school reports. This caused an amazement of his behaviour, that he was registered to the technical institute and the City Council of his town paid for his studies.
During his second year, maybe due to exhaustion, he became gravely ill. Beltrame paid for medical help, and in the mean time, Beltrame’s wife died. My father, at 18 years old, discovered the real name of his father. He did not forget the sufferings of his life, all the misery and deprivation that he endured, and he was proud by nature (he was in fact the image of his father), so he refused any other alternative help.
I remember the sadness of our family life, but I never assumed that if my father could, simply, apologise to a man, (who loved him), that his circumstances would change completely.
My mother, I believe, fell in love with my father for a mixture of comprehension and admiration, rather than his physical attractions. But she seriously fell in love.
Her family was old fashioned and was patriarchal. An uncle was a secret waiter of the Pope. Another uncle was a commander of the Corps of Cuirassiers. You can imagine the anger of my grandfather when he heard that his favourite daughter wanted to marry a stray.
But if my grandfather was relentless, so was my mother as his daughter, and two days after she became of age, she published her wedding with my father. My father in the mean time became employed by the council of Matelica with a good salary of 45 Lire monthly.
The day of the wedding she received a wedding present from her father – that she would be disinherited from everything. Only at my birth, was she reunited with her family.
I was born very poor, from a father who refused wealth because he was proud, and from a mother who refused because of love.
Only after my birth did the conditions slightly improve because my mother’s grandparents provided, (without annoying my father’s sensitivity), more than enough for our immediate necessity.
My childhood and my youth had a series of alternative fortunes. My father, with his voluntary and exceptional intelligence, constantly improved his own position. Unfortunately a serious sickness that fell upon us set us back.
My mother’s father died, leaving a lump sum to my father (not to my mother, being stubborn and not recognising her rights as a daughter). And also, the sickness of my sister as well as the war sent us into a downward spiral.
At that time it was my final year at the technical institute and my father’s father died. The engineer, Luchetti, my teacher at the time, gave me the responsibility to tell my father about the death and the outcome of the will. My father was heartbroken that he never made peace with his father, but refused decisively to value his rights. I remember precisely his words, “if my father wanted to, he could’ve thought of me as when I was child when I was suffering a physical and spiritual hunger, when I was small and helpless, not afterwards, when I had a head and arms to work.”
I regret to have only understood after the greatness of these words.
The condition of my family forced me to interrupt my studies. Secretly without my father’s knowledge, I contested for a bursary called Piceni, helped by engineer Luchetti, and it was awarded to me. My father made me refuse it.
So my first chapter was closed and the second was about to begin.
One of the reasons for not taking the bursary, was because it was administered by the masons (of the Masonry) and my father was fearful that this could somehow bind my future. In June I received my diploma in physics and mathematics (a diploma of study which would at that time could not help me). I began to put my head down, and at the end of September I had to write the exams for three years worth of land surveying, for which I then received the diploma. I had never paid tuition, and it was logic that in this case I would not need to pay it either.
Short of two months, I would turn seventeen. I was lucky to find work immediately. I could further my studies and I felt that I had followed the value of my destiny.
From that moment, every target that I had reached, I did it all myself, and likewise I blame myself for all my mistakes.
I can say that I am a self-taught person deeply rooted with merits and defects of the system. I have in fact deepened everything that I valued, especially everything that was immediate and practical for my work.
I remain superficial about the rest. On the other hand for the greater part of my life I lived far from home and I did not receive the guidance or hindrance.
I did not know the real life of a university student: I required at least 30 hours in a day. I did not have time to see any friends and I was only able to see them occasionally. I can say that they helped me, the old school friends, from the technical institute.
Something or someone outside of my life protected me: I always used to work in command positions. (If I had a chance to read to you a certificate of work released in 1922, you could see that at the time that I already had the right to lead projects that many of my colleagues, after 5 years after their degree, still dreamt about).
Maybe, for me, it was a misfortune to have such a high position at work too soon without leading a normal path up the hierarchy. My proud and rebellious character could stir and cancel the possibilities to adapt and obey someone.
I finished my studies like a normal administration. The work gave me much more satisfaction.
