A Recipe

Ingredients:

A good amount of anything you like

Some patience

A handful of nice people

Directions:

Blend every single bit of life in a cake.

(Re)build broken hearts

Carve some pumpkins for fun

Check if everybody’s fine

Chop the grief away

Close it in a safe place

Cover faces with cheer

Cut revenge out your life

Decorate your soul with affection

Divide moments with others

Drop a spoonful of sunshine everywhere

Fold your secrets and keep them somewhere safe

Follow yellow brick roads

Insert new people

Leave pain alone

Make friends

Melt joy into ice cream topping

Mix the sad and good times in a bowl

Open your mind up to new experiences

Pack everything together and travel

Paint the smiles you saw

Pour some laughter in

Prepare yourself for change

Push away what made you cry

Raise a glass to toast life

Reduce the tears

Reheat passion

Replace sorrow

Salt the sweets

Season your routine

Separate what is right from wrong

Spread love

Sprinkle sugar and cinnamon

Stuff your heart with tenderness

Surround yourself with good people

Taste different, new things

Tie yellow ribbons

Twist and shout

Warm some cookies until they almost melt.

Finally,

Wrap everything up with some gift paper and place it under the Christmas tree.

Thank you for the company

I’ve never met you. I mean, I have, but not truly in person. Moreover I know you have no idea of who I am.

I’ve never really talked to you, but I’ve heard your thoughts, I imagined what you were feeling, how would I act if I were you.  I, many times, disagreed with your decisions; found them stupid, because maybe I knew how everything was going to end up.

I may, at first sight, have fallen in love with you, because of how you looked – I know, superficial, I shouldn’t judge anyone based on looks. Or because of something you said, some song you sang, an act you acted. I somehow connected to you, or felt I was your lost twin, or lost soulmate, or maybe because we are almost the same. We agree about the same things, because we think the same things, and, as time went by, I thought we would be inseparable.

However, depending on who you are, I may also have misjudged you in the very beginning, because you didn’t look pretty, or you didn’t have a British accent, or because I just thought you weren’t at all good, since I couldn’t see the whole you. Furthermore I may have then wished you would be dead. Sorry for that.

I mean, I spent days talking about you to my friends, my family, even to unknown people. I didn’t sleep, just so I could see you. I sometimes waited almost two years to meet you again. One year. Six months.

Then, we met weekly. Or daily, when I could literally see you anywhere.

However you, out of nowhere, suddenly disappeared from my life. It wasn’t me, it was you. You just simply decided you should move far away from here and live happily ever after. Or you killed yourself. Or you were unfairly killed. Or you just simply asked someone to tell me you were gone. How could you abandon me so easily?

How could you, after months, years, leave me with nothing, but the sweet memories we had together? How could you?

I’ve always wished you well, looked up to you.  Now I won’t see you ever again and it breaks my heart, because you made me cry and laugh like nobody else did.

So I’d like to thank you, for all the good moments, when you made me stop in time, or travel through history and for all the times you cheered me up.

For the reason that there are just a few pages left for the book to end or because the season finale is tomorrow.

Thank you Emma Woodhouse, for all your matchmaking, your scheming, all your erroneous thoughts, which I could so clearly understand when you couldn’t.

Thank you Matthew Crawley and Lady Sybil for your sweetness, changing nobility’s habits and for making me immerse in your gorgeous blue eyes. I thank you Dowager, for your irony towards everything. Thank you Mary, for making me realize I’m exactly like you, but in the same time so different.

Thank you Pi,  for all your observations about boats and stuff.

At last, I’d like to thank you, beloved character, who is reading this and wondering why your name isn’t here. The thing is, I love you just as much as the ones who were previously quoted, as well as the ones who weren’t. However, the problem is, this small farewell would turn into a bible of goodbyes, which would lead me terribly to an infinite sea of tears.

So thank you, characters of all types, shows and chapters. Thank you for all the company you keep, and the space you’ll always have in my heart.

Lost Generation

Broken by History

She crossed the border illegally and went from princess to worker in a few days. She saw her house burn and her dolls turn into ashes. She lost a father because of jealousy, and went to another place to run away from two powerful uncles.

