Packing

Just me.

Two suitcases*, max 20 kilos each.

Since this will be a year in India, I was forced to discard low-necked shirts, miniskirts and short-shorts, high heels and wedge sandals: in other words, everything I usually wear!

Put aside is the useless junk, the designer stuff that I’d be ashamed to show off.

I look around, see my usual room – companion of strange moods, breakdowns in front of the mirror, wild dances, and songs at the top of my voice. My bed that creaks, the TV that keeps me company during sleepless nights, old diaries, fashion magazines, Barbies covered in dust, horse models, stuffed animals.

An archive of memories and variegated objects which, up til a little while ago, I was convinced were a big part of who I am.

Every Saturday evening after dinner, I faced my closet with an air of challenge, thinking that, no matter how full it was, it wouldn’t be enough to supply a completely satisfactory outfit that would make me feel beautiful, carefree, and happy.

From the closet I moved to the mirror, to wage battle with my image, my weapons mascara and eyeshadow.

I smile thinking of the usual “stroke of genius” that comes to me every now and then.

Today it was to photograph myself nude.

While I did it I felt beautiful,

carefree,

happy.

Tomorrow I will leave with two suitcases which I hope weight more or less 20 kilos each, filled with the bare necessities.

In any case, I’m always me.

Minus a few costumes to wear.

(However, if I return with my head shaved and converted to some strange religion – hit me!)

*Mom: Well, that turned out to be wrong!

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