Thoughts About Roots.

How does our ancestry shape who we are today?

DISCLAIMER: The following email is being sent from Saly, Senegal. My internet connection is good but not perfect, so there may be some weird things happening with the images I uploaded. Matter of fact, I cannot even see them. Please forgive me!

As a world-dwelling individual with a hefty track record of global relocations, traveling has always been an integral part of my life.
Since childhood, I have had the privilege to experience the nuances of our society by diving head-first into the assorted cultures that make our planet such a unique place. 

From the many regions of Italy—starting with parents from the opposite ends of the boot—to the moist heat of Indonesia, passing through the mean streets of Los Angeles, the Black Forest in Germany, and the dusty atmosphere of the Middle East before finally landing right back where I originally came from, my existence is marked by diversity and adaptability. So much so that when I decided to settle in Milan at the end of 2018, I picked a neighborhood with a record number of different nationalities living in the same zip code. 

I guess my choice was dictated by a need to perpetuate that sense of wonder I had felt every time I moved somewhere new by surrounding myself with cultures different than my own.
Despite settling in such a grey city—Milan is definitely not my favorite place—I wanted to have the opportunity to meet different people, discover new flavors, and be surprised each time I stepped out. And it worked!
By now, 5 years in, I have become friends with the Syrian restaurateur next door; I chat with the swaggy owner of the Chinese store down the block every time I need a new batch of miso paste; and I routinely stop by the Peruvian bakery for a tasty empanada.
I can safely say that the world—or at least my neighborhood—is my oyster. 

Yet, the more I make myself at home and learn about the fantastic communities that make my district go around, the more I am preoccupied with digging deeper into my roots. 

After all, I never really asked questions about my ancestry or researched about the generations that came before me despite puzzling people with my looks whenever I meet somebody new. 

“Where are you from?” They often ask. My answer varies depending on who’s asking.
I am Italian for the foreigners, half Emiliana, half Sicilian for the Italians. No matter the langue they speak, their reaction is always the same. My interlocutors are puzzled by my coarse, curly hair, my beige complexion, and my almond-shaped eyes.
”Fully Italian? No “different” parent?”
”Fully Italian,” I respond, leaving them speechless, “If anything, it has to be the Sicilian in me.”

This rigmarole presents itself over and over, offering the perfect time for a lesson on Sicily’s extensive history of domination and anthropological stratification. 

This theme is so recurrent in my life that I decided to make it one of the main topics of my research, as well as the matrix behind my work at the intersection of football and culture.

Back in January, my obsession for unearthing my ancestral past eventually brought me to collaborate with Santi De Hita on his first book called Saluti Da Palermo.
The result was a beautiful collection of images that tell the story of a complicated city where beauty follows you all around. Next week, he will be debuting the project in London at 19 Greek Street in Soho. I am trying to make an appearance, so it would be great to see the Londoners there!

This book is an important one. Not only I got to collaborate with one of my favorite photographers on his debut publication, but for a week I also got to be fully absorbed into Palermo to extrapolate the mighty traits of a place that has shaped so much of who I am. 

As I have yet to process my thoughts about the longing to learn more about my roots, I want to share an excerpt from the book's preface. I am incredibly proud of it. 

There is something esoteric about Palermo; it’s subtle, charming, addictive.
The eerie energy pulls you in and hypnotizes you, it makes you crave more. It invites you in for seconds, it entices gluttony. 
The vibe is inebriating, psychedelic, atemporal, almost ethereal.
Sublime beauty welcomes you at the airport and it doesn’t leave your side until you are viscerally in love with its staggering contradictions. 

Abundance is all around. On your plate at the restaurant, on the stalls of the ubiquitous markets, in the heart of its residents. Palermitans love and hate equally as hard. They leave no space for haphazard emotions. They are harsh critics, they condemn the corruption and taint but they would die for their city. 

There’s romance on every corner in Palermo. A visceral sense of devotion is palpable, the countless churches – both rotten and fresh, big and intimate – make it obvious. 
Religious altars embellish the dirty façades of decaying buildings; Santa Rosalia guards the streets with feminine regard.

The atmosphere is vibrant and jovial yet gloomy and melancholic at the same time. 

Palermo is a city of contrasts. Opulent inside, crumbling outside. Notorious for the crimes of certain tenants, never for the warmth of its communities. 

It’s a communal orchard with succulent citrus trees sprouting from the fissured concrete, but there is dog excrement all around it.

There are gold mosaic domes inside monumental buildings but the boulevard outside is overflowing with trash. 

If you are in London, it would be great to see you at the opening. If you are intrigued by the book, you will be able to buy a copy on Santi’s website soon. 

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