My journey start here: Nowhere 1

Was more than two years ago when I decided to start my Astanga journey.

Yoga wasn’t much my thing,I was more a kind of “concrete” girl,never believed in spirituality,I’ve always considered myself very much as an atheist but somehow,one day I was in front of this place called “shala”.

I had no idea of what was in front of me neither I had idea of what to expect out of it.

For me Yoga was very much a physical activity,the reason why I got into it on the first place was because I had this friend,Sofia,she kind of got me into it by presenting it as not the typical yoga you would expect.She sold it to me as it was something really challenging and calorie consuming as I liked to see it at the time.I decided to give it a go and went with her at one of this astanga level 1 classes held in triyoga,a nice space hidden in the earth of Carnaby street.I was ready to show off my strength and my flexibility gained through a couple of years of proud running and stretching every now and then,however I had no Idea it was going to be so hard.By the end of the classe I was knackered,soaking wet from head to toe and I hadn’t even been able to do half of the posture/exercise shown in there,I had no breath,I was physically devastated.What the hell was that?I immediately though while I was trying to change my t shirt hiding my body in the toilet  while all the woman around me,Sofia included,were openly getting naked talking to each other in the changing room.

Sofia wasn’t so happy about the class,she claimed that it wasn’t as she used to experience it  in her home town,she didn’t feel the spiritual connection.I push her to came back,same hour next week,I didn’t care about all that spiritual shit she was mourning about,I liked the workout,I was sure that something like that would have enabled me to get an amazing skinny body,that along with a good restricted nutrition plan. Everything under control.

The morning after I was in pain,pain in muscles I din’t even knew I had,I could barely walk up the stairs in the shop where I was working,it was nightmare.My friend was smiling at me while she was cuddling her crystal that for the first time she brought up at work. I though she was a little bit too much however I was curious.The week after we went back there and so again we went for almost a month.After that I couldn’t bare any more to listening to her talking about this “mysore style”,the kind of yoga that she used to do in her home-town something more personal,the sort of stuff that would enable you to make a connection within your inner self…whatever that is supposed to mean.

Whatever,I said,let’s check it out!

I remember sending a message to this yoga teacher called Hamish,something like “hey I’ve been doing astanga for a month and I would like to try your class but I was wondering if you had any showers…” and I also remember his very straight answer “no,no shower!”. I didn’t like him and because of that and because of the fact that the price for this “Mysore style” was really expensive I dropped the idea of getting involved with it and I went back to running.My friend in the meanwhile dropped the idea as well.We were working together and we didn’t really have much money to spend for ourselves and also was just our first year in London and much needed to be settled .

After those last attempt into the yoga world I started to feel some changes.

I started to read about spirituality,and I started to develop a faith in the universe.Dropped the anti conceptional patch,started to get rid naturally of the terrible migraines that I used to suffer and generally speaking started to wanting more love for myself into my life.

I was living with my boyfriend at the time,he used to smoke so much pot that most of the times I could barely breath into our crazy messy room. I started to hate to come back home with the nightmare of having stranger crawling around and the idea of finding him barely talking,lost is some mystery world made of junk food and dirty clothes.

Was long till I started to suffer terrible muscles spasm on my legs, I couldn’t stand in the shop floor at work, I was feeling sad and angry  and lost.

I acted in the best way I could to hurt him as much as I was feeling hurt. I did my best to kick him out the house.Found a new place for me and left.

I created suffering by not taking responsibility of my actions, I acted with Ego and I’ve steal other people light  by trying to shine myself and trying not to feel how I was really feeling:lonely,abandoned,disillusioned.

I tried to keep and harem of people that loves me around me and I failed.

Didn’t take me much before discovering that nobody was my friend and nobody want it to be around that selfish bitch that I was and I’ve used to be so proud of.

I was experiencing anxiety,I had difficulty to breath properly a kind of feeling of being strangled all day long.

I’ve just became the manager of the shop where I was working at,I was living in a nice flat with a cool beautiful girl  called Juliette. I had everything I’ve planned to have apart from air flowing into my lungs.

I was breathless. That’s why that day I’ve walked  into this tiny sweaty place.

Was 7 am,dark outside and just a little yellowish light inside. I introduced myself to the teacher Hamish,he wasn’t as I expected to be: indian(first of all), super handsome, cool.He was just a normal man wearing some ridiculous flowery pants and standing on the door  between the two rooms like a pink flamingo.