I directed a company that was building terraces, and I created one company, directing builders and carpenters, that started from nothing, and in no time it grew to a great position. I left that and went to direct a firm called Corridoni (when I was only 23 years old). I found time to occupy myself with politics and even in that field I affirmed myself. I became a member of numerous, I don’t even know how many, provincial commissions, as well as a secretary of the Textile Industry of the Province of Anconna, the regional secretary of construction and the Prefectural Commissioner of six different companies.
I left everything to dedicate myself only to my work.
I obtained the registration in the album of the contractors and of the chamber of commerce.
It is pointless to describe the number of enemies that this in the mean time caused, the envies and jealousies that I aroused, and the dirty manoeuvres of which I had to defend myself. You must only know that I was even accused to have stolen.
My father taught me that you need to be profound, honest and severe with yourself – that you cannot to be scared. And in this I always listened: under this armour, whatever the appearance or battles forged, I can confirm with an utmost sincerity, that I never received a scratch.
At 26 years old, I had a lump sum of 500 000 Lire. I executed the job for the protection of the Guasco in Ancona, with a very high wall on the coast, which was 70 metres high and that the big companies were too afraid to tackle. I resolved brilliantly the logistic problems that were considered impossible.
I thought that I was at the peak of my life, instead I was at the beginning of a collapse.
My father became gravely ill with nephritis syndrome, and was forced to leave any work activity, and so he delegated me to conduct the family affairs.
I assumed works of the aqueducts in southern Italy, transferring my father, my mother, three sisters and two brothers to Naples. It was 1930.
I still had work in the region of Marche, (a road in Fabriamo, a bridge in Sassoferrato and others), so I left a certain Mr Falzetti in charge, whom I met at the consortium Corridoni. I bumped into him by chance a few years later, in a wretched misery. So I gave him work, picking him up and giving him a place in society.
With a lot of gratitude and honesty he found a way to swindle the sum of 380 000 Lire from me in three months. He did it with class and confidence, and when I tried to defend myself and recover the sum, he patted me on the back and I did not have the possibility to accuse him.
Immediately after the crisis began which costed me 270 000 Lire on the aqueducts of Solopra.
There was a period that the ushers of the court seemed to have taken up residence in my house. I was left with only a few breadcrumbs of what I painfully constructed, but were so hidden that I still cannot find them.
My father was getting worse everyday. I would have done anything to help him, but what was leftover from the family budget was only the income of a small consulting job from the bank of labour.
For me, being used to seeing everything easily, the incapacity to sell the vehicle became an agonising problem. I could not sort it out. My father passed away when my financial position had become even more critical.
And you can most probably imagine what the situation meant to me. Now my spirit even has dark traces and my scars still bleed.
I do not know who gave me the strength to resist, but for the first time, (I hope the last), I felt the knock and I collapsed.
We were in an acute period of an economic crisis and it was not easy to come back from. I could fall down again, but I needed a strong antidote, I needed a violent shock to awaken from the dazed blow that I received.
And so I got married. (I will tell you how).
The others get married when they are settled and desire to become middle-class. I did it went I saw black in front of me and found the strength to start a new life.
Unfortunately we could not have children immediately. If that was the case, I would have rapidly picked myself up again. I would have not cradled myself for 2 or 3 years in the idea that I could rely on my past.
In any events I settled my position in a good way. I could have chosen to not pay anyone. Instead I sacrificed everything to pay every creditor and I am glad that I did it.
At the end I decided to break away from the past and restart, the way I did fourteen years ago, and became an employee again.
I worked for a company of Florence, namely Arde. The opportunity came that I was assigned, as before, to go to Rome and I took as it a sign of good fortune.
I was appointed as a director of the Rome branch, where I had to obey other superiors, as was not to my liking but I convinced myself that it was right to do so. It was the right solution: I had an increase in salary and was promoted to direct work in Calabria.
In the meantime we had a daughter. It was the first real joy after so many pains.
My destiny was calling me upwards, and it was manifested in the most unusual form. As it happened there was an inspection, and the procurator of the company, (an anonymous society), was Mr Falzetti, who was the cause of all my losses. With my money he bought a lot of shares in the company, Arde, for which I was working.
