An Open Letter To My Heroes

Dear Heroes of mine,

Amid my blissful ignorance, I used to believe you were able to fly.

I grew up thinking you could move objects with the power of your mind. I was sure you could throw spiderwebs and, why not, even energy balls around. I even thought you could predict the future.

I thought that Heroes had to wear unique costumes to be considered such. I believed they would come with tight boots and, above all, thick masks to protect their real identities from the preying eyes of a world that always wants more.

You see, ours is a world that wants to fight for the truth, yet it is often too blind to reality.

I had always taken the hero concept for granted, mainly because we all get used to continuously meeting heroes in books and movies. Our human nature tends to make us neglect the well-known reality in favor of an exciting series of spectacular fantasies.

Hollywood's flashy lights mercilessly mislead us, while every day's "normal" life often shines of a far too dull light to catch our attention.

The year is 2020.

And 2020 part 1.

And 2020 part 2.

And so on.

The theaters are shut. The lights are off.

Performers are confined in a Zoom call.

The public hangs on the despicable speed of an unreliable internet connection.

Nonetheless, books are still being printed.

Stories are still being told.

Writers create other worlds to rejoice in the illusion of escaping the harshness of the real world.

Meanwhile, the Heroes are willing to sacrifice it all to keep the "authentic" world and its people together.

At first, the country that I come from –a stunning boot-shaped land across the ocean– fails to acknowledge the looming danger of an invisible villain.

We are talking about a bitter and resilient enemy presenting itself in the form of a sick crown.

Some people ignore it; others let the panic in.

Some try to escape it; others brace themselves to face it.

Some people are greedy and selfish; others find themselves being incredibly selfless instead.

Some people blame governments, countries, and even Gods of all kinds.

Some people find themselves isolated; others look for the suddenly lost sense of community.

Either way or another, everyone is looking for direction and probably meaning.

Throughout this madness, I can see you, my Heroes.

Now, I see it clearly: you fly from one patient to the other; without caring much for being exposed to the unknown danger.

After all, to your noble eyes, what does your life mean if you can't gamble it to save someone else's? Isn't this what being a Hero should all be about?

Perhaps you cannot move objects with the power of your mind. Still, you do use that powerful mind of yours to do something even better. You protect life, often sacrificing your own mental and physical well-being.

You don't throw spiderwebs or energy balls around. You throw lifelines instead. With your kindness and resilience, you manage to bring hope to the hopeless ones.

You give a voice to the ones who have lost theirs while trying to catch their breath, just right before it fades away in a dance of horrific sounds.

You actually can predict the dark future because you have already seen it unfolding under your tireless eyes. You saw it as you do it all to prevent it from becoming our absolute reality.

You wear a costume to shield yourself from evil, and, one too many times, it has not been enough. You try to protect everyone else while not everyone else has worked to protect you. But you don't care, not in the moment.

Because there is always someone else's life at stake. Someone new. Someone who could be your grandfather. Your mother. Your daughter. And, sometimes, they are.

Every day you see unhuman things in front of you, yet you manage to remain the most human possible in the face of fear and disruption. You have tried to bring order and direction in a world filled with sudden chaos and dreadful mayhem.

You have a name. Many of those.

More specifically, I wish to address this letter to you, Alessia.

I know that your resilience, courage, and kindness are perfect examples representing the millions of other Heroes, also known as Healthcare Workers –like yourself– worldwide.

Alessia is Italian for Alexis. It's a name of Greek origins, and it means "helper" or, better yet, "the one who defends, who protects." I find it appropriate, to say the least.

Do you even remember how it all started? Or did the surreal routine erase the concept of time?

We were all excited for the new decade, and we were losing ourselves in the laughter for simple things part of a simpler life.

It is February 2020, and the hottest topic in Italy is the San Remo Music Festival. The biggest and oldest Italian artistic contest, for a whole week, captures the country's eyes and utmost attention. It has been doing it for about seventy years, and 2020 is no different.

The contest turns into gossip when two contestants forming a team suddenly split on live TV. The unexpected and kind of dramatic separation becomes the talk of the week. To be honest, this episode is just a tiny part of a more giant carnival.

The laughter and the weirdness. The controversy and the talent. The show, and the art.

After all, we were happy. Weren't we?

See, Alessia, I asked myself why you do what you do for a long time. How can you and millions of others jump on the frontline and still have the brightest smile, even when covered by a mask?

It's a job, I get it.

It's a vocation; I understand it.

It's the right thing to do, and it couldn't be truer than that.

Still, it takes guts.

It takes dedication.

It takes vision.

It takes having a heart that can listen to souls and speak to other humans.

For over two years now, we have all sacrificed something.

We have made sacrifices to turn the suffocating reality into something lighter.

We have made sacrifices to survive, and we have made sacrifices to re-invent ourselves and our lives as we have been forced to face something without precedents.

Some of us have lost a little; others have lost everything.

In this uncertain and unstable picture, what did you lose, Alessia?

You have lost a couple of birthdays.

You have missed out on the birth of your little niece.

You haven't even met most of your family for over two years, despite living no further than fifteen minutes apart.

Your world has become so tiny yet so diverse.

You meet all different kinds of people in the same small place. Most of them are looking for the same essential thing: oxygen, and hope, through the precious silver line of life.

Every day you spend a couple of hours dressing up to do your best to protect yourself against a virus that you see more often than you meet loved ones.

The protective gear as a whole is so heavy and so tight; you can't even go to the restroom during your shift as long as you wear that damn thing.

You sacrifice love.

You sacrifice time.

You sacrifice part of the present and part of the unknown future.

Essentially, you sacrifice your life, and you do it without even considering it a sacrifice in the first place.

You do it to give more love to who cannot get it now.

You do it to give more time to people who are running out of it.

You do it to restore hope in people's present, by giving your all so that they can have a future.

Essentially, you vow to protect and celebrate life from the moment that you put your gear on.

Like many, I have met the virus, too, Alessia.

Luckily, this invisible villain hasn't forced its shameful hand too much with me so far.

I was lucky enough not to need the help of people like you to get better. Yet, knowing that people like you exist has made it all better.

A letter is not enough to talk about your greatness.

Just like a "round of applause" is not enough to tell you how grateful we all are for your sacrifices.

And I am sure that you know it.

I started this letter as a tribute to you and all the other Healthcare Workers worldwide. And I wish to end it by calling it another fitting way: a document, a historical one.

See, Alessia, you know what you are living with.

And so do I.

But in five, ten, or hopefully even less, years from now, some people might have forgotten.

To be fully honest, I hope we will soon forget what it feels like to go out and feel naked without wearing a facemask.

However, going back to normal shouldn't make us forget what and who kept us together during the most challenging time we can remember.

Therefore, this is for you, Alessia.

This is for all of you, from all of us.

This is for all the people who have reminded us of the intrinsic beauty of every human being. And the timeless beauty of life.

To better days,

And hopeful nights.

Thank you.