Paolina Milana, Author at Paolina Milana - author and writer for hire

Powerlina: Being One’s Own Superhero

July 28, 2016 By Paolina Milana Leave a Comment

I haven’t yet seen Batman V. Superman. And I may never choose not to. I’m not really “up” on all the comics – DC or Marvel – doesn’t really matter to me (much to the chagrin of my comic-con-fan husband). Oh, sure, I love a great story, and if an alien with a cape or a hotty with a hammer or a babe with an invisible plane happen to be characters in a story that’s not only fantastical and fun, but that also goes deeper than the colorful curve- and bulge-hugging spandex they wear, then I’m all in.

But not being “up” on those superhero stories doesn’t mean I’m not “on board” with the whole superhero concept. Quite the contrary, I’m all for it. I think everyone should not only have their own superhero, but they should be their own superhero. And that’s why I’m writing this post.

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Death of My Father: Recamaterna

June 24, 2016 By Paolina Milana Leave a Comment

Sixteen years ago today, my father died. It was a Sunday, just after Father’s Day. I wasn’t supposed to be home that day, but I had gotten sick the night before. That morning, I still lay in bed. Papà came to check in on me, promising me a dinner of my favorite pastina, guaranteed to brighten my spirits.

That’s who my father was at his core: a realistic, but always optimistic. He could find the proper perspective, the wonder in the everyday, and the humor in the absurd. He was one of those people who brightened a room when he entered it.

On the day he left us, my world darkened. [Read more…]

Mental Illness and Mamma

May 4, 2016 By Paolina Milana Leave a Comment

Mother’s Day is hard for me. The fact that it falls in the very same time frame as Mental Health Awareness month makes it even harder.

As fresh-off-the-boat Sicilians, my parents practiced their own form of Cosa Nostra, and we were taught that what happened within the family, stayed inside the family. It was “Our Thing” and nobody else’s business. As a result, I became a master at keeping secrets, making it all the way to the 8th grade before anyone discovered ours.

Then came Christmas morning 1979.

Like all good Catholics, my father, my siblings and I were racing to leave the house and get to our local church for ten a.m. mass. The church was notorious for being “standing room only” on this one day of the year. Mamma hadn’t joined us for years, so when she appeared at the top of our staircase, dressed from head to toe in Scarlet O’Hara red (the very color she never wore and didn’t approve of her girls wearing), I knew we were in trouble. My father, on the other hand, chose to believe it was a Christmas miracle, gifted to him by God after years of prayer, asking for an end to the demons that tormented his wife.

Mamma spent her nights sitting in the dark on the sofa, screaming profanities in Italian, swearing that she would murder us all, plotting and pleading with voices only she could hear. She stashed sharp kitchen knives and my brother’s wooden baseball bats under the bed she shared with Papá, promising to use them if he dared to close his eyes or step one foot into the bedroom. Papá ignored the potential danger, always choosing to sleep in their bed, while I rarely did in mine, trying to stay awake and keep vigil for fear of Mamma following through on her threats. [Read more…]

National Siblings Day: Coming to Terms with the Loss of Mine

April 10, 2016 By Paolina Milana Leave a Comment

April 10 is National Siblings Day.

I no longer talk to mine.

My older sister – the one who’s married with two girls of her own – can’t seem to chat one-on-one with me, without our voices escalating, and at least one of us dishing out an unhealthy dose of blame and hurt. She’s a pretty terrific mom. I’ve even heard her tell her own children, “you’re sisters, and you only have each other, so you have to find a way to get along.” And they do. But her rule, clearly, doesn’t apply to us.

I miss her.

Text is the primary method of connecting with my only brother. It isn’t often, and I’ll take it, but it’s not the same. Not like it used to be between us. We grew up with me thinking he could do no wrong, and him always making me laugh. We had each other’s backs. It used to be easy. It used to be free. That’s what I remember whenever I take out old photographs and trace our smiles with my finger.

I miss him.

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In Celebration of My Own Patron Saint Papà

March 19, 2016 By Paolina Milana Leave a Comment

Today is my father’s birthday. March 19. He was born on St. Joseph’s Day, a big celebration for Italians, especially Sicilians. As a kid, year after year, our entire family would dress up, pile into our white Pontiac Catalina, and drive to some church or somebody’s home for a “feast of fishes” – a gorgeous display of food, similar to a cruise ship’s midnight buffet, but set up on an altar paying homage to the patron saint of fathers, families, and workers.
It’s fitting that my Papà and St. Joseph would share their day. Fathers, families, and workers: that pretty much sums up what my dad Antonino Milana represented, at least during my lifetime and from my perspective. (That’s me as a baby in his arms; my siblings were flower girl and ring bearer at my aunt’s wedding.)

My mother once told me “Che pense? Papà non ha mai cambiato i pannolini finché mi sono ammalato.”

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Overcoming Delusion; Realizing Self-worth

February 12, 2016 By Paolina Milana Leave a Comment

Styx’s “Grand Illusions” album came out in 1977. I was 12-years old. From the moment I heard the first track, I was hooked.

“So if you think your life is complete confusion

’cause your neighbor’s got it made

Just remember that

It’s a grand illusion

And deep inside we’re all the same”

Every song seemed to speak to a universal theme – overcoming self-delusion and realizing self-worth – and that all spoke to me.

