No-more-Nadia (in memory of Nadia Riva)

Nadia Riva
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Another dimension. Looking for an image of how I feel after learning of Nadia Riva's sudden passing, two come to mind: a kind of chasm, in that courtyard on the railing of via Col di Lana, Milan, where he lived. As if a meteorite had struck, no less. And then I feel like I've entered the dimension of the no-longer-Nadia, dimension of which I currently understand very little.

By Nadia I'm talking to the side, I'm certainly the last to have the right. But we recklessly loved each other. I have no particular qualifications to say about her, without her being here to monitor with her leonine and intolerable arrogance everything I think, say and write. His control has always been absolute and beyond question. I'm not among those who shared that with her everything that she demanded from others: integral feminism as a community of life, of experiences, of intentions, that being among women that was her entire existence, North, South, East and West.The men" he said “for me they are all the same, like the Chinese“. In every woman, however, with a sensitivity that must have hurt somewhere, he knew how to grasp the most hidden folds, every subtle movement and every crack.

We were, in a certain sense, a strange couple. I like this for her straight, she is so threatening to me in hers chaotic indomitable wild female, in her house, a temple of feminism, in that Sibyl's cave with a hydromassage next to the kitchen where she fed us all on absurd evenings with unlikely "different" dishes. I recommended: Nadia please tonight no mussels and Nutella or carob lasagna. I arrived with ragù, pesto and hot bread, just like a housewife straight to save the lives of her, of me and of everyone. If our conversation bored her - always - her very blue eyes disappeared behind black protest glasses.

Like many, I was thrown out of his life several times - the last time was truly terrible -. And then taken back, and thrown back out, and adored, and destroyed, and torn to pieces, and tenderly cared for, according to the secret rhythms of her mood, inscrutable and indisputable. He got me into it amazing feats which didn't always arrive somewhere - I have in mind absurd afternoon trips with her and her friend Gretel in search of farmhouses in the hinterland where we can set up who knows what -. And then other more intimate and heartbreaking undertakings, like when he couldn't say goodbye to his beloved chow-chow Omar, his big hands shaking, a lost little girl.

We were mysteriously sisters and I still don't understand why. Era brilliant, very witty, totally free and alien to everything correctness. We insulted each other in Milanese. She woke me up in the middle of the night because her finger was on her phone and she didn't go to bed before 5 (I had been asleep for a while). For reasons I cannot reveal, we carefully followed the vicissitudes of the Monegasque family, Caroline, Charlotte and all the others (this will remain a secret between us). He invited me to Cicip to coordinate absurd debates between absurd candidates for elections (by that enchanted place, others will say about Cip, about that magical and suspended time). He waved the crutch to give me the right times. He wanted my signed books but I can assure you that he never opened one. I taught her Facebook even though she didn't want to at first.

We talked a lot about animals. He sent me videos of cows kissing foxes like This, it's the last one he sent me a few days ago, before running away from them all. Of indigenous people with colored ponchos. He provided me with slices of exquisite Quartirolo DOP. He never wanted to tell me how old he was. He was very afraid of this transit of Jupiter and Saturn opposite his Sun of birth and apparently he was right to worry. He spent the last month telling me, between one argument and another, that he loved me, and he told me too many times, I should have become suspicious. He also told me that he had blood pressure changes. I would like his notebooks full of dog ears and fingerprints, he told me he was writing a musical. I would like one of those billions of absurd objects with which he had built the astonishing mess of his house. That self-propelled dinosaur, for example. I have a giant teddy bear here that I had delivered for a birthday. He forced me to discuss the Big Brother VIP, he said that there was self-awareness of female origin there, he didn't miss an episode of it.

He made me die of laughter, and for a time even die of pain, with ruthless determination. I can't say why we were such good friends. Everything revolved around her, us satellites and she the Sun solemnly still. Mythological creature. A whirlwind of friends, housekeepers, assistants, waiters from the restaurant downstairs, shopping suppliers and even nurses who climbed to the first floor of Via Col di Lana every day to take care of her rather delicate health.

I don't know how the no-longer-Nadia will shape up, here we have to reinvent everything and I'll have to invent this too, it will be a good piece altogether. He turned his back to us, as per the photo -she sent it to me just a month ago- and she left. You had really nice hair, it had grown a lot. There too: perhaps I should have understood something. It couldn't have gone any other way with her, we should have known, but it was worse than we knew. He didn't give us time to do anything, to say anything, I don't know: I'll bring you some pajamas, a book, some stupid thing, how's it going? do you feel bad? A call. A little message. I'll hold your hand for a minute. Nothing. 4-5 days without hearing from us, and off we go. She decided, as always. That damn pride.

Hi Nadia, then. All right. I greet you here, where you promised me that sooner or later you would write something.

Marina Terragni

Greetings to Nadia, for those who wish, from 10am on Friday 12th, H San Giuseppe, via San Vittore 12 – Milan (MM S.Ambrogio)

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