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Dreams and nostalgia

Would I be  trivial if I tell you about the nostalgia for the scent of sesame buns?
The sesame in Sicily is called giuggiulena and was imported by the Arabs. From them it was learned to cultivate it and to use it for example to prepare the cubbaita, a crunchy sesame with honey and almond chips. In fact, its name comes from quibbiat, almond, in Arabic, beautiful.
Almonds, those of the almond trees blooming in Agrigento, sway in the wind while you watch the 'Bacchantes' from the arena of the Greek theater.
This Greek theater, which the Greeks called the Concordia theater, stands in a valley full of other temples that looks like a movie set.
And in fact in a film you feel when you are sitting on the same benches for millennia. Or when, soaking your feet on Stromboli sea, sipping a soda, you watch the lava slowly descending on the sea.
The sea, from which they catch swordfish from the second century BC. Fish with swords... more  a movy than this !? The same sea that decides everything on that island, even how the thyroid gland must regulate my mood. That I can be all smiles looking at a majolica from the Neolithic period.
My land, which I abandoned too soon, too young to realize what it would have meant to leave you. And above all, immature to understand how long you could stay me inside. Island that originated me from the sea, that fed me with legends and good wine, that filled my eyes with volcanoes that rise on the water and with fishermen's tales. Land that taught me that diversity is a value, that I am no more Italian than I am Tunisian, that I, with olive skin and dark hair, and you blonde, skin like porcelain, come from the same place. Earth intrinsically intimate, real,  I tattooed you on my skin in a specific point of my body, to remind me what I am made of. Land that are also judges who fight against the mafia, a land of traffic and garbage, of old women sitting on the door to take fresh air, of calloused hands that pick tomatoes, of artistic facades and frescoes, of couscous served on the shoreline.
Schopenhauer wrote "We must try to get to look at what we own exactly with the same eyes with which we would look at it if it had stolen us".

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