Today I feel like a record. Strange, right? Yet it's true. Since I was little, I always said one thing: the only two people who must never die are Erriquez from Bandabardò and my grandma. A month ago, I lost the first, a musical mentor and the driving force behind great evenings, and tonight I lost the second, a wonderful person who faced these last difficult weeks with a smile. The pain I’m feeling is bigger than me, it weighs heavily on my shoulders and knocks at my brain seeking shelter. My mind is now a turntable, a chaos of emotions that spins and breaks the silence with bursts of anger and tears shed in the dark. And I curse what is called “the pig” by Maestro Jannacci, that figure who every week would call saying “it’s all good, she’s recovering” without acknowledging that she was fighting to escape death. And now my grandma is in Bologna, in a hospital room, and no one can come to bring her back. Today I feel like a record, stubborn and willing to hide the cracks that are expanding little by little. Every minute it becomes heavier; it’s a Discogreve

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