Love is love. (Instagram has eaten my caption again)
In a week or so, Italy is going to vote for a bill that would legalise same-sex unions, granting them the same rights as heterosexual couples (i.e child adoption).
Of course it wouldn’t be Italy if there wasn’t any kind of protest, or pointless arguments over things that actually matter; so thousands of people woke up today, sipped on their espressos, pressed a kiss on their children’s foreheads and joined a homophobic protest, calling the government out for supporting such blasphemy of the traditional family.
I’ll repeat it for you, because it sounds even crazier when I say it out loud.
People woke up today and made the conscious decision that some people don’t really have the right to love and spread that love in building a family because they are different.
Because they can’t comprehend how a person could possibly build a life differently from the traditional equation of ‘man+woman=kid’, which I would like to personally update with the actual realistic equation of the average straight Italian union: ‘man (+1 and more mistresses ) + woman (+1 and more mistresses) + (neglected) kids = possible divorce.
My dearest friends and many other brave, inspirational people occupied squares in every major city to support the legislation and what could change the lives of so many people and families.
Their voices have been heard across the world, their stories are touching millions of people like me, sitting in a room across two oceans!
I am angry, but I can’t help feeling a tiny bit sad for those who are standing in the freezing cold to fight for their own idea of love, because they clearly have never experienced true love before. And attention, I am not just talking about romantic love, I am talking about any kind of love – platonic, romantic, spiritual etc.
I was born into a family that was far from being the traditional cookie-cutter Italian ‘famiglia’ – biracial, divorced parents, raised with grandparents, uncles, aunties and anyone who wanted to get a squeeze out of those chubby tanned cheeks.
I remember the ‘negro’, ‘mulatta’ , ‘her parents are not together’ and that cringing feeling that you just don’t fit in; I remember the fear and the anxiety of feeling like I could love anyone, regardless of their gender and sexuality, but hearing my peers saying ‘ew’ at that butchy looking girl walking down the street and scared at the even possibility that I could like a girl as much as I could like a boy.
There is nothing as painful as the feeling of being caged into a life that it’s not entirely yours.
But then I remember the love – the overwhelming, imploding sensation that the whole galaxy – the whole universe – is hugging you into a tight, warm hug, when you’re with your family, your friends and the people who love you, accepting you for who you are.
And when you feel that kind of love, it’s contagious. You share it little by little; it starts eating the nasty feeling of self-doubts, it fills you with this idea that maybe you’re not as wrong as you think you are, maybe it’s them who have been wrong the whole time.
You stop projecting your own insecurities and fears onto other people; your hateful words stop rushing in as they used to, when you were trapped into your own cage.
I look at these people who fight back for the same-sex unions and all I can assume is that they have never experienced love once in their lives, and how sad is that. To live a life where your love is only allowed if it can pass certain protocols, certain structures that you have self-imposed to feel like you are doing the ‘right thing’.
How wrong and sad you are.
Love doesn’t know any protocols, love doesn’t need to be shared in a certain way to touch your hearts. There is no right thing when it comes to love.
Love is acceptance and respect of one’s own identity. But the love that a parent, or a family has for a child destiny has gifted it to them – that’s pure.
A child doesn’t know what, who, when, where – they only feel somebody who would even DIE to care for them; and as a seed that needs water to grow into a luscious fruit tree, a child will grow into a human who can love and be loved by that very first act of feeling cared for, respected and accepted.
Love is love.
Hate is you standing there against it with pain and insecurity swimming inside your heart.