He didn’t say much,he gave me some posture,the 2 sun salutiations and the final lotus position witch I proudly performed in front of him,that’s it. 25 min for 13 pounds. I thought was a bit too much but however the room,packed with people,the sweet and warm smell in the air…the not so much spiritual fuss around kind of stuck me.

That day I’ve started my yoga journey,what I would like to share in this almost familiar space that have been on my back for the last year without being into my life actively.Now is the time that I would like to tell you a little bit more about myself,truly.


I am a believer.

Back in London with my music.

Yes, you heard me, my music, everything that in the years has been the focus of my feelings,my collections of cds was in my backpack on my way back to the city. I was motivated to make that space where I was living like my real home, I was motivated to stay there for as long as it would have taken me to be back into my own self, the one that I’ve lost when as a teenager I was deprived of my dreams, of my innocence by a man who make me believe to love me as a daughter, from my delusional father,Giorgio, the same one that was waiting for me to grow up and blossom, trying to get the first drop of amber on my fragrant petals. Yes the same man who try to fuck me behind my mothers understanding.

I was trying to get to that place of peace where I was before. I need it that to move on, I need it that to be free to go and belong from anybody and anyplace in the world.

In order to get that freedom I had indeed to build roots in the place where I was, because I wasn’t steady in my soul, I wasn’t in peace inside. I had mess inside, real mess, confusion,pain. In order to work that out the thing that worked the best for me was making peace with the outside. I need it to see happiness around me, beauty, memories, I need it to feel safe in the place where I was.

I started cleaning up the house, making the place look warm and not just like a temporary spot where to crush waiting for  the next move.

I need it to see colors and pictures of my family. My sister-in-law when I went home gave me the picture of my brother wedding and I make treasure of that picture where I could see the four of us ,me, my brother, my sister and my little niece dressed in funky clothes for the ceremony. I put it  that picture next to my bed facing me every morning , was like having them with me every day, was so powerful waking up the happiness of that moment where we were all together sharing love for each other.

I hanged my paintings in the living room, I bought nice candles and pure incense. In the morning and in the evening I was lightning up a stick letting myself go to the atmosphere, relaxing to the sweet smell of the burnt resin.

Juliette left he same night that we came back home from our holiday together, she was pretty much sleeping with her boyfriend every night, I asked if she want it me to find someone else for her room but she didn’t want to leave the house. She didn’t want to leave me. She was protecting me, she always did, she was like a sister to me and although I felt abandoned from her I know that was the best thing for me and for her, she need it to develop her life and I need it to be strong on my own. I knew that if I need it her she would have come,but that wasn’t the point. The point was that I need it not to need anybody.

I had the motivation to make my life better I just need it to start somewhere.

Yoga was where I decided to start.

The shala was helping me to discover myself. When I came back from holiday going on the mat was hard and painful, my muscles weren’t so used to those movement anymore, but I remember reassuring myself : “I will be fine, just take it slowly, you’ll come back to that place and it will be fine”. The first week back in the shala I was hiding  in the very left corner of the room, the one that as I’ve later discovered nobody like it, the one where Hamish could not see how crappy I was.

After the shala there was work, and that was hard as I hated it, I didn’t like having to act for the most of my day, pretending to like what I was doing, having to keep talking with people to make my day go faster, but that what I had to do, that was my learning of something I could not yet understand.

The summer was going to be smoother, I could feel that. The summer in London isn’t so bad, there’s sun,  there are people hanging around showing off smiles and there aren’t so many rich people  in the shop smacking  their misery in your face.

I was fine I think, starting to be at least, and in the end I had just two months to go before my next holiday, I had indeed booked to go home again at the end of September as soon as I came back.

Something was moving in the right direction, I was in control.

Still I wasn’t good enough to feel free but I was getting there .

Slowness and patience with myself, that was what I had understood and that was what my hurting knee was teaching me.

How to be gentle with myself, even when your thoughs are overloading your head, be gentle, give myself space and forgive instead of blame.

Sometime I was falling into the trap again but instead of making myself feel even worst with guilt and stuff,I would breathe through, repeating that I was fine,I was getting there, one day I would have been liberated from my own mental trap.

I was starting to believe in something as well as myself, in something beyond me, the universe, the signs, the people around me.


I broke up with my old family and then I’ve found my real one

New beginning, such a charming definition of endless pain.