He lost his family in a shipwreck, and sailed through the seven seas from India to Canada. Before that, however, the Indian economy wasn’t doing well, and obliged them to sell their zoo.

She left a beloved home, a beloved country, a beloved past memory to run from the Nazis, because in their mentality, the way she prayed wasn’t the right one. So she had to move to LA as fast as she could, even though it meant to leave her ill father and a dazzling Gustave Klimt’s portrait in Vienna.

He saw in buzzling New York a new life he would never know in a small village in cold Russia. And the children of his cousins saw, in a balloon, a possibility to flee from Eastern Germany.

She spent months in the middle of nowhere, trying to get anywhere, because China didn’t really seem like a brilliant future for a grandmother, a mother and two little girls.

He never made it to Europe, but his body did, floating in the Mediterranean. He broke millions of people’s hearts. The Earth cried blood and salty tears, as it never cried before, for the boy who lived a little, and moved lots of cold individual souls.

Pieces of History’s infinite puzzle. Missing pieces, molded in a way they would never fit in their original place ever again. The edges would never fit, and all of them would be forever outsiders, lost between Mexico and the US, New Delhi and Montreal, Austria and California, Minsk and the big apple, Hong Kong and Sidney, Syria and the EU. Lost all over the world.

Children's fates, brutally taken away.

The forces of destiny have never been so cruel.

Teenage whims

"All young people would have their little whims"

- Mrs. Weston, “Emma”, Jane Austen, 1815.

To get a whole pizza to celebrate, and Nutella in times of sorrow;

Never wait for the cookies to be ready, eat the fresh dough;

Be as impatient as a child; ambitious as an adult.

Selfish and unselfish

To break things and legs

Live in drama and comedy

Tears and laughter

Skip gym to watch Netflix,

Skip classes to fall in love or study before tests.

Immersed in boredom, but always busy to stop for a while.

To look forward to a party, and spend it in a corner, with a phone in hand;

Criticize society and do nothing to change it;

To see everything in black and white and ignore what’s gray.

Match summer with ice cream;

Winter with Starbucks;

And forget about salad.

To be blind and have eyes opened;

To shock and be shocked,

Laugh continually.

To complain about everything and generalize;

Find excuses all the time;

Love more than it is possible, and hate intensely.

Have hope when nobody has faith.

See magic in little acts.

To exaggerate and daydream.

To see what’s good in people and quickly believe them;

Be naïve and spontaneous.

To let things go and hold on to them

To be and not to be

To shout at the sea, and cry when no one’s looking,

To judge and be judged,

And face men, women and children as equals.

To understand diversity and embrace it.

To be, at the same time, lost and found in reality.

Bucket lists

Scent of a Woman

Wearing a black hat and a long coat, her eyes sparkled like Christmas lights.

In winter she smelled like fire. It was a mixture of new books, cinnamon, orange, raw writing and sunflowers that made everyone smile at her. She contrasted with the white landscape:  she never smelled like snow.

Sitting on a bench, the figure ignored the sights which announced that spring was here: flowers and birds weren’t interesting at all. The crux of the matter was the museum’s newest exhibition about Mary Shelley and Lord Byron. She then smelled like ice, satin and pears; an uncommon scent for an uncommon person, who refused to wear anything floral in April.

In July, she was the exact opposite of summer breezes: she enjoyed high temperatures with freezing air conditioning, which spread her warm scent in the air. Basil, lilies and burgundy lipstick; dark stripes and round sunglasses, paired with gladiator sandals, because she was more dramatic than classic tragedy.

Autumn, then, came as a surprise. She wore white almost every day, as a protest against “season’s color pallet”. NYFW wasn’t the only fashion dictator there was. She competed with it every day, with her raspberry and lemons smell. A touch of washed hair, smoothie and mascara, and she was ready to fight the world.

Her great-grandmother used to say “Don’t forget to smell the world”.  That was now her mantra, her life-decisions guide, which she religiously repeated every day, while brushing her teeth.

Her life goal was to show everyone that Carolina Herrera was too démodé.

Where my heart is

"No one realizes how beautiful it is to travel until he comes home and rests his head on his old familiar pillow." 