As I said at the beginning, I believe in the existence of wills and forces that, external to our world, overlap with our will. Otherwise, without these, I would have killed Falzetti. The first day he arrived at work, with his wealthy Augusta car, he somehow found fault with everything? And then, I somehow casually read a report about myself?
I turned to the state railway, that in the mean time approved of me. I enquired if they could relocate me to any other company, and so I was posted to Meriggi. I asked to be employed for the work being done in Rome. My destination was Piacenza. So as to not to be in contact with Falzetti, I accepted this new job and a decrease in my monthly salary of 500 Lire.
The rest of my story you know about: and do you think that it is possible that after an intense and eventful life like mine, that I did not accumulate, other than a great experience, also a series of great defects?
After all this, being used to count on my own strength, I think that all the others are inferior to me. Of everyone, I immediately find their defects and their weakest points, as if I was the only perfect one who was authorised to despise others.
I do not accept advice, I rebel to others and I am proud. The defects of my character were heritage to me from my family, as they did not have time to soften me in the course of the years. For the effects of my events I became worse. I became closed up and sensitive, and then I complain of the misunderstanding which surrounds me.
The disregard mostly of my fellow men derived from another factor: I told you the story of when I was a ship boy for two fishing companies, and in 17 years of work I met 25 000 workers. I worked for two years in a prison. I am at present the technician of the Benedettini Convent, of which I know their lives in particular minimum details. For my profession I negotiated for all the social classes. For my political life I am attached with the obligations of friendship with people today that hold important positions: prefects, deputies, ambassadors (ie. Mazzolini). I deduct therefore to know my fellow men in their own manifestations and I think that in a certain degree I can judge them instinctively of whom I have in front of me: and false ignorance was something I saw a lot of.
You consider me a man that is attached to the tradition and principles of firm beliefs. You’re making a big mistake.
If there is one in a constant rebellious and convenient state of soul, with the phrases and the situations experienced, and with everything that was established from the common use, that is who I am.
Those that are my principles slowly matured were the sequences of my apparent mistakes and others, and for my constantly tormented research to distinguish the good from the bad.
I do not know what is to be physically feared. From various incidents, such as a broken jaw, a bone in the head raised with a drill, a death sentence from the court of the people, and I nearly drowned, as well as to have confronted alone extremely furious workers and worst still, a crowd terrified and panicked by an earthquake, all of which should have put in a condition to feel this feeling of physical fear. Instead nothing, I did not feel it. I have often daring solutions and determined coldness. And then, it must seem strange to you, but my instinct is very shy, extremely shy. Have you ever noticed?
For me to be able to take action I always need to be stimulated and to be pushed. Although I’m closed, rude and sensitive, I have an absolute need to be surrounded by affection. I always used to struggle, and confronted anyone with determination, whom must not think that they can exhaust me. (The other day without any compliments, I sent out of the office door Montagnoni). But I always need to hear a tender and soft word and to have next to me someone that I can treat with great tenderness.
The only point that I am not in contrast with, is hate for any person who is ostentatious. With my employees, with my workers, and with my colleagues I try to be plain and as pleasant as possible, not withstanding, and yet I don’t know why, everyone feels the distance and they respect it. Yet it is very strange as I see many trying to find the distance and stare at it with pride and then can no longer keep.
Even if you say the contrary, I consider myself a wicked man. I feel like I’ve never really loved anyone. Maybe I am also not a good son because I often rebelled my parents and my mother, who even now, I do not give her what her title deserves. The first to make me feel the significance of love were my children, especially my daughter. (This before a certain date).
As I was saying, I did not know the freedom of my youth and the real student life. This influenced many friendships with women. Maybe because I never had time to run after them I could never be a Don Giovanni, and if the occasion came by I did not leave it, and so, maybe it was more for my pride to feel like a man than anything else. I had anxiety to find my woman, who was made to my resemblance, and that is why all the others were only females as such to a male and nothing else.