I was ready for my “new beginning”, when for months I’ve been scraping the walls of my flat with my bare hands;was the time to recover. And it wasn’t easy, it was the hardest thing to do.

The summer was arising, I was feeling the need of a change but as I couldn’t get it within my job as I was stuck in the same place for years and it seemed like  nobody else want it to hire  me, although I had no idea of what I want it to do with my life;be a chef and think about food 24 h 7 days a week ?Wasn’t that going to be a recipe for disaster?surely it was and Sofia cleverly enlightened that to me when I got offer a job in a restaurant, was time to wait, to settle down and make peace, starting to know my new friend aka my own body.

I book myself a ticket to go home and I asked my friends to come with me, I want  my London family to meet my former family, I need it so badly to feel like I belonged to something, like I was part of a community. I need that warmth that I’ve lost in the craziness of the city. My sister especially, I need it to be next to her, to explain her why I’d left and why I was away in the last couple of  months, because the truth was that when I started to play with the pain again I was so scared to talk to her, scared she could find out the shit I put myself into again by the broken sound of my voice. She could always read me without seeing me, our relationship has always gone beyond words or contact.

Was early may, I was so thin as I never been before when I’ve gone home that time. I wasn’t getting my period from more or less one year, I was feeling really fragile.

When I arrived to the airport my family was there, my brother, my sister-in-law, my sister and my niece that wasn’t so little any more, my mum was waiting for us at home, she was preparing dinner.

I was happy, happy to be with them, happy to be with the people who really loved me, happy to feel that warmth again.

My sister wasn’t really talking to me, she was distant and I was suffering of that, I couldn’t understand why. It was like she was jealous of us not being alone, jealous of my friends maybe?

She was pushing me away and I was feeling like exploding inside as I wasn’t able to talk to her.

Was when Sofia talked to her in private, with her “secret italian” that I understood what was happening, she was feeling abandoned and she didn’t know what to do, she didn’t know how to reach out.

No one in the house knew either what had happened to me in the last months since the last time they saw me, I’d disappeared to my family for almost one year, I was feeling so bad that I was just trying to reach the bottom to be able to see how vast was my loneliness, my pain, to be able to eradicate it for as long as possible is forever is virtually impossible. It was my path, I had to follow that isolation, it was the only way.

My sister though I was so happy that I couldn’t care less about her. The year before  when my grandfather died, my grandmother let herself go and started to embrace a figurative end. My sister was facing alone the loss of two keys figures in her life, my grandfather was like a father for her and my granma was a mother. They both grew her up and she saw him dying and now she was suffering in seeing my grandmother getting old on a speed rate. I wasn’t there when all of this was happening and I couldn’t be. That wasn’t my life, That wasn’t my path. That was a breaking point for me and my sister and my family in general.

I felt that in the past years and I do believe that it was another part of the abandonment that I’ve faced.

A breaking point in my life , a chance to build something stronger again.

Thank to Sofia  me and my sister we talk.

She was angry at me because she could feel how I was not there with her with my feelings.

I had to come clean in front of her, I talked to her about my loneliness, she talked to me about her.

My niece wasn’t talking to me for the time I was there, it was like she was mirroring  my sister deepest feeling and reversing them to me.   After that talk everything had come into place again.

I spoke my truth, I’ve been understood, I’ve been given hope.

The string between us had gotten stronger that ever after that talk.

It was a new beginning for both of us and we knew that. Our relationship wasn’t ever going to be the same as before, our relationship was now based on truth and honesty.

The breakage happened the year before was a necessary measurement to break something that wasn’t healthy for each other, a co-dependence with no truth with no exposed love.

Sofia Strike once again, in that brief holiday she shown me everything I need it to know about family.And my relationship with them started to grow in the right direction.



Quirking pain: a recipe for slow healing

Marichyasana D, for who is not familiar with this pose in yoga I will give you  little explanation of what it is, it’s a twist, basically, a pose dedicated to Marichi aka the vedic Adam, father of humanity. Does it say anything?Probabily it doesn’t, especially if you are very much as I was, a great unbeliever, but everything can change trust me. Sooner or later the faith arise,if you want  to of course.

However in this pose you are basically suppose twist the opposite side of your body while you are in half lotus and grab your wrist pushing down your hip. Very complicated to understand by verbal explanation (have a look at this link to understand more about it:

When I got this pose, my first reaction was: “wow, finally some real action,some pain!”, after a couple of months of pushing and burning,finally I did it and it hurt it badly!

