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Italy or about different perspectives
By now, the news and its consequences have invaded all of our lives about the virus spreading throughout the world. I live in Florence, Italy. I won’t talk about numbers, statistics, or any other such information. I will talk about perspectives.
I was born in Romania in a communist era. As a child, I didn’t know or feel much of the pain that the grown-ups around me dealt with daily. I did have, like most of my generation, a few basic rules I needed to follow. Do not tell others how much food, or especially what food you have in your house. No one is your friend, and whatever happens inside the house is not to be repeated outside. You are not allowed to share sweets with your friends — the consequences of telling friends outside that on Sunday we had special cookies brought by Grandpa meant not being able to have those cookies ever again. The neighbors may be listening — at all times, be careful what you speak and to whom.
As children born into the regime, we didn’t argue with the rules and didn’t even think of disobeying them. For us, that was the normality of the society we lived in. For me, life meant I could play outside from morning until dawn interrupted only by the shouts of my grandma to come inside for lunch. I knew everyone had a house of their own. I knew grown-ups have jobs. I was taught that the people living in your home are the most…