I was engaged three times, but they were not the woman I was searching for. All three times I broke the engagement because I was scared to attach myself for life to a woman that I knew was not the right one. Every time it was a fight, (the last one was also violent), with my mother getting attached to them, and she always claimed I had to marry them. The only one I did not get engaged to was my wife. During my father’s illness and with my misfortune, she was very close to us. She was the sister of the owner of the house we lived in and she tried to aid us in our worries. She had experienced a great heartache from her boyfriend, who ran away to another woman and she was trying to calm her worries by taking care of ours.
I told you before about my moral situation at the time. I thought I needed something to pick me up, I needed an incentive (I also told you that I was shy), and I thought the only resolution was to get married. My mother, noticed my intention, and she was violently against it: she did not want me to unite with a different class. I thought that if I listened to her I would have done the same again and break off the engagement without delay. I asked her if she wanted to marry and she agreed immediately. Seeing the objection from my mother and of her family, (at that time I was a man in ruins), we got married in secret. I realised afterwards that my mother was right, as my wife and I never understood each other.
But it was my fault, and it was right that I sustained the consequences. Believe me, I did everything possible not to weigh our position to my wife, and I sacrificed her for my own calculations, as it was not right that she should suffer too much.
I told you that I believe in a superior strict justice. My hope was to have children immediately so as to have a purpose in life and a stimulant. Instead for many years we could not have children. The cause was an internal imperfection in my wife. She understood that the reason that I married her was because I wanted children. She went allover Italy to be consulted and she finally received an operation and the outcome was positive.
With this action, that I can call heroic, she could conquer me completely if she wanted to. Instead she did not. Her custom, her feelings, and her education that she received made her unable to understand and capture me. Now it is too late, and between us we established too many different habits that we cannot come together again, as it should be between husband and wife.
I think I have told you everything about myself, at least the essential required to plan our problem which torments us.
Let the two of us discuss: I already told you that I believe in destiny in which I believe that you should always follow. It is the will that is not always present but circumstances make it difficult to run away from it’s force.
I do not know anything about your life, but I think when I started the research of the woman that I want, you were leaving the place that you were born in Switzerland to come to Italy: you were a child and it was right that I did not meet you then.
I think you established yourself immediately in Milano. I had already left Torino. My path was taking me far away from you. (Maybe a punishment for my presumption).
I think that when my greatest sorrows began, so did yours. Both of us changed direction on the road we were on at the same time. You abandoned the idea to have a university career, and I became an employee leaving the free profession.
I think just as you did, at the first moment, you did not desire to come to Piacenza. But the hand that guided us from above was tightening the reigns. You did not find any accommodation expect the hotel Albergo Daturi. I was easy going and could settle anywhere.
As I got off the train, I found the messenger of my destiny under the clothing of the engineer Massaro, that you had already met, and he insisted in every way that I should stay at that hotel Daturi.
We stayed a year in that hotel without meeting each other. This force that dominates us put two poor spirits together: because Mr Secchi tormented you and Mrs Daturi felt sorry for you, she decided to move my room closer to yours so that the animal could leave you in peace.
For me you were a revelation. I felt as if I had always known you, slowly as our friendship deepened I discovered views very close to what was on my mind. I felt everyday that I needed you and I was scared of my feelings, so I told you.
At that moment you discovered yourself. We decided to separate straight away. It was not possible. Think of the torment of those days and see if it is possible to do what you told me. I left because my son was ill, and I thought that I would never see you again.
The destiny, making you run into a series of danger which through pure conjunction (but was that evening an accident?) informed us back to the same path.
You took all of my soul. Next to you my torment and every sorrow has calmed down. Whatever was evil in me died in my soul and every goodness rises to the surface. The thought of you suppresses any bad intentions, the thought of the prize of your joy stimulates me to conquer my goal.
You are the woman that always understands me. You are the woman that was destined for me and for which I was always searching.
Your appearance in my life is the prize for the goodness that I achieved, or is it a punishment? Sometimes, when I desire for you to be near, I think that it is the punishment for having disposed all the others and for the wrong of marrying my wife when I should not have.
Certainly when I think of all the wrong I did to you and at present, tying you to me with the bond of our affection, I feel as if my head is bursting. To think that loving you so much could be risking to hurt you.