Everyday when I was about to get to that pose I would cringe my face badly, and start to push. My knee was burning and it felt like the bones where going to crack as soon as I was able to sort of twist a little.

Was like a proper hell,an unfinished business within myself.

One day I couldn’t really handle anymore and while I was holding my breath trying to get into the pose I saw Hamish running toward me.

“Does it hurt?” he asked pointing to my knee

“Yes it does” I’d replied tearful

“So stop it!” he said harsh

In that moment I felt defeated and I let go.

I couldn’t hide the fight anymore, He found out about the hate I was cuddling, he read my intentions: I was enjoying hurting myself.

Nobody could get my new way of abusing myself , but he did.

Suddenly I felt exposed to him, he was able to read me in a way that I cannot really explain.

Thank god was friday the day that my mask fell down, I didn’t have to see him for two days as I didn’t use to practise on Sunday.

That Sunday I got a call from Satirka.

He called from a number I did not know, and when I pick up the phone and I’ve heard his voice I was unprepared on what to say to him, I wasn’t expecting to hear from him.

The phone call was really quick, we talked about random stuff, he told me we might see each other again. I was holding those words tightly.

The following Monday I felt sick as never before, my body crashed down with fear, my muscles were weakened and I could not move from my bed for the next 7 days.

For the first time in ages I had a shivering fever that seemed not to go away.

During that week I was alone in the flat.

Juliette just recently had fallen in love with what was going to be the man she would have married, she was always staying at his place and although that week she was trying to stay next to me as much as she could, trying to help me to get better, I was pushing her away.

I was angry with myself, furious indeed, I knew what all of that was meaning and I couldn’t accept the truth, It was hard to do so, hard to accept that the person you want the most wasn’t right for you, your body was a reflection of that, your sickness was a message from your soul. What the hell!How could I accept the truth of how bad Satirka was for me?How could I admit that my soul was getting sick after just hearing his voice and grow hope toward the idea of being with him again one day?

Why this was happening?

The shivering and the pain through all my body that week was unbearable. By the end of it I felt like I was dead and re-born again.

I felt like a real new beginning.

Now was time to recover, I knew that.

But in order to do that had to face again my monsters.

I went back to practise and realize that “be-here-now” was not there anymore.

I went back home and I found it empty.

Everyday more and more I could feel the walls whispering silence.

Juliette was never there and when she was I’d started to push her away pretending that I need it my space as much as she need it to be in Love.

In reality I was feeling abandoned.

It was the same feeling I had when my sister left my mum’s house when I was 15.

And I was craving loneliness in some way that I cannot really explain.

The more lonely I was the more I wished to be.

I was isolated. Going to practise in the morning, going to work afterwards and coming back home, inside my darkness, diving back in deeply.

All the sudden I felt like I was trapped within myself again. I felt the need of self sabotaging myself. The need for pain.

As I couldn’t get the ultimate pain from the practise I was craving for another way to hurt myself.

Before I’d realized I was doing it again. Back to the hold pattern of my longtime friend called Bulimia.

It was easier this time as I was always alone in the house, nobody could really see my pain exploding,nobody could hear me a everyone was so far from me.

My sister couldn’t surely read my through by phone and the people I had around me they had no idea that I had that seed sow in my past. I was safe to explore my pain, safe to hurt myself.

Every night when I was coming back from work, after making sure that Juliette wasn’t going to be back, I was finding myself crawling on the pavement of my small bathroom. I didn’t really want to tho but it was just happening.

Again and again, unbearably.

Sometimes it would happen before practise, sometimes twice in one night,when I was off from work especially was a nightmare splattered inside my brain.

I was crying silent tears and I really want it someone to come and help me, I really want some love but I didn’t know how to look for it. I didn’t know how I could have been loved.

I was lost. My reality was squashing me inside. The city, the distance, the friends I was afraid to call, the friend I was afraid to show my weakness too.

All I had was the practise.

Was hard waking up in the morning with my eyes puffed, my throat scratched and my breath shortened by the absence of energy within my body.

I used to sleep few hours and then once the alarm was going off I used to pump myself with coffee,get ready and go.

The shala was the only place where I could feel safe.

Hamish has recently given me navasana although I still was not able to bind in marichyasana, was in that ultimate pose, the one that seemed the simplest to me that I could feel the miss connection with my core.

My body was a stranger to me and I was treating it without respect abusing it and damaging it.

