Don’t just inherit houses or heirlooms—
ask for your grandparents’ stories.
Not the ones meant to lull you to sleep,
but the ones that keep your eyes wide open,
the ones that make you feel history breathing.

Devour their memories.
Fall in love with the strangeness of their times.
Listen to their taboos,
how they were raised,
what it meant to live through the Years of Lead.
Don’t forget their war.
Run to hear the voices of the partisans.
Revive the past,
protect the years behind us,
preserve what was—so it won’t happen again.

Because everything forgotten
has a way of coming back.
So don’t forget yesterday’s pain.
Let your skin learn to feel
the blows you never took.
Feel the sorrow of those who came before
so we don’t wound the future.

Be hungry for childhood tales.
Hear their games,
pass them down to your grandchildren.
Let the first game never be forgotten.

Save the old recipes.
Guard the sauce.
Memorize the rhythm of the ragù.
If you can’t make your mother’s parmigiana with your eyes closed,
you’re still an apprentice in life.

Protect grandma’s remedies.
Heal a stye by staring at the neck of an oil bottle.
Banish bad luck with tight dialects.
Kiss the bruised skin.

Ask for this inheritance.
Ask for the story that brought us here.
Ask for the memories.
Save the roots.
Because without roots,
we’re souls tossed in the wind.
And believe me—
the wind isn’t blowing kindly these days. ❤️🙏🏾

©️ Beatriz Esmer