Pucci, you know that I always respected your purity and your holiness. Nevertheless even this affection that burns like a flame is adultery, maybe the greatest because it is of the soul. And you could not be mine to make me trample on the duties imposed upon me, look well, not by the law, not by religion, not by society, (with these you can always compromise), but from my conscience that is imposed because of my fault.
Nevertheless we could not renounce each other. One of us, or both of us, will commit some foolish mistakes. What we went through during the month of May must teach you.
Our affection is necessary for both of us and is lived with the same intensity, which has only made us walk on a destructive road. We have to go back to a constructive road instead. But how?
Help me Pucci, think a little as well. Put down on paper your ideas, it will be easier to discuss.
And now the last matter:
Whatever your decision, keep this in mind: I can disappear from this world at any moment even without me wanting to. It only takes a moment of distraction, getting to close to the conductor or a foot put in the wrong position. In this case I desire that, and the sacrifice will cost you, you must look after my children. My wish is that you love them as you love me and that you will guide them in their first footsteps in their lives. You must look after their education, teach them and instill in them my same principles, which is above all, to idolise work, which is the absolute respect and must be their own obligation and duty.
The rest of their own character will be moulded automatically when these two ideas for them have become instinctive. I have already thought of how to give you the possibility to resolve this matter that I’m entrusting to you. For my disposition, that at the right moment you will legalise, you and my brother Ottorino will become executors of the will, and to you I will legally entrust custody of my children.
With this my dear, don’t think I’m trying to hurry the situation. No. But I can feel that my life is taking a decisive turn, so I wish to provide and settle everything.
Pucci I am now in your hands. My future and my life depends on your decision.
You must reflect well with calmness and without false conscience.
Your intelligence is at the same level as the affection you have for me. And yet your affection is much more, very pure, sincere, and that I cannot be shown the right way. I’m waiting for a sign.
With all my soul.
Lionello
According to the above original certificates, Lionello Ottavini was born on the 25th of November 1903. He married Giulia Pappone on the 3rd of July 1932, who died when their children Antonio and Franca were very young. Lionello passed away on the 21st of April 1972.
Lionello was always in love with Vitellia, and got married to her many years after the passing of Giulia on the 12 of December 1961. Vitellia was loved by Antonio and Franca, and the entire family adored her. She passed away in circa the late 1980s.
The introduction to the letter was written by Antonio Ottavini and the letter was written by Lionello Ottavini. The letter was translated and edited by Mila Ottavini, with the help of Marta Ottavini and Ugo Tomassini.
The snow is falling with big white snowflakes it’s already covered like a cape everything the silent countryside and the seashore You don’t hear the songs of the birds from their nest they’re chirps are too quiet no voices of the children on the street of the solitary neighborhood The snow is falling: and between the branches of the faraway forest the wind is playing a sweet song quieter and quieter silence... You can hear the waves of the sea that washes the shore the noise of the paddles of the rowing boats. the waters are calm and are a very strange grey; it’s only snowing always softer and softer - it’s evening: a vague sunset is in the sky while softly a song starts rising while everything else covers itself in a veil The music that talks about love the music that gives oblivion and brings peace to my heart.
The above poem is the English translation of the original Italian poem. The translation was written by Mila Ottavini, with the aid of Marta Ottavini and Ugo Tomassini.
The writer of this poem is Antonio Ottavini, and is captured in this original photo.
He was born on the 2nd of October 1937 and passed away on the 4th of August 1995.
All love stories begin with a discovery. This love story began when I discovered 5 beautiful postcards while looking through my grandmother’s collection of old photos. Looking through them, I realised they had a story – if put in the right order. Thus the challenge arose – to use each postcard as an inspiration for a love poem, and for all 5 poems to contribute to one love story. So I got to writing and decided to also capture images to visualise the five senses. Here are the results – maybe this love story is not specifically mine or yours, but it could be one day. Enjoy.
