A few hours ago  we learned from the media and the Internet that the regime of Hosni Mubarak, in Egypt, is finally over.

Some of my friends on facebook commented right away: how come they manage to and we don’t?

The situation here, of course, is not even slightly comparable to the one on the southern shore of the Mediterranean; but still.

Still, the feeling of many is that things have to change. It’s a feeling people of my generation (I was born in 1984) have; I also believe the generation of my parents had the same feeling (in their 20’s during the 70’s); listening to them, looking at them, though, you learn that feeling never blossomed. It died inside them. Because here things never change. This is what we grew up listening to. Our parents didn’t want us to go through the same stuff they had to. They tried to teach us not to dream to big, to stay safe, not to risk too much. I’d say with the great majority of us it worked. This is how culture replicates.

With some of us, though it didn’t work as well. Especially now, with the web, with world wide communication, it is particularly hard to be the cinderellas of the world.

We cannot dream. We cannot hope for a better tomorrow. Nobody thinks a different tomorrow is possible, everything feels frozen in an eternal present.

Our best hope is to emigrate. This is the most common piece of advice I can get from a teacher, an adult in general, someone who did not emigrate, and that somehow was here before me and did not try to change this. Go. Go away. Lucky you, you speak english, you can go.

But I don’t want to go. I always thought Italy had more things in common with the rest of the mediterranean countries rather than with our northern european neighbors, but to this point? Who could imagine?

From today maybe this is not even true anymore. Because at least in Tunisia and Egypt things seem to be changing. Not here. Not in Italy. The main difference is maybe that they wanted change, they dreamed of it.

Here we need to learn how to dream again. And how not to kill other’s dreams.

But today is still today here. And when I talk about my frustrations people don’t even want to listen, because it would bring up theirs, and they don’t want to face them.

I want change. I don’t want to leave. I want to rebuild. I hope I’ll be strong enough. At least I hope.

It’s hard to dream of a future here when others don’t, and I’m afraid of building a tomorrow that looks like today.

I’m melancholy tonight. I feel rejected from my own people, my own roots, my own country. I know that people don’t want to talk about all this, they don’t want this responsibility. It’s Friday night, and it’s time for aperitivo. Why bother with something they don’t feel it’s in their power to change. But it is. It is in our power. Not in someone’s power in particular, and this is what bothers us (I was going to write “them”, then I realized that was simply reinforcing the status quo) the most. Ever since Machiavelli we dream of a prince, and we refuse to accept to do our share. But we have to. Before doing anything, we need to be able to think about us as a group, as a whole. And we need to take resposibility for our actions, and also for what we don’t do.

Ok, I’m ready. I’m going out. Wish me luck. Have a great week end, and compliments to our Egyptian friends, thank you for the example.