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- Элизабет Гилберт
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- Ешь, молись, люби
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I
’
m
here
.
I
love
you
.
I
don
’
t
care
if
you
need
to
stay
up
crying
all
night
long
,
I
will
stay
with
you
.
If
you
need
the
medication
again
,
go
ahead
and
take
it
-
I
will
love
you
through
that
,
as
well
.
If
you
don
’
t
need
the
medication
,
I
will
love
you
,
too
.
There
’
s
nothing
you
can
ever
do
to
lose
my
love
.
I
will
protect
you
until
you
die
,
and
after
your
death
I
will
still
protect
you
.
I
am
stronger
than
Depression
and
I
am
braver
than
Loneliness
and
nothing
will
ever
exhaust
me
.
Tonight
,
this
strange
interior
gesture
of
friendship
-
the
lending
of
a
hand
from
me
to
myself
when
nobody
else
is
around
to
offer
solace
-
reminds
me
of
something
that
happened
to
me
once
in
New
York
City
.
I
walked
into
an
office
building
one
afternoon
in
hurry
,
dashed
into
the
waiting
elevator
.
As
I
rushed
in
,
I
caught
an
unexpected
glimpse
of
myself
in
a
security
mirror
’
s
reflection
In
that
moment
my
brain
did
an
odd
thing
-
it
fired
off
this
split
-
second
message
:
"
Hey
!
You
know
her
!
That
’
s
a
friend
of
yours
!
"
And
I
actually
ran
forward
toward
my
own
reflection
with
a
smile
,
ready
to
welcome
that
girl
whose
name
I
had
lost
but
whose
face
was
so
familiar
.
In
a
flash
instant
,
of
course
,
I
realized
my
mistake
and
laughed
in
embarrassment
at
my
almost
doglike
confusion
over
how
a
mirror
works
.
But
for
some
reason
that
incident
comes
to
mind
again
tonight
during
my
sadness
in
Rome
,
and
I
find
myself
writing
this
comforting
reminder
at
the
bottom
of
the
page
:
Never
forget
that
once
upon
a
time
,
in
an
unguarded
moment
,
you
recognized
yourself
as
a
friend
.
I
fall
asleep
holding
my
notebook
pressed
against
my
chest
,
open
to
this
most
recent
assurance
.
In
the
morning
when
I
wake
up
,
I
can
still
smell
a
faint
trace
of
Depression
’
s
lingering
smoke
,
but
he
himself
is
nowhere
to
be
seen
.
Somewhere
during
the
night
,
he
got
up
and
left
.
And
his
buddy
Loneliness
beat
it
,
too
.
Here
’
s
what
’
s
strange
,
though
.
I
haven
’
t
seemed
to
be
able
to
do
any
Yoga
since
getting
to
Rome
.
For
years
I
’
ve
had
a
steady
and
serious
practice
,
and
I
even
brought
my
Yoga
mat
with
me
,
along
with
my
best
intentions
.
But
it
just
isn
’
t
happening
here
.
I
mean
,
when
am
I
going
to
do
my
Yoga
stretches
?
Before
my
Italian
speedball
breakfast
of
chocolate
pastries
and
double
cappuccino
?
Or
after
?
The
first
few
days
I
was
here
,
I
would
gamely
roll
out
my
Yoga
mat
every
morning
,
but
found
I
could
only
look
at
it
and
laugh
.
Once
I
even
said
aloud
to
myself
,
in
the
character
of
the
Yoga
mat
:
"
OK
,
little
Miss
Penne
ai
Quattro
Formaggi
…
let
’
s
see
what
you
got
today
.
"
Abashed
,
I
stashed
the
Yoga
mat
away
in
the
bottom
of
my
suitcase
(
never
to
be
unrolled
again
,
it
would
turn
out
,
until
India
)
.
Then
I
went
for
a
walk
and
ate
some
pistachio
gelato
.
Which
Italians
consider
a
perfectly
reasonable
thing
to
be
eating
at
9
:
30
AM
,
and
I
frankly
could
not
agree
with
them
more
.
The
culture
of
Rome
just
doesn
’
t
match
the
culture
of
Yoga
,
not
as
far
as
I
can
see
.
In
fact
,
I
’
ve
decided
that
Rome
and
Yoga
don
’
t
have
anything
in
common
at
all
.
Except
for
the
way
they
both
kind
of
remind
you
of
the
word
toga
.
I
needed
to
make
some
friends
.
So
I
got
busy
with
it
,
and
now
it
is
October
and
I
have
a
nice
assortment
of
them
.
I
know
two
Elizabeths
in
Rome
now
,
besides
myself
.
Both
are
American
,
both
are
writers
.
The
first
Elizabeth
is
a
novelist
and
the
second
Elizabeth
is
a
food
writer
.
With
an
apartment
in
Rome
,
a
house
in
Umbria
,
an
Italian
husband
and
a
job
that
requires
her
to
travel
around
Italy
eating
food
and
writing
about
it
for
Gourmet
,
it
appears
that
the
second
Elizabeth
must
have
saved
a
lot
of
orphans
from
drowning
during
a
previous
lifetime
.
Unsurprisingly
,
she
knows
all
the
best
places
to
eat
in
Rome
,
including
a
gelateria
that
serves
a
frozen
rice
pudding
(
and
if
they
don
’
t
serve
this
kind
of
thing
in
heaven
,
then
I
really
don
’
t
want
to
go
there
)
.
She
took
me
out
to
lunch
the
other
day
,
and
what
we
ate
included
not
only
lamb
and
truffles
and
carpaccio
rolled
around
hazelnut
mousse
but
an
exotic
little
serving
of
pickled
lampascione
,
which
is
-
as
everyone
knows
-
the
bulb
of
the
wild
hyacinth
.
Of
course
,
by
now
I
’
ve
also
made
friends
with
Giovanni
and
Dario
,
my
Tandem
Language
Exchange
fantasy
twins
.
Giovanni
’
s
sweetness
,
in
my
opinion
,
makes
him
a
national
treasure
of
Italy
.
He
endeared
himself
to
me
forever
the
first
night
we
met
,
when
I
was
getting
frustrated
with
my
inability
to
find
the
words
I
wanted
in
Italian
,
and
he
put
his
hand
on
my
arm
and
said
,
"
Liz
,
you
must
be
very
polite
with
yourself
when
you
are
learning
something
new
.
"
Sometimes
I
feel
like
he
’
s
older
than
me
,
what
with
his
solemn
brow
and
his
philosophy
degree
and
his
serious
political
opinions
.
I
like
to
try
to
make
him
laugh
,
but
Giovanni
doesn
’
t
always
get
my
jokes
.
Humor
is
hard
to
catch
in
a
second
language
.
Especially
when
you
’
re
as
serious
a
young
man
as
Giovanni
.
He
said
to
me
the
other
night
,
"
When
you
are
ironic
,
I
am
always
behind
you
.
I
am
slower
.
It
is
like
you
are
the
lightning
and
I
am
the
thunder
.
"