- Lin Yutang

Somehow, these words fit me well yet seem like strangers to me.

I guess it's always good to be back home, to sleep in your own bed, to hear your mother tongue. It has always been that way. However now, it all seems boring, and it feels like nothing in my room is really mine. It's not my city anymore, it's not the blue sky I remember seeing through the airplane window.

People say home is where your heart is. Mine is somewhere, across three tropics, a rainforest and innumerous islands. My heart is in pieces, that are scattered on every sidewalk I walked, every gift shop in every hotel lobby and museum I entered, every airport I felt anxious at. These pieces are at the Hollywood Walk of Fame, the American Museum of Natural History's gift shop and Fort Worth International Airport.

Home is that feeling I get when we land in a foreign country, that feeling I can't stop having, of belonging there even though I just don't. The feeling of endless happiness, excitement, of looking forward to every little or great adventure to be.

My heart is in every line of every music, every movie and every book about the places I've been to, the places I visited. My heart's with 'I left my heart in San Francisco', with 'Breakfast at Tiffany's' and even with 'Divergent'. Its pieces are even in places I've never seen, but dream to someday see. The fragments of my heart are with 'Midnight in Paris' and in every Ed Sheeran's song. They're near Parthenon, and Venice's Canals.

My heart is not here anymore. My heart's in Washington, Boston, Monterey and in Chicago. It's in New Orleans, Barcelona, Munich, Marrakesh, Santorini and Sidney. It's everywhere. And nowhere around here. It's not in my chest anymore, and it hurts. It hurts not to be where my heart is.

Untitled

It started with drawings, balloons and nap time. The world was red, yellow and blue; cookies and muffins, teddys and dolls, marys and johns. The very hungry caterpillar.

Then, there was cursive, and handouts, and jelly, and

Mrs. D

Mrs.I

Mrs. F-F-I

Mrs. C

Mrs. U

Mrs. L-T-Y.

Mrs. Homework, Mrs. Bicycle, Mrs. Ma-Til-Da.

It became more purple, green and orange; more reading, more writing, more tests, more parties, more music, more dancing, more teenage - understanding.

It turned into salad, and Fitzgerald, and Dickens, and Plato; It was exchange, and kisses, and crying, and drama, and powerpoint, whatsapp, and gym.

The mess finished, for another one to start: straight aways and gap years, unis and lectures, career and choices. Only carry ons, and not a single “put off”.

Nice to meet you, Mrs. Life.

Possessions

I don’t know, but I feel like most people’s favourite things have a sentimental meaning: we all love a certain piece of clothing, a letter, an old ring. Well, I really like one of the walls in my room.

It started like this: a small Indian-like girl enters a recently opened book shop in December of the past year, holding quite a nice sum of money, because the cinema ticket was way cheaper than she thought. She was immediately attracted to the DVD section on the ground floor, and started looking through the movies. She found one, her father always said that he loved, and decided to bring it home. Yup, that’s me. And yes, that’s how my (now composed by something around 50) DVDs collection began.

Then, there’s the boredom of summer holidays, when everything possible to do has already been done. Christmas and New Year’s had already passed, my piano songs were all learned, school stuff was bought, books were read, movies were watched, travels were travelled, potatoes could be still called potatoes. My summer days were still full of emptiness, when, going through the internet (on a site called weheart it, that is now my absolute love), I found some pictures of idols of mine, of favourite actors, actresses, directors and movies. I had to have them printed, they just couldn’t remain in an abandoned folder in the cellphone’s gallery. Luckily there was a wide, blank, ready to be filled space, between the two book/DVDs’ shelves in my room, perfect for a photo collage. It was the end of my music playlist and bored and long hours, with nothing to do. Now, I have all of my famous best friends (you may also know them as Robert Downey JR. and Keira Knightley, among others) in my bedroom, making it more colourful and happy.

Every time I look at that wall, I feel serene, calm. I feel excited, nostalgic for all the movies I can’t watch right now, and even for the ones I haven’t watched yet. I feel like I can do anything and I am amazed, with how movies changed my life.

I feel happy, just like an ordinary person, loving their vintage ordinary favourite ring.