Somehow I knew he could see what was happening with me but instead of acting he was just there every morning looking at my body evolving, supporting me gently.

I knew he knew about the hate that I was pouring on my own flesh, he could see my face change, he could see my body changing.

One day especially I remember walking in the shala and encountering his eyes,full of kindness and support.

That day was when I decided to seek for help, that day was when I decided to get better .

Hamish and his kindness moved me so deeply that I though: “I don’t deserve this!I deserve love!”.

I ran in the arms of Sofia after practise and I told her everything, and I told her that I want it to get better, I was tired of hurting myself, tired of ll the violence and the hate I was feeding my soul with, tired of being scred to be alone.

Her words are still remarkable to me: ” I know what you are going through, I can see your pain, and I am glad you want to get better, remember that in a way is better to face it now that later because you are going to be so strong after you’ve been through this that you are going to be ready for anything, hold tightly, because you can do this and everything is going to be good, you’ll be able to be alone!”

I was starting to rebuild my life again from scratch and I had to do on my own,starting to know and trust my body, my ultimate discovery, my new friend.

Little by little, ready to forgive and to give time to myself.

Once again: ” Rome wasn’t built in a day”.





Blowjob karma part 1

I always though yoga was that kind of activity that was supposed to give you good feeling,acid-like experience,calm and shit like that;but let me tell you is ain’t anything like that.I mean,maybe it is for the first week and a half…then it gets fucking tough.
So if you are there,halfway,feeling pretty good,thinking that a little bit of yoga could be good for your skin,baby let me tell you,your skin might glow but leave the hope behind since you walk that door.Especially if your life isn’t exactly signed by a good Karma.

Okay let me go through my little piece of life,(I will divide this part in two and this I think will be useful to unfold better my yoga journey to anyone).Briefly,I can’t get into to many details,I’m not that kind of person and if you’ll stick with me,if you keep on reading this blog (which I hope you will do),you will quickly understand that I come with no filter. Obviously my mother didn’t know that when that day of may 1988 I gave my hello to the world by screaming of an apparently immense hunger.

I’ve been told that I was the daughter of love.My mother was a dreamers that saw my father as her way to escape from her mother matriarchy,my father saw in her a new mother and the two found each other in a club in Florence where they didn’t really fell in love,she just got pregnant.

They got married before the “damage” appeared clearly on the surface.Was the year 1975 my brother was born and the family started to compose itself limping.

A shop was bought,an apartment.My grandmother started to charge my mother with just enough guilt to let her dispose her first child to the care of my father’s mother,for the greater cause of developing a “career/shop”.

My father was a Pussy addicted kind of man, my mum was a woman of complains.Fucking around,screaming they where just our “everyday bread”.Everything on the surface level was fine,apart from my father leaving for Paris in 1987,having another kid(still unknown for me),getting picked up by my uncle;coming back to my mother and asking for forgiveness begging on his knees.My mother believe it,peace was done,repairing fuck,wanted pregnancy,Me,happiness for a month and then..da-da…pregnancy again. At that point my father was pretty sick of seeing childs coming out of every shit holes he was putting his penis in and tried to convince my mother to have an abortion.My mother for the first time followed her intuition and in front of the clinic turned her car  and drove back home.She kept the baby,my beautiful sister,and she lost another baby,my father.

Was 1991 my grandfather died after a long illness,my father has definitely left,after fucking my mum’s sales assistant into the shop stockroom.

My mum has just turned 36,she had 3 kids,2 shops,1 mortgage and we where living in this tiny little town where everyone knows everything about each other and they all like to appear perfect.

My mum wasn’t any perfect,she was messy,she was moaning, she was a bit of a victim most of the time and she was fucking strong.Rock solid.

Anyway we got trough,and it was a lot.Especially on the side where my father was trying to get everything from my  mother while they where trying to get a divorce.

Somehow we ended up pretty well,I mean mess up, but somehow me, my brother and sister we didn’t get in too much trouble,we always managed to find our way out of awkward situation in the end;we were used to as our mother never hide anything from us.

I grow up with the idea that all the men were pigs and the way to fight them was being  just a bitch. Never believed in love,never experience it. In my house we used to use the warmth of some good angry screams or the burning passion of infinite fights between each other. Fighting was my love.And food too.

I was a fat kid,junk food in my house was forbidden,my mother always want me to be on a diet so I started over-eating hiding myself;ashamed,guilty. I developed an eating disorder at a very young age,seeing a film about a girl suffering of anorexia and then Bulimia,I was 11 when I started to throw up.