a glimpse a rarity an absolute beauty - I laid my eyes on her. could one being exist so exquisitely? am I just dreaming? she’s noticed me the anxiety is overwhelming how do you come near a butterfly without it flying away? she turns her eyes and bows her head hiding her scarlet roses I tried to be sly slowly finding a way to be the flower she would want to land upon. her colours are brighter than mine but even men can pray for a little more sunshine. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ “men trust God by taking a chance; woman trust God by waiting.” ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ so I did what I had to do with burning in my chest I had to try my best; the overwhelming flames would not distinguish my aim. with a gentle whisper I told you the truth that your luminescence has an uncontrollable presence that should never be contained and I ask you - if it would be alright if I share in your delight. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ you turned to look at me with a soft smile (your greatest artistry) your eyes responded they told me the beginning of a great love story.
the nose has a gateway to my most precious memories: the fragrance you carried that very first day, (the first of many anniversaries) the perfume that will always remind me of you. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ I wish I could tell you about all the feelings you’ve sparked - but isn’t it too early to fall? or do you feel them too? because my heart’s already marked and I don’t regret it at all. it’s a challenge to silence the doves in my chest but you’re worth the wait so for now I’ll believe in fate - what have you done to me? ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ she’s the smell after the first storm the only thing that can keep me warm. she’s the aroma of frankincense showing a great divinity in her magnificent femininity. she’s also the aroma of myrrh I found a certain anointing in our perfect joining. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ you keep yourself so unrevealed, when will you lower your shield? falling in love with you may be my greatest suffering; always wanting more - a hunger forever rumbling; but I know that treasures are only found when they are deserved. so, for you, I’ll keep suffering and one day I’ll catch you when you start falling.
she tastes so sweet her words drip like honey the most luscious treat: a syrup so lovely. a celebration of your goodness, the pleasure of your fullness, the temptation for sensation but the reward for patience. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ she tastes so bitter reminding me of harsh realities but somehow still a light emitter for which passion will never seize. never filled with jealousy, only with peace heartily. pungency can never divide us, your grace is superfluous. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ she tastes so sour, her acid is courage - full of power keeping me nourished. like a citrus: my symbol of hope an eternal life kaleidoscope. like a lemon: bringing optimism, diminishing all cynicism. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ she tastes so salty, my sacred covenant unafraid of living so boldly. my ever-fresh supplement, my salt, my rock, essential to life her purification is rife. my lady, my best commodify, a worth higher than any money. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ this love we will savour let us taste the fruits of our harvest. may God have our favour let us not haste to water the roots never starving with Him as our artist: love will always be our garnish.
she’s trying to hear what her father has to say: a moment filled with fear, all she can do is pray. in this instant there is much more to notice than sound. even from a distance she can see I’m devoted waiting for him to come around. she listens anxiously while I shakily ask him for her hand. her father’s response was perceived in him touching my shoulder he seemed to look pleased, a much awaited closure. it took him a while to put words to his gesture - with a tear rolling past his smile, she felt even more pressure. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ finally, and audibly, she hears, “young man, there is no one besides you that I want for my darling daughter the rest of the family thinks so too, I await the day of seeing you by the alter.” ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ unknown to me she hears my response but truer it could not be: “sir, I have waited my life long to receive this greatest permission it has been my life’s mission. I promise to keep her protected and with her heart I’ll never be reckless.” ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ she breathes an air of calmness a day she had so feared was only filled with warmness, her anxiety finally cleared. silly girl she thought how could she fear what is already written? love will always find a way and will never go astray.
“you may kiss the bride” a distant echo as everything spins inside when I kiss you and it feels like the very first time. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ how can someone feel so soft and delicate? but yet so strong in her own sweet song. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ I remember the day I first laid eyes on you, the day I heard you say my name, the day I smelt the coconut scent falling from your hair, the day I tasted hazelnut in your favourite treat at the fare, and when I took your hand in mine and never wanted to let go. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ and today I stand before you as my lawfully wedded wife, having so much to look forward to spending with you the rest of my life. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ I have to this day experienced all five senses with you but now I must say there is another feeling none of these senses describe and it is much more appealing. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ this feeling in my chest like God touched my heart when our marriage was blessed and yet this is only the start. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ now I understand why they say love only comes on your wedding day because you can truly only love her when you must carry all of her fully, when you submit your life to a woman (to your wife) that is when love unravels the decision to give her everything even through all of life’s battles.
All poems are written by Mila Ottavini. The postcards are all painted by Harrison Fisher.