About time

“We're all traveling through time together, every day of our lives. All we can do is do our best to relish this remarkable ride.”

- Tim Lake in About Time, 2013

There is something about romantic comedies that makes me want to watch the movie over and over again. I don't mean the regular romcoms, because those make me feel like the most cliché person of all time. I'm here referring to the ones that make me want to travel to where the story is set, or to live the characters' lives. I like the movies that keep you thinking after they have ended.

I may confess it is rare to find such a movie. When I do, I make sure I get a DVD copy as soon as I can, and to place it on the shelf in my room.

"About time" is one of these rare cases. I know I'm probably not the best person to talk about it, as I am a big fan of Rachel McAdams, who plays Mary in the movie.

Reading the summary of it, on the internet, I thought it would be a pretty silly movie, about a guy that travels in time. I have to tell you, it is definitely not like that. It's not silly at all.

Before I watched it, I only wanted to see it because of her. However afterwards becoming totally surprised by the unexpected script, I swear, she turned into my last reason to watch it again, something I obviously did.

Imagine yourself lying on a beach, the sun kissing your skin. Imagine a cup of tea. A huge spoon of Nutella. An amazing book. I honestly felt like that with "About time".

It makes me want to go to Cornwall, and London. To have the ability Tim (Domnhall Gleeson, who I absolutely adore now) has, to realize what he realizes by the end of the story. To live each day as if it were your last. Not like doing crazy stuff, but to appreciate every second of life, even the ordinary ones. There's something crazy in every moment, something to remember. It's all about time.

I'll be there for you

I have just finished watching the ten seasons, the 236 episodes of F.R.I.E.N.D.S. And I just don't know what to do.

I'm speechless. There are tears rolling down my cheek, and hundreds of ideas in my head that could become possible episodes for the next season (which unfortunately won't happen).

I already miss Chandler's jokes and his sweetness when around Monica, Joey's dumb questions and sentimentalism, Phoebe's strange ways to solve problems and her musical talent, Monica's cleaning vices and amazing cooking, Ross' love for dinosaurs and his children, Ben and Emma, and Rachel's ironic answers and style. I miss Mondler and Rosschel, I miss Grandma Geller's apartment. Above all, I miss how they were the best group of friends I ever watched, and how close the characters and actors were, on and off screen.

That's why I decided to search for behind the cameras photos (that is my favorite kind of photography) of the series. These are the spontaneous moments, when you can see how people really interact with each other. The images are my favorite, because you don't see a character, you see the real person there, being him or herself. Moreover, I can't really see the difference between the characters and the actors. For me, they are just the same people. They are a very funny ensemble of friends that love each other, no matter how much time they have spent together.

The thing is, I couldn't resist some episodes and staged pictures, so I separated these too.

Just the rain

Pluviophile 

Noun; a lover of rain. 

Someone who finds joy and peace of mind during rainy days. 

It feels like fresh wet grass,

Water ponds like mirrors through the streets,

Wheels splashing everything.

It seems like blurred images through the big window

Through the light grey sky.

It seems like empty chairs at empty tables

Empty tables with empty chairs

Empty coffee houses, empty stores, empty cinemas, bookshops

Empty little streets with no asphalt

 But bricks and Christmas lights from one house to the other.

It sounds like Blue Moon and I'll Be Seeing You, like slow jazz,

 Like sweet Billie Holliday and graceful Norah Jones.

It's like English tea, Sunday mornings, cardigans and glasses

 Like Jo and Laurie, like a good-bye kiss.

Oh, magical lullaby, enchanted part of the day.

It's just like the simple tranquil rain.

The fault in our stars

Hazel Grace Lancaster - "I feel in love the way you fall asleep: slow, and then all at once."

So. Last year, around my best friend's birthday, I asked her what she would like me to get her for a present. She said I could buy her a book she was dying to read, called "The fault in our stars", by John Green. For me, it was something new, buying her a book. Of all the times I have been to a book shop, it was the first time that I actually bought her something from that place. She was the one who always bought presents for me. Anyway, I went to the book shop, bought it, and gave it to her.

