I took a liking to reading in my mid teens. I don’t know what sparkled the passion, but something must have happened that made me suddenly sensitive to the world of books. Before that, whenever I had been given novels as present, I had placed them orderly on a shelf without ever falling into the temptation to read them. I occasionally come across these volumes when I tidy up the basement and they make me feel slightly guilty.

All of a sudden I became a fan of Agatha Christie’s mystery stories and in the matter of couple of years, I read her entire production, nearing a hundred books. Then I got to know about the existence of her autobiography and I went up hill and down dale until I found it in a Council library. I borrowed it and read it, feeling it was the coronation of a period during which I had avidly turned page after page of all her stories, simultaneously gaining an insight into a (somewhat outmoded) facet of English culture which was then starting to fascinate me. All along I kept a record of the books that I finished, and although that sheet of paper is now lost, the habit is not, and I still keep track of authors and titles.

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I felt hurt in my pride that he should consider the teaching of English so poor in my country, but I couldn’t blame him. He was perfectly right. In Italy, like in other southern European countries, foreign languages (now especially English) are taught with a curious attitude: it is as if they were never to be used outside the school walls. Grammar and literature are the main axes on which the syllabus centres and speaking abilities are an optional extra.

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The 26 August is Bergamo’s patron saint day and it is recognised as a local holiday. If it falls on a Sunday there is no replacement, but if it’s on a weekday we don’t go to work. In 2013 it falls on a Monday, therefore I would be able to enjoy an extra day off, but this time I won’t profit by the bonus.

That’s because when I booked the flight for my summer trip, I found that fares were considerably cheaper with a return on 25 August. A price increase of about € 200.00 couldn’t justify prolonging my holiday by one day with the sole purpose to include that extra day. So I grudgingly accepted that this once I will return home one day earlier and won’t take advantage of St. Alexander’s day. But the more I think of it the more it seems a shameful waste of time!

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I am indebted to a culture of distrust that I have absorbed from my surrounding environment. At heart I fear that the more I tell people about myself, the more I am likely to become the object of undesired attention and, in the end, criticism. The repulsion to stand judgment descends from pride, mixed with a degree of shyness surely. I mind my own business and live as independently as I can with the ultimate goal to defend my sublime individuality.

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