Mare...nostrum?

If you fly from Barcelona to Amman, you have to cross the “Mare Nostrum”. Some still use this Latin name, which could be translated into “Our Sea”, to call the Mediterranean Sea. To be frank, and without any fear of appearing chauvinistic, I like very much this name. Not only because of my being Italian, it is rather because this pool unites the lands that have given the greatest contribution to my cultural identity, whatever that means and in spite of being born in a landlocked State in the middle of Europe.

It is obvious, and those who know me well are already aware of it, that I love mother Mediterranean. I feel thankful to her: a mother that civilized her children and gave them so many different, rich and beautiful languages, taught them tasteful manners to prepare their daily and healthy food. And we, sisters and brothers, sometimes do not understand ourselves and often are unaware of this enormously rich culture to which we all belong. It is widely known that a mother always forgive the silliness of her children, but we also know that her patience is not really legendary either.

Believe it or not, but these were the thoughts that accompanied my flight. On a beautiful 8th November, I was leaving behind me the reborn plain of the Llobregat River, ready for a new and exciting experience on unknown lands.

Sardinia was covered by a thick blanket of clouds, but soon after appeared the Tyrrhenian coast of Calabria, the Strait of Messina and the majestic Etna, decorating the horizon with a thin stripe of its puffs. It was my mothers’ farewell, under a wonderful sunset. As I was moving eastwards, such miracle did not last very long, and I could only be sure I was flying over the Peloponnese from the video screens of the airplane cabin. Darkness had put an end to this beautiful day, “so many give away”.

Maybe it was better that way. I would have felt harmed and drowned by a bitter gloom if I saw the terrible scare my brothers and sisters had left last summer on my mother’s side.

Already near to the south coast of Cyprus, I was close to the coast where the misunderstandings and hatred among some of my sisters and brothers are most bitter. The Mother’s side that is being mistreated and disrespected and nobody seems to notice her screams and pain. Electric lights along wide and well-ordered roads confirmed I was overflying Tel-Aviv.

I want my mother to be respected. She had given us all she could and that was so much. We are not capable yet to show thankfulness for her teaching and love. We kill each other on her, and we kill on a daily base what only belongs to her. What if she loses her patience for good? What would we be without her? What would we give to our daughters and sons?

Forgive us, Mother Mediterranean.