They told me: “Let your personality out, be yourself.”

I DID IT.

I enrolled to the Communication and International Relations Faculty of Blanquerna to graduate in Journalism, but on the way I fell in love with Advertising. Thus, as the first two years of our degree we are mixed, even though I was enrolled in Journalism, during the first semester I always went around saying that “I was Mad Woman”.

I felt like I was betraying someone … maybe my father. Yes, because genetics do not cheat, I assure you. My father is a potential journalist, so he says. He is one of those people who, without having studied anything, out of curiosity of knowing what is going on around him, reads everything he catches and stores all kinds of culture in his head. I think he also writes, but nothing that can be read. You may not feel credible as a writer, less as a journalist.

The fact is that I arrived in Barcelona after 19 years of “exile” in Calabria, the tip of that boot of land that we call Italy. As everyone knows, apart from pizza, in Italy mafia has a certain importance. What happens is that people don’t say their name (boss‘ names): they stay out of the way to keep up. So, as everyone is silent, there can be no journalists. Yes, obviously there is the profession of journalist, but it is as if it doesn’t exist. Italian journalists are those people who care too much about what happens in the world, but very little about what happens in their homes. They cover all the existing relevance in the peninsula, accepting censorship in order to continue living.

IS IT BETTER TO LIVE A DAY AS A LION OR HUNDRED AS A SHEEP?

This is what I asked myself when they asked me to finally create my professional blog.

I have chosen a chaotic, nomadic, free life. I have chosen something difficult, sometimes uncomfortable and arrogant. I have chosen something that looks like me.

I HAVE DECIDED THAT I WILL BE A JOURNALIST.