Luckily in my little home town school,the kids were merciless and I remember on valentine’s day,sending a little love letter to a guy that I liked and I also remember him writing me back “Sorry,I don’t like you,your measurement are 100-120-150″.

I could never forget that message.

In the meanwhile Giorgio has climbed into our life,a beautiful man who my mum had met by casualty the day that she got dragged out by her colourful friend Claudia. I saw hope in him,he was for me my father.For the first time I started to feel like a normal kid and I stopped to stuck my finger into my throat.I instead committed to a diet.

By the end of the summer I had proudly lost almost 20 kg. I felt beautiful as I never felt before.

I started to develop a beautiful relationship with Giorgio,calling him everyday,talking to him about everything plus.It was special between me and him,we linked,like father and daughter.

Kind of smoothly I became a teenager,a little dark as at 13 years old I gave a blow job to a guy that promise me he would have been my boyfriend after that (I really liked him) while instead he spread the world around and quickly I became my biggest nightmare. Afraid to go out on the street because I would encounter the judgement and the visible disgust of the people of my hometown I went to the (how to translate this..),”classic high-school”(after dying my hair pink,listening to death metal and wearing black head to toe),basically a place where you could learn everything that was ancient (and basically useless ),mind you that when I was in junior high I had a very pleasant teacher that was defining me “too stupid to understand”.I went there to prove something,but I got sick after the first month getting mumps.Stayed at home for months,when I came back I had no idea of what was going on,clearly wasn’t my place. But I did fell in love there and I had sex for the first time.

I had a relationship with this crazy guy,we where having crazy passionate sex in every dump we could find, I was deeply involved in some kind of wild love with him but after about 3 months he dumped me with no explanation.

I was destroyed and I quit school. In the meanwhile an anonymous letter arrived into my home saying horrible things about Giorgio,great confusion,anger,Giorgio left.

I was in the biggest pain of my life.

The suckling pig,the rotten actress and Me -Nowhere 3

Before I could even realize I had started a routine or let’s say: a ritual. Waking up every morning around 5 ish ,waiting for the bus holding a cup of warm barley-oatmilk-molasses “coffee” to enjoy on my way back along with a little breakfast prepared the night before,composed mainly by half banana,a spoon of hemp protein and another spoon of raw cacao powder. I had worked out a way to waste last time to get ready after the first week:going to bed wearing my yoga clothes.Funny?Now that I think back it is,really funny,but at the time it seemed a great way to save some time and also  taking my pj off and put my yoga clothes back on was an unbearable work in that freezing cold! Was around the second/third week that something change. I was just arrived at the shala,was just 20 past 6 and while I was trying to open the door,someone kind of run over and open it for me.Was Hamish,he looked at me kind of annoyed (at least that’s how I perceived) ,and goes like “You?Again?Is too early!”. I felt awful,I felt like he hated me,for my whole practise I felt like an idiot,I felt not good enough,I felt useless.I wanted to cry so badly that I was running trough my few asanas as quick as I could. My mind was wandering: Why was I there?Why this man doesn’t want me here?Am I such a bad person?I feel so stupid! I couldn’t talk,I couldn’t look at him.I hated him,I want it to leave. When I finish my practise I left looking at the ground.I didn’t want to see his eyes,I felt such a big disappointment. On the other side my ego was pumping: Who was he?I am going to show this man who I am,I am going to gain his respect…actually I am going to do what always worked,I will charm him!Luckily I had recently find out that he wasn’t gay,he was actually married.Here we go, let’s get the pattern started,let’s demonstrate to myself that all the man are just disgusting pig and there is just one way to get their attention (in yoga is even easier are there are not much clothes involved). Let’s get to the RING!The fight between Myself and my long time companion,call it Ego,call it  actress but for me she will always be Marlene,(as I used to call myself most of the time during my year in Italy and before meeting Satirka the only person that at the time is been able to show me that side of me). When I started practising Astanga I though Marlene had left,I though I was fine;apart from the feeling of loneliness,emptiness, and that chocking sensation recurring everyday.In the end I was on my feet,by myself, I was proud of being able to do that without crying everyday or being depressed.I was ok…I mean I didn’t have any of the symptoms clearly indicating that my soul was feeling lost (what are those symptoms anyway?). But it took me just a little to discover that actually Marlene wasn’t gone. That day I left the shala crying,beating myself up.I went home, had a shower and then rush into work without eating. I was shaky,I wasn’t in the state to work. I took Sofia in the kitchen,I cried.I told her that I hated the teacher,that I want to leave that place where nobody talk to each other.Her reply was sharp and clear: “I don’t think you should go,You need to stay.This man is actually giving you what you need.Is too easy to leave”.I swallow the bitterness of her words.I tried to say something in reply but instead I didn’t,I looked at her in the eyes,all I could see was her honesty,that deep pure honesty that always stuck me and I had to be honest as well,honest with myself. That’s where all really got started,the digging,the game,the path.