Some weeks later, I asked her if the book was really good. She said she hadn't finished it yet because of test weeks. I, as a good determined and loyal reader, wanted to discover myself if the book was good. I purchased it, and practically lived in the story for the next two days. Yes, I can read much faster than my friend.

My body and soul felt everything through those 48 hours of pure John Green: I laughed, I cried, I jumped up with happiness, I was anxious, scared, I had goose bumps, I cried my heart out and fell completely, truly, deeply in love with the story and the characters. In partcular, I fell in love with Hazel Grace Lancaster and got mad with Augustus Waters. Maybe that's why I now compare every guy (or male character) I know to him. It's not my fault, blame John Green.

Then, after we both finished the book, my friend and I discovered there was going to be a movie of it. We went crazy. Seriously.

We searched for every  bit of information about the film, like cast, production, costumes... But I personally wasn't sure if it was going to be good. I mean, most adaptations of young adult books are badly made and are never true to the original novel. I was sure that this one would be just like the others.

Despite my reluctance about the script, I looked forward to the opening night. We bought our tickets the day the movie was released and waited for the big day (which was last Saturday, June 7th).

At the sound of Shailene Woodley's first line, my heart started to beat faster and faster. Yes, it turned out I was wrong about the adaptation. As soon as the room was dark, I realized something good was going to happen.

The three musketeers

Isaac – “But I will say this: When the scientists of the future show up at my house with robot eyes and they tell me to try them on, I will tell the scientists to screw off, because I do not want to see a world without Augustus Waters.”

Hazel, Isaac and Gus. Shailene, Nat and Ansel. The relation between them? The three last ones are the actors who play the three main characters of the story. What's the difference between them? For me, none.

When I read the book, I thought nobody could ever be capable of performing these characters perfectly. But I didn't know these three amazing young actors (who I now idolize), Shailene Woodley, Nat Wolff and Ansel Elgort, existed. And now that I do, I can't imagine anyone better to play such nice characters.

That's probably why I love the scenes where the three are together, or the one scene in which Isaac is alone with Hazel. The chemistry of the three is unbelievable, and being friends behind the cameras helped a lot, I guess, especially for Ansel and Nat, who are besties.

Dramatic, romantic and funny.

Hazel Grace Lancaster – “You're always such a disappointment, Augustus. Couldn't you have at least gotten orange tomatoes?”

Everything I felt while reading the book I felt watching while the movie. And I mean EVERYTHING. The romantic scenes are the cutest, the dramatic are the saddest. But there was something I didn't think the movie would be able to make us do. Laugh. I laughed a lot while reading  the book, and thought that would be lacking on the big screen. It turned out I liked the funny parts in the film better than the written ones. And the way every line is said just makes the actors' performances greater and better.

Real story

All facts in the book make the story believable, true. It didn't really happen, but the way John Green wrote the setting, characters, situation, makes us feel like it could've been real. I mean, the characters aren't perfect, and neither is the story/ ending (actually, the end is far from perfect). It's not about cliché characters, cliché facts. Flaws related to Hazel, Gus and Isaac make them seem real. And I don't mean only their visible flaws, like Gus's mechanical leg and a blind Isaac. Inside too. That's what makes the story so perfect.

Broken Heart

Augustus 'Gus' Waters - "That's the thing about pain. It demands to be felt."

Okay, it’s all John Green’s fault. Really, during the whole book (and movie) it seems like he rips your chest, takes your heart out, stabs it, twists it, smashes it, grinds it and throws the remaining pieces out of the window. It’s scientifically impossible for you to leave the cinema without shedding a single tear. Even if you’re cold hearted, you’ll at least feel your heart squeezing inside of you. It sounds terrible, but it actually feels good, to let your emotions out. Especially when you fall in love.

With a character, a book, or a whole movie.

Or with all of the above.

The power of words

Calvin Weir - Fields - “One may read this and think it's magic, but falling in love is an act of magic, so is writing. It was once said of Catcher In The Rye, "That rare miracle of fiction has again come to pass: a human being has been created out of ink, paper and the imagination." I am no J.D. Salinger, but I have witnessed a rare miracle. Any writer can attest: in the luckiest, happiest state, the words are not coming from you, but through you.” 

