Epifania

For anyone who isn’t Italian: La Befana is basically our strange national agreement that an old woman on a broomstick breaks into houses in January and leaves candy for children. Which honestly sounds terrifying when translated literally. She arrives during the night before January 6th, the Epiphany. Children leave stockings hanging somewhere in the house and wake up to find sweets, chocolates, tiny gifts, or coal if they’ve behaved badly. Italian childhood is very emotionally layered.

Technically I’m too old to care now.
And yet this morning I still checked.

There was chocolate inside the stocking Mom left near the fireplace and honestly that made me absurdly happy for several minutes.

Italian holidays survive through contradiction. Adults spend years saying: “It’s only for children.” Then continue the traditions with military precision forever. Mom claims she only prepares the sock “for atmosphere,” which is exactly the kind of elegant lie adults tell when they are secretly sentimental.

Outside, M. looked grey and freezing all day. January here turns everything into stone, fog, scarves, and people walking aggressively fast through cold air. I spent most of the afternoon pretending to organize school things while actually avoiding reality professionally. At one point E. called and we talked about school returning Monday with the emotional tone of soldiers discussing inevitable war.

“January is when attractive people become pale and honest.”

No explanation.
Then he hung up.

The strange thing about the Befana is that even when you stop believing in it completely, part of you still waits for the small surprise anyway. Maybe growing up is just learning how to continue hoping quietly so nobody can embarrass you for it.

Remember me,
Eclipse