My older siblings Ross and Cathy actually took me to see Styx’ “Grand Illusions” live concert for my birthday. It was my first concert ever. We sat on the main floor in folding chairs. I can still see myself, standing on my chair, holding Ross’ hand so I wouldn’t fall, singing as loudly as I wanted to, shaking my behind and feeling so free. Nobody watching. No one condemning. No need to keep anything secret or pretend to be somebody I wasn’t. I could just be me.

I think that’s why I loved Styx so much. I most likely didn’t know it back then, or at least at the age of 12, I probably couldn’t articulate it. But somewhere deep inside, I knew. I wasn’t a bad girl. I wasn’t any different than any other coming of age kid, awakening sexually. [Read more…]

Screw RIP: Rock it out, Vinster

January 17, 2016 By Paolina Milana Leave a Comment

“I wrote this,” my sister Viny whispered to me once when I visited her in a locked down psychiatric facility where she was a patient, as she handed me a thick, leather-bound book, the words “Holy Bible” glistening in gold on its cover.

“Catchy title,” I remember responding, one of my usual flippant answers when my youngest sister was off her meds and crazy came calling.

The baby of our family, two years my junior, was diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia at the age of 24. And so, in a weird deja vu that I wish on no one, a dozen years after having watched my own Papa sign Mamma’s commitment papers, I watched my own hand, as if not belonging to me, sign my own name, taking the lead role this time in locking my younger sister away.

For reasons I still don’t understand, my sister’s repeated going off her meds and descending into madness always seemed to happen just in time for the holidays. More often than not, in January, we would be dealing with her in some facility or just having been released from some facility.

Oddly enough, what I wouldn’t give to have that be the case today. But it stopped on January 17, 2014. Because she stopped, or her heart did. That big heart that always fought for the underdog and loved without judgement and never could be filled with whatever she needed to be at peace, because what she sought could never come from the outside.

I had taken those calls countless times. “Your sister’s fallen out of bed.” “Viny’s been in a fight.” “Viny had to be taken by ambulance to get her meds checked.” It made my life hell. And at the same time, it gave me some bizarre sense of purpose. The last call I took was one I expected to end the same way, with the nurse and I agreeing to some tried and true course of action: upping her meds, bribing with incentives to take her meds, threatening to take away privileges if she didn’t take her meds… Only this last call offered no course of action.

I miss my little sister. More than I ever would have imagined. And I delude myself into hoping that the girl whose dream it was was to be a rock star is now up in heaven jamming with David Bowie.

Screw “rest in peace” – hope you’re “rockin’ it out” Vincenzina – the Vinster – Milana. What a huge hole you have left for those you’ve left behind.

New Year’s Resolutions? How about “Revelations”?

January 10, 2016 By Paolina Milana Leave a Comment

A lot has happened to me in my 50-years on this planet. I’m certain that could be said of every other individual who shares the same air I breathe. The “a lot” that has happened has been both positive and, well, maybe not so positive. Births. Deaths. Celebrations. Rejections. Again, I know I’m not alone. Plain and simple, it’s all a part of life. Like an etch-a-sketch, sometimes you’re up, sometimes you’re down, sometimes you’re status quo or flatline (depending on your perspective).

Today, I put together my annual vision board. What is it, you ask…? According to Make A Vision Board, “a vision board is a tool used to help clarify, concentrate and maintain focus on a specific life goal. Literally, a vision board is any sort of board on which you display images that represent whatever you want to be, do or have in your life.” Here’s mine for this year…

It has dawned on me, today, while working on this, that for years, my vision boards have been quite similar in dreams and desires. And slowly, in baby step fashion, much of what I’ve envisioned for myself has, indeed, come into existence for me. But it’s not until this very moment that I have realized that for way too long, I’ve been telling myself a story that needs to change in order to bring about what I really believe I was meant to do. [Read more…]

Being Still amidst the Hustle and Bustle

December 26, 2015 By Paolina Milana Leave a Comment

I don’t think there’s a more schizophrenic time of year than Christmas. The “hustle and bustle” of the season both energizes and exhausts us. “Peace on Earth” is what we wish for, despite what has become of late a season of terrorized gatherings worldwide. It’s the “Most Wonderful Time of Year” according to Andy Williams’ 1963 carol, “…with the kids jingle belling, and everyone telling you ‘be of good cheer’…only truth be told, it’s not for many of us. The holiday season can even cause those of us who are usually content to experience loneliness, a lack of fulfillment, and depression.

I, myself, have been in a funk since before Thanksgiving rolled around. And not until Christmas Eve when we took a drive to see some local houses all decked out in holiday lights did I even remotely begin to feel as if I wasn’t related to that cave-dwelling green monster with a heart “two sizes too small.” The Grinch in me had clearly forgotten what the spirit of the season really meant, and I had completely dismissed the actual reason for the season, too. [Read more…]

When Giving Thanks Isn’t Enough

November 26, 2015 By Paolina Milana Leave a Comment

Gratitude; giving thanks; counting our blessings: sometimes it comes with ease and sometimes not so much. This year for me, it’s the latter.

Oh, sure, I know I have so much for which to be grateful, the list including:

a great guy who is always there for me (not to mention my in-laws that luckily came as part of the package);
my two cats who follow and cuddle and fetch better than their canine counterparts;
my Blueberry Hill Cottage that stills my soul;
my memories of our recent “trip of a lifetime” to Africa;
a day job with so much purpose and promise;
great friends, the kind that even if we haven’t chatted in a long while, we pick up as if no time whatsoever has passed;
and so much more…

For all of it, I do, indeed, give thanks.

And, yet, I struggle to understand why I am feeling so lacking (for lack of a better word). [Read more…]