conegliano-hills

Origins

I come from a small town in the north-east part of Italy, namely Conegliano Veneto in the province of Treviso, roughly 80km above Venice. This quiet village takes its popularity from the worldwide success of Prosecco wine, which vines decorate the surrounding hills, softening the valleys that lead to Dolomiti mountains.


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With bumps and bandaging I managed to survive the earliest and carefree period of life, culled by the supervision of people who were responsible for my actions and BOY, I made use of that power.
Loving parents, who provided for me with their best whenever possible and with their impossible, when it'd worsen. I spent most of my days with my mother, from which I took lineage and customs.

I joined the same high school that my father attended, 40 or some years prior, but with a twist: I would have done Electronics and Telecommunications instead of Mechanics.
The choice proved fruitful, given the still raising demand for such a skillset, completed with fundamentals of chemistry as well as mechatronics. Through hands-on practice I developed my critical thinking and problem solving techniques, which I used to lead and give voice, in the role of student representative for two years. In particular, I remember the struggle to introduce WiFi technologies across the campus, the endless discussions on the effect of a new span of frequencies on the students bodies and brains. Together with my colleagues, we devised testing to compare the existing exposition to radiations (e.g. CB radio for truck drivers), showing the exponentially lower danger caused by the newcomer, compared to its benefits.
My father's and my degree, now with me, differ by 6 points and he really never digested it.
He used to come watch my football matches, hoping and gulping with me. He was also the father of my step-sister, a heart-warming mother with South-American origins. He is unfortunately not with us anymore.

I always thought I was made for something different. Despite the inherent familiarity of spaces and seasons I grew up in, I realized I was part of something bigger, I realized how small I was in my own world and how little I knew about it.
The unrest grew on me after my first job, I was controlled rather than guided, scolded whenever possible, pushed to maximize efficiency and never took seriously. Observing more experienced co-workers, taking all that very same abuse for granted, turned me sour.
At the first chance I took up a second job, collected enough money to move away and started speaking about it. Fearing the shame of a failed departure (I relied on this feeling, actually), after 6 months I moved to the Netherlands.


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Stepping out of my comfort zone felt necessary at that point, I could no longer rely on other people to feel inspired and loved so I sought for new places where my heart would feel home.
It felt natural to pick the capital city, Amsterdam, as the ground and sky to wrap my ideas. I had the chance to visit the city twice before then, firstly with my mother and its running team, during the 2012 Amsterdam Marathon and few years later with a friend, on a whim. While the first time I often stepped aside to admire the uninterrupted landscapes, framing clouds and their colors, running after them as the wind blew them away, the second journey aimed to discover the vibrant lifestyle of a metropoly and its culture. It was during this later adventure that I felt a strange familiarity with Amsterdam: my mind was at ease, my feet had new grounds to walk on, yet I knew the path.

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