A photo, the early days of my life. (Week 308)

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There is a reason for coming into this world; there always is, even if we don’t know it. The journey is there to help us discover that reason, to uncover many things.

When I moved to a new country, I couldn’t bring many photos with me, but it’s also true that in certain periods of my life, people didn’t take as many photos as they do today. The family albums were left behind, far away, though they were very well looked after. But yes, my family and I did scan some of those photos, the most representative ones, especially those that were originally analogue.

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I brought photos of my grandparents, of some of my and my brother’s birthdays, and a few more specific ones. When you could start taking photos with a phone, everything changed. Sometimes it feels as though I’ve lived through such different eras and such contrasting moments. I suppose one of the greatest virtues is adapting to circumstances.

A moment I don’t remember from my own memory, but through old photos and stories from my mother and my maternal grandmother, a special moment: my birth. It’s special to me, even though at that moment I had no idea what life had in store for me or everything I would have to go through. At that moment, as I lay with my godparents, I had no idea of anything; I think my only concern was simply to live.

I look at myself in the photo, and of course I don’t recognise myself—firstly because I don’t remember it, and secondly because that moment seems further away than my 47 years. That little girl, that baby, is not the same person I am today, and not just because of my age but because of all the experiences; it seems like a long journey.

I chose this photo because, when I look at my godfather, my maternal grandmother’s brother in law the memories come flooding back: the good memories. He took on the role of grandfather when my grandfather died, and he was the one who looked after my brother and me when there was sometimes nothing to eat. His name was Atilio and he was Italian: stubborn, strong, generous, and he loved me dearly.

I have spoken many times of my godmother and told many stories about her. She was not a good person; she raised my father, she raised a vulture. As time passes, perspectives change and one realises many things. Following the death of her daughter in a suspicious accident, she wanted me for herself, but she did not succeed. She was a dark soul.

But that photo is special, because it was taken when I entered my home for the first time, on 29 June 1978, two days after my birth. I look at it and the house is so different today; it’s so different from how I remember it. That’s how the 70s were, with wallpapered walls. I think the house looked very dark for my taste. But what matters is the moment. A special one: my arrival into the family, into life, and that makes me think of how important life is and that it is our duty to make good use of it.

This photograph means a great deal; it represents my arrival into the life I was to live, where every experience made me stronger and taught me so much. I remember practically nothing of my childhood, only specific moments, perhaps because my brain protects me and tells me not to remember more than certain moments.

That photo reminds me of how important life is and what we do with it, with every minute of it: discovering who we really are, why we’re here, and making every moment count. Not wasting life on meaningless things, but climbing every step of it and fulfilling what we came here to do.

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They say that remembering is reliving moments, and photographs take us back to those moments. That’s why, and because I like sharing experiences, I chose this topic from the weekend themes that @galenkp presents to us. Thank you for that.

Thank you very much to everyone for joining me today; I wish you all a very good weekend. See you soon.
Amonet.

All the photographs are mine.

Used translator Deepl.com free version.