A LITTLE WORLD ON MY OWN

Women handbags are small worlds where all the laws of nature cease to exist. Small bags for great thoughts. Large bags for great passions. Notebooks and lip liners united by a single destiny. Perfumes, hair bands, sheets written in a stream of consciousness. Cinema tickets and dried flowers. Sand, shells and candy wrappers. Capless pens and coins. Books with pages wrinkled by the wind. Pictures of your mother when she was young. A letter that your sister has stuck in your wallet just before taking a plane. And then there's your back, who would not want to carry all that weight. And what of those things you can not do without.
My passion for big bags has a long history. My grandmother Rosa gave me my very first one and it was exactly half my height. I could barely carry it and I had to place it on my knee if I wanted walk. I proceeded lame. It was one of those doctor models, with an opening snap. An intense dark brown. The interior was velvety. The shoulder strap was short, perfect to wear on the shoulder. I put everything inside. My father made me a notebook with a deep blue cover. My aunt Giulia, a teacher by profession, gave me pencils and markers. I could barely write my name. I wrote mostly incomprehensible multicolored hieroglyphics. I felt already very grown up, though I had been in this world for only 4 years. In the garden there still was the apple tree, a successful graft of my grandfather Francesco. Stones and some leeves. One of my mother's old bras. The Wild Swans by Andersen. A shirt and a pair of shorts. A slice of cake. A little world of my own. I never learned how to make good use of the space. I have always used big bags and I always filled them up with curious things. In case they could be useful.