- Ruby Sparks, 2012

I believe words have a certain power. I don’t mean bad words or good words, cursing or praising. I mean all the words, words in general.

I think everything descends form words, everything is made of them. And all the things in this world we call ours started with an idea, or a feeling, or an experience. And these ideas, feelings and experiences wouldn’t be distinguished or even known as so, without words to name them.

Historians say the greatest invention, what separates all of our time from pre-history is writing. I must say, I agree with them. There’s not a single invention that does not use writing of any type or size.

Books, for example, are what I believe to be the second greatest invention ever (actually, they are on par with cinema, but anyway…). I guess books (and stories in general can change our lives in a way nothing else does.

To imagine, feel and then realize what’s beyond comparisons, metaphors and metonymies is something only books (or screenplays) can make us do perfectly. That’s why I think we are (I mean, our psychological characteristics) made of words.

And that’s “Ruby Sparks”‘s biggest metaphor/ theme.

Calvin (Paul Dano) is a famous young novelist, out of ideas. He suddenly dreams about a girl, and writes it on paper. The idea becomes interesting for a book and he is so deeply connected and concentrated, that this girl, named Ruby Sparks (Zöe Kazan) becomes real. And it’s not the “in of his crazy mind” real, but real real.

They fall in love, but Calvin starts to change her, by writing it down. When Ruby realizes what he is doing, they fight, and Calvin lets her go.

It’s mainly a story about the amazingly graceful power of words. But we should always remember that too much power, of any kind, is no good. 

The improbable pair of Martin and Phil

Martin Sixsmith – “Shall we go for a walk? Get rid of the jet lag? You said you wanted to visit the Lincoln Memorial.” 

Philomena – “We could go and see Mr. Lincoln or we could watch on television 'Big Momma's House.' It's about a little black man pretending to be a fat black lady. They just showed some of it on the television and they'll all chasing after him. It looked hilarious, Martin!”

- Philomena, 2013

Philomena kept a secret for fifty years. She then revealed it to her daughter, who searched nonstop for someone to help her mother.

Philomena had a child, a boy, Anthony, in 1952. As she lived with the nuns, they obliged her to work and clean the church every single day, for having that child, but, fortunately, she could see him one hour a day. Until those nuns gave him up for adoption.

Phil’s daughter looked for Martin, who was unemployed, depressed and wasn’t looking for anything like Philomena’s story. He didn’t want to write about an old Irish woman with a titanium hip and a lost child. He just wanted to return to BBC. But after going to the church where she  lived , he wanted to help her find her Anthony.

They searched, searched and searched. Martin knew something was wrong, that the nuns were lying. Phil didn’t believe him. She thought their souls were too pure to lie.

Wrong. They were perfectly able to tell the pair that a big fire had destroyed all of the adoption papers and that just the one with her signature, agreeing to all of the nun’s terms, survived in the chaos.

They flew to Washington, saw Mr. Lincoln, had an amazing breakfast, met at least ten one-in-a-million people (or one-in-a-hundred-thousand), discussed about Phil’s reading (“Do you want to read it?” “No, thanks, I feel like I’ve already read this book”) and found out Anthony changed his name to Michael.

Philomena wants to know all about him, but Martin soon discovers he died of Aids eight years earlier. She then gives up everything, and decides to go back home.

But the ex-journalist couldn’t give up on such a story. He continued his search about Michael, and discovers that he had a boyfriend and a really important job at the White House. Philomena, now back in the search for, seems very proud of her little boy, whose last wish was to be buried at the church where his mother lived. It turned out he looked for her, and the nuns said there were no records of Philomena there.

Back in the UK, Martin and Phil return to the church. He explodes of anger when talking to the nun who lied to mother and son. After that, the nun apologizes to Philomena.

Philomena then searches for Michael’s grave, and when she finds it, mother and son are finally reunited.

Apart from the adoption conflict, the movie is a beautiful friendship story, of a middle-aged man and an old lady, each of them of a particular uncommon character. It is a strange pair, you know?

“Well, I didn’t see that coming, not in a million years”

There are improbable pairs everywhere. And there’s the improbable pair of Martin and Phil.

