“Being back to a place where you’ve already been, and seeing it for the first time. The astonishing and unsolvable contransts of the heart”

I fell in love with England when I was just a baby.

I deeply fell in love with its colors, from the bright green of the countryside through its roads until the red details you see whenever you reach London.

I fell in love with the people, mostly the oldest one, the authentic ‘English man’. Spontaneous in his composure, even when he laughs. Punctual in his habits. Precise. Correct. Owner of an innate nationalism, which doesn’t need to assert itself.

I fell in love with his accent. His ability to be deep, even by a simple language. The “English humor”. The “English tea time”.

I fell in love with England before being there. I fell in love with it when I tasted it through the flavor of the tea. When I heard it through my mum’s words. When I touched it through the pictures of my dad’s library. I fell in love with England through black signs on blank pages. Maybe, for this reason, England is a fantastic world to me, which belongs to a book and doesn’t own to reality. In the same way as Unite States belongs to a movie, I guess.

That’s the reason why England is divided from the rest of Europe by the deep blue of a riffled sea. Or, maybe, it’s the sea itself who kept England far away from the real world and made it the mythical land of books, literature, Shakespeare, the tea, petrichor.

It is only an impression, which of course contrasts with the reality. But yet, it is felt and it comes over with a mysterious nostalgia sense which tells about never lived experiences. And it is worth being felt.

Alessandra Giavazzi

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