Nowhere 2

The second day wasn’t that bad.

I remember pointing the alarm at 4.55 in the morning.I had prepared my clothes the night before,a pair of old running leggings and a cotton t shirt.I had no idea about what was appropriate to wear but surely I wouldn’t have never worn anything that would have been tight on my belly.

I didn’t refer myself as a skinny person,I probably never do so, but at that time particularly I was feeling like if some parts of my body were not referable to any of my control models.I never had a 6 pack or what the hell is called.

I always felt my belly awful especially in such an early our before I hadn’t complete what we can call “morning duties”.
Sofia had warned me by wearing such clothes,you won’t be comfortable,she said but as usual I didn’t want to listen.

I was afraid of other people eyes on the wrong parts of my body. I just liked to show my legs,the only part I knew had always received a positive feedback.

I woke up that morning and I’ve walked not far to the bus stop. Bus 376 to Euston was opening his way in the foggy,freezing morning with his yellowish light. I was cold.under my arms an old yoga mat founded in the back of the shop,standard purple colour, probably cheap but hey,who knows that there could be more than one yoga mat?

I jump onto the bus wrapped into my pyjama uniform,I was just starting to go to the stage where I was neglecting my appearance by wearing random shit that wouldn’t have allocate me anywhere where I didn’t want to belong to, AKA fashion world.

After a couple of minutes in the empty street I arrived in front of the shala again.Rang the bell and got in after encountering the surprised face of the teacher.

Was just pass 6 am, all I could hear in the room was the melody of people’s breath. I thought it was magic.I sat down on the little bench after removing my extra clothes,waiting for a sign that could indicate my turn. Hamish was calling “one more” like he was starting a chant.

I looked around,some people they were doing the same sequence as me in what I thought was the finishing room but then after his call they were moving in the other room where I was scared to look at as I didn’t want to disturb anyone. I was feeling really shy although I was indeed really arrogant.

My turn came and I started my sequence into the “finishing room” till I heard his voice and then I move into the other room.

I started from the beginning because I wanted his attention. I was feeling somehow intimidated and somehow I was feeling like I was better than anyone else around me and If I wasn’t yet,surely I would have been in a couple of months.

I was wondering around a lot between a sun salutation and the other,doing everything very slowly trying to focus on the only thing that I could remember how to do clearly thanks to the few lessons attended at triyoga,The Breathing,that burning sensation on my larynx,that deep internal sound.

The weirdest part was that there was no one to teach and I was practising in front of the wall and every now and then this very handsome boy,probably French from the way he was keeping his lips,was coming towards me pushing my hips,moving my feet…Was really funny to have someone handling your body in a way that It looked like he knew it better than yourself.

My sequence was pretty quick but the place was unbearably hot and my t shirt was soaking wet. I wasn’t comfortable,Sofia was damn right,however I managed to cove my belly tucking my wide t shirt inside my trousers from time to time.

By the end I was feeling kind of weird and unstable.

I went to Hamish and I paid for going 4 times a week, was enough for my wallet and as well my  the sequence was so short that wasn’t surely going to lead me to burn much  calories so I’ll rather just go for a run either afterwards (when it was possible) or during the other days that I wasn’t going there.

I went home that day and felt a feeling very similar to the one you experience when you are using hallucinogen drugs,surely much more subtle but still quite satisfying

I had a shower, I had breakfast, talk loudly to Juliette about the place,the people and about my idea about the teacher.He was gay in my opinion and the handsome French man was his lover.No doubt about that,his shorts,the way he was moving…everything of him was way far to be straight. That was great for someone like me,scared but intrigued by the presence and the idea of having a straight man touching your body in a way that could even feel quite intimate.


Was all good in my mind, no one in that place was seen as  a possible enemy, maybe was really the start of something good,something not polluted by my desire of being someone else rather than myself.