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Lalu Muhammad Zohri story: the champion without shoes

Once upon a time a dreamer.
A boy who could scarcely imagine to buy a pair of running shoes.
A creature whose soul was going so fast to overcome all.
Body’s and hard reality’s limits.
Once upon a time a champion.
The winner of men’s 100m race at the IAAF world under-20 championships at Tampere in Finland.
Once upon a time just an eighteen years old life.
The first Indonesian to win a medal at those tournaments.
But not the very first one to hope for that.
I'm not referring to the podium.
Or the cameras flashes.
Not even the brilliant gold.
Instead, once upon a time a whole world of people who just deserve a chance to run.
And show talents and value.
Be patient, my friend, and lots of them will arrive on the track...

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Thailand cave boys world cup final match

Once upon a time there was a world championship.
Another one…
Where you gets lose, it's viral news, never a good read, let alone to watch.
At the same time, when you survive the final whistle, there will be no autographs on the shirt and photos with dedication.
Nonetheless, this does not mean that you will not cry out of joy, with the cup called life tightly held in your hands.
On the screen, or in the cave, the final is now staged.
In its dramatically stretched extra time.
Because the fate of our planet is a cruel referee and it seems almost to taste in finding every pretext to postpone the road to the blessed shower, where to wash away the bruises of difficult living.
Meanwhile, down there, in the dark, they fight against the usual enemy.
Time.
So, run, watch hands, be magnanimous, for once.
Burn away the hours as if they were minutes disguised as seconds.
Since twelve kids, along with their brave trainer, still deserve a lot to play...

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Burning forests in Chile to survive

Once upon a time there was a land.
A region, indeed.
Once upon a time there were brave people.
You might call them Mapuche.
You can call them the natives ones.
But you can surely define them as the resisting creatures.
Defending life’s gifts and what rests of human soul.
In a few words, being one with nature’s perfection.
So, once upon a time in Araucanía, Southern Chile.
When you may sadly see, right now, unacceptable rows of charred pines.
It’s a hugely desperate act, it undoubtedly is.
But it’s maybe the last, only answer.
Like these words explain: “We burned these forests as an act of legitimate resistance against the extractive industries that have oppressed the Mapuche people,” says Hector Llaitul. “If we make their business unprofitable they move on, allowing us to recover our devastated lands and rebuild our world.”

Buy the ebook: Italian short stories, a dual language book

Equality story

You've heard this story.
You've already seen this movie.
We already told this tale, all together, and we've lived it too.
We were all there.
All of us, and we'll be there tomorrow too.
We were Jews in Nazi concentration camps, and in the same place we were Roma people and homosexuals.
Wrong creatures, living mistakes.
We were also women.
Yes, women with the alleged insane idea to be something more than a man...

From Italian short stories, a dual language book

True stories of dreams

So, next Italy’s president will be a female one.
Let’s remove again: the new president will be young.
No... come on, let’s do more: a little girl.
There will be a baby-girl at the head of the Italic nation.
But let’s go forward, continuing to eliminate old stuff.
Enough with the ability to mediate between the parties, since ever historical leaders pride.
The girl child who will guide Italy to the new horizon won’t provide any mediation.
If something is right, it will be so.
And if something is wrong, it will remain so...

From Italian short stories, a dual language book

True life stories

When the heart dies twice.
When the heart dies twice, it means that it lived, twice. And many more have enjoyed the benefits.
Because when the heart dies twice, arithmetic and its rules go out the window.
Because the love that subtracts creates endless empty, but when the operation is the sum, you can call it multiplication.
When the heart dies twice, you may cry as much, but they are defused tears.
They don’t delete smiles and gratitude for received and given gifts...

From Italian short stories, a dual language book

True love stories

My name is Saverio and a smile will be my last word.
Yes, smiling, so I'm gone.
With joy.
Because I have died with it.
I want to emphasize this for my son.
He must not take the burden.
I would like to leave on his shoulders and in his heart all except any weight.
Lightness, this is my inheritance.
Well, I'm not referring to the small legacy he will find in my last will.
He knows that have been no richness in our family.
The levity I would offer as ending credits of my life concerns the bag of thoughts and emotions that will accompany him for the rest of the road.
Life is already itself fraught by heavy luggage...


From Italian short stories, a dual language book

True stories of Samar and Maher

A thief of images, but a good one.
An atypical version of Robin Hood, which steals memory where all want to disintegrate it, and then he gives it to posterity.
So that they see the day after what has passed in vain under the eyes of the protagonists.
In fact, the pitcher of remembrances in the bottle among the waves of the future was blocked immediately after taking possession of that precious piece of lived history.
Everything was about to be lost, when Samar herself made her choice.

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True stories of missing children

After the tragic fact, Wang bought a taxi and began patrolling the city of fourteen million people during work hours.
He put a flyer on the car window, after printing business cards with his daughter's information, telling each passenger what had happened.
I lost her, we lost her, and the most horrendous meaning, that is, she has lost us.
Here it is the unacceptable sharing that binds us all along.
The emptiness, not the fullness.
The eager hands, never the full pockets.
Desire, fervent dream, irrepressible aspiration, everything but the vault full of vanity of the richest people.
I find you, the little Qifeng heard from far away, more than twenty years ago.

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True stories of an alien child

We punctually glorify the shared error, to the detriment of the exceptional out of place gifts.
We thought you were too different.
From us and everything that reassures us.
She cannot be one of us, we immediately said before your stretched head.
Nevertheless, the problem wasn’t the skull’s size, but the content.
Because beyond the superficial justifications, what scares us most is the inside of things.
Specifically, a brain of greater magnitude, with the propensity to extend upwards.
That is, reason and fantasy that point the heavenly vault as the only possible direction.

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True stories of a widow

Go to sleep, my husband.
Sleep and rest.
Dreams quietly, but not too much.
You know how dreams are, we perfectly know.
Like actors.
So desirous of applause, able to do anything to keep the curtain open.

The last dream, then, is the most vain between them.
A trap in the form of paradise tailored to the hero of the day.
There is time, my love.
There is still time.
An eternity, they say.
Well, I 'm not ready for so much.

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