Smile, what's the use of crying?

"Charlie Chaplin - Nothing quite like it. The feeling of film.”  

- Chaplin, 1992

I have written and unwritten this text a thousand times before I posted it. I believe that every time we write about one of our favorite things, the text never seems perfect and all the words in the world never seem to be enough to describe the subject. Since movies are one of my favorite things, you can imagine how difficult it was for me to write the text about “Atonement”, with my favorite actress.

This one was definitely much more difficult. Besides the fact the movie of this text is in my top five and it is with my favorite actor, “Chaplin”, from 1992,  is the biography of one of the most talented, intelligent and influent man of the last century.

If you ask anyone about Charlie Chaplin, you’ll surely hear something about his silent black and white movies, Modern Times, The Great Dictator and his most famous character, the Tramp.

But there’s far more beyond the British actor who became famous in America. Chaplin once said: “If you want to understand me, watch my movies.”

The thing is, it only takes us a few minutes of watching his biography to realize how difficult his childhood was: no money, no father and an ill mother. Nevertheless, we see he lived every second of his life to the fullest, fell in and out of love many times, said what he thought, made the movies the way he wanted  and kept silent and black and white, even though no one else did that anymore until FBI exiled him.

“Life is a play that does not allow testing. So, sing, cry, dance, laugh and live intensely, before the curtain closes and the piece ends with no applause.”

Sadly, Chaplin was only gained recognition with an Oscar in 1972, 20 years after his exile and four years before he died.

For me, his one masterpiece isn’t a movie, but a composition for “Modern Times”, called “Smile”, from 1936.  After all, he always made (and still makes) his public smile, one way or another.

Smile, though your heart is aching 

Smile, even though it's breaking 

When there are clouds in the sky 

You'll get by...  

If you smile 

With your fear and sorrow 

Smile and maybe tomorrow 

You'll see the sun come shining through, for you 

 Light up your face with gladness 

Hide every trace of sadness 

Although a tear may be ever so near 

That's the time you must keep on trying 

Smile, what's the use of crying? 

You'll find that life is still worthwhile 

If you'll just smile 

 That's the time you must keep on trying 

Smile, what's the use of crying? 

You'll find that life is still worthwhile 

If you'll just smile.

Halves of us

“That's the good thing about being halved. One understands the sorrow of every person and thing in the world at its own incompleteness. I was whole and did not understand, and moved about deaf and unfeeling amid the pain and sorrow all round us, in places where as a whole person one would least think to find it. It’s not only me . . . who am a split being, but you and everyone else too. Now I have a fellowship which I did not understand, did not know before, when whole, a fellowship with all the mutilated and incomplete things in the world.” 

- The Cloven Viscount, 1952

I once read a book for school, called “The Cloven Viscount”. It was written by an Italian called Italo Calvino.

In summary, the story is about a young Italian viscount, who just went to the Crusades to get more support and influence where he lived. He is hit by a bomb and is halved into two. Literally. Only the right side is found and gets medical help. It then returns to his town, but didn’t know, that the left side survived too. One part is the extreme opposite of the other: the right one is evilly bad (called originally as Bad), while the left one is so good it’s annoying (Good).Then, Bad and Good fall in love for the same person, Pamela, who agrees to marry both of them. She marries Good, because Bad was late, and the two halves duel, and get severely wounded. Bad and Good are stitched together, and Pamela marries the one viscount.

Must say, I became a little disappointed when the teacher told us the viscount wasn’t physically halved and asked what the author meant by ‘cloven’. For my naive brain, it was crystal clear there were two parts, and two viscounts. How come my teacher said there weren’t? It was just there, written in black ink, Times New Roman and all those white pages.

She then explained everything was a metaphor, that the viscount was only halved on the inside. And the thing is, no one is completely good or completely bad. If we were, we would be so annoying we wouldn’t stand to be in companion of others, especially if we were the extreme of one quality, like Good and Bad were. We all have wickedness and kindness in ourselves, we are all cloven, all good and bad, all divided in parts.

The lesson was learned: I got an A on the test and started to look at the world around me in a completely different way.