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Name: Marco Giroldi
From: Italy
Year: 2007
From: Italy
Year: 2007
Degree: Marco graduated from a university in Italy
Interests: Traveling, children, soccer, poetry
Service: Working with street children
Interests: Traveling, children, soccer, poetry
Service: Working with street children
Marco thinking
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Note: The following excerpt was written by Marco during his
temporary stay in the Salesian Sisters' Provincial House in San
Antonio. Currently, Marco is in San Felix, Venezuela, where he
will be until August.
"The Spark of Hunger"
Often in the evening, at the moment that divides in half the time
between supper and my bedtime, a rumbling of hunger is heard
from my stomach. My mouth waters, my brain gives free vent to
the most varied food fantasies. In fact it is a sensual hunger, not
a need. The desire of having something tasty and juicy to wash
away the salty taste of supper, allowing sweetness to accompany
the dreams of night. In the amber and well lit corridors of the FMA
Provincial House there is no one. Like a feline I walk towards the
kitchen when without warning a small and curved figure walking in
the opposite direction appears from behind the corner. I do not
pay attention and go on my way, my mind is already envisioning
the snack. Then I recognize her; it is Sister Celia. In the afternoon
she had warmed my heart telling me how when she was little she
would make her father happy by scratching his back. I do not
know why but for some strange reason, the most simple and
unattractive story when told by the elderly, with their eyes
sparkling with nostalgia, always have an extraordinary effect on
me. At any rate, I stop and between us, who had already become
friends, immediately clicks a conniving look and an understanding
greeting.
S: "Where are you going so alone?"
M: "I am going to eat something. I’m just a bit hungry... "
S: "Ah, that’s good! Would you like me to prepare something for
you?"
M: "No thanks, you must rest... See you later. See you soon "
S: "Yes, it is true. You are already a man... Go, eat well, good
night."
I left her behind and continued to walk. In the twilight of the
evening, I thought about the strength of that woman, about her
life, so hard, devout and chaste. To her legs that walk with such
effort. To her will and her goodness—with the weight of old age,
she was ready to go to the kitchen with me, to prepare and serve
me what I desired, even a Christmas dinner if I had wanted It
would have been enough for me to ask for it, I am sure.
The dining room was empty and dark, I approach the counter and
I take one apple and two oranges. The hunger is gone. Sister
Celia had already nourished me with the sweetest and most
wonderful thing that I could ever find. I have an indigestion of
love. In the moment in which my teeth first bite into the apple, a
tear falls from my eyes.
temporary stay in the Salesian Sisters' Provincial House in San
Antonio. Currently, Marco is in San Felix, Venezuela, where he
will be until August.
"The Spark of Hunger"
Often in the evening, at the moment that divides in half the time
between supper and my bedtime, a rumbling of hunger is heard
from my stomach. My mouth waters, my brain gives free vent to
the most varied food fantasies. In fact it is a sensual hunger, not
a need. The desire of having something tasty and juicy to wash
away the salty taste of supper, allowing sweetness to accompany
the dreams of night. In the amber and well lit corridors of the FMA
Provincial House there is no one. Like a feline I walk towards the
kitchen when without warning a small and curved figure walking in
the opposite direction appears from behind the corner. I do not
pay attention and go on my way, my mind is already envisioning
the snack. Then I recognize her; it is Sister Celia. In the afternoon
she had warmed my heart telling me how when she was little she
would make her father happy by scratching his back. I do not
know why but for some strange reason, the most simple and
unattractive story when told by the elderly, with their eyes
sparkling with nostalgia, always have an extraordinary effect on
me. At any rate, I stop and between us, who had already become
friends, immediately clicks a conniving look and an understanding
greeting.
S: "Where are you going so alone?"
M: "I am going to eat something. I’m just a bit hungry... "
S: "Ah, that’s good! Would you like me to prepare something for
you?"
M: "No thanks, you must rest... See you later. See you soon "
S: "Yes, it is true. You are already a man... Go, eat well, good
night."
I left her behind and continued to walk. In the twilight of the
evening, I thought about the strength of that woman, about her
life, so hard, devout and chaste. To her legs that walk with such
effort. To her will and her goodness—with the weight of old age,
she was ready to go to the kitchen with me, to prepare and serve
me what I desired, even a Christmas dinner if I had wanted It
would have been enough for me to ask for it, I am sure.
The dining room was empty and dark, I approach the counter and
I take one apple and two oranges. The hunger is gone. Sister
Celia had already nourished me with the sweetest and most
wonderful thing that I could ever find. I have an indigestion of
love. In the moment in which my teeth first bite into the apple, a
tear falls from my eyes.
Street kids posing
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"Experiencing, Sharing Life in Christ"
