In the beginning was the word. And it was spoken in hundreds, maybe thousands of different ways. There weren’t written letters or documents with signatures, and if you said something and ‘gave your word’, it was more valuable than your own mother!

Trust; where has it gone, I wonder. In a world where not even ‘I love yous’ can be taken totally seriously. There will always be a sweet naïve girl crying somewhere because just the words weren’t enough! And isn’t that ironic that this same girl can understand the same ‘I love you’ in at least five different word-ways?

Well, maybe if she could understand the German words for saying ‘Eu te amo’, instead of the snob French, she would have been with a better man now. Or she should have heard them call her 'Bella ragazza’, ou 'mia principessa'. Italian men are so romantic!

This is the story of a real bella ragazza, who was tired of having her life shaped for her, and decided to embrace the world (more specifically the map of the città of Napoli and the geography around Mount Vesuvius) to find out who she really was.

So, our “once upon a time” begins now, where she is sitting at her desk; her medicine books on one side; her mobile on the other side. She looks at their picture, right in front of her, but at the same time she looks at nowhere. Only tears filling her eyes. 

‘What did I do wrong?’ she thinks. ‘I thought we were so in love. Why did he have to move so far?’ 

She wipes her eyes and stands up, trying to regain courage to go back to her books.

‘Oh, come on now, Miss Carolina! You have a horrible test tomorrow and it’s already past midnight! Let’s quit the self pity thing and let’s get to work!’ 

She goes to the bathroom, washes her face, looks at the mirror and sticks her tongue out:

‘Jean, you are such a jerk! Blahhhh!’

Her anger drags her to the kitchen to grab something to eat and a cup of coffee to keep her awake for some time more.

On the way back to the bedroom, she is tempted. 

‘Er… another quick check in my emails won’t hurt, will it?’  

And for her surprise, there actually is an email:

‘Argh! And he says he misses me? If you can call THIS an email’, she thinks, wishing he was at the reach of her hand, so she could punch him in the face really strong .

She snaps her laptop shut, and takes another trip to the kitchen.

‘I DEFINITELY deserve another chocolate bar!’

Vendo Carolina voltar para o quarto e, desta vez, pensando seriamente em dar o seu melhor nos estudos, Clara, sua irmã mais velha, gostaria que Carolina tivesse escolhido uma versão italiana de ‘Eu te amo’. Pelo menos os italianos são mais bonitos! “Ela é tão bonita, tão jovem”, Clara pensa. “Como ela pode estar tão cegamente apaixonada?”

And that is something for you, readers, to find out. It might be crazy to think, but totally possible. What if for this poor little girl there was never a ‘in the beginning there was the word’? Not written, or spoken or heard. Just the eyes talking or just a loving, tender touch of a hand. No ‘I love yous’ could ever be misunderstood!

(***)

Textos relacionados:
The novel
Interview with Carolina