Read My Story
Some years ago, I could never guess that I would write now this article and that I would have a personal website with my
biography and pictures as international solo pianist. Many years have passed since that winter evening in 2005, when my life literally changed.
Suddenly, I
woke up in a room in the burns unit of the hospital in Parma, with my whole body covered in bandages, at my right
a
big window, beyond which there were red and white- bricked palaces. For months, that window became my source of
contemplation and light, to which I would address my thoughts and prayers. I had burns of deep second degree, five
operations with skin grafts on the neck and on the legs. My face was reddened, but was not wounded, my hair got
shorter, but my hands were left u
ntouched. Those days and nights at the hospital seemed endless. They were
rhythmed by
the constant visits of the surgeons and the daily hour with my family, by my loneliness, by listening to Queen’s
music
with the nurses, by my moments of courage, when I tried to remain seated on the bed, although my muscles were not
yet
ready to, until I was able again to put my feet on the ground. I realized only after a while that I would never have the same body again, my skin stain on the the right thigh was gone, as all my certainties. My body
was changed, together with my perception of pain and of joy. Even cherries in May tasted differently. The colour of the sky, the form of my grandmother’s hands, the sensation of leafing through a book, the odour of a
candle, the perfume of the linden trees in my town, all felt different.
Watch and read the full story...
Some years ago, I could never guess that I would write now this article and that I would have a personal website with my
biography and pictures as international solo pianist. Many years have passed since that winter evening in 2005, when my life literally changed.
Suddenly, I
woke up in a room in the burns unit of the hospital in Parma, with my whole body covered in bandages, at my right
a
big window, beyond which there were red and white- bricked palaces. For months, that window became my source of
contemplation and light, to which I would address my thoughts and prayers. I had burns of deep second degree, five
operations with skin grafts on the neck and on the legs. My face was reddened, but was not wounded, my hair got
shorter, but my hands were left u
ntouched. Those days and nights at the hospital seemed endless. They were
rhythmed by
the constant visits of the surgeons and the daily hour with my family, by my loneliness, by listening to Queen’s
music
with the nurses, by my moments of courage, when I tried to remain seated on the bed, although my muscles were not
yet
ready to, until I was able again to put my feet on the ground.
