Becoming Alice, how difficult it is in Italy to have documents with the name you deserve

Last Saturday was a Saturday night like many others. I had gone out with my friends, and we had entered our favorite poker shop. We used to go there often, but this time I hadn’t been there for a while. Since the employees knew me, I was not surprised that they greeted me with particular warmth: “Hey, Alice, hello!” the girl at the counter said to me. Then, while I was composing pokes together with my best friend, she added: «Last time you forgot your documents here! But don’t worry, we have your wallet!».

At first I had to laugh: «I didn’t even notice it!», I replied, amused. But the following moment I realized that, if they had my documents, they might have read my name too: and then I felt like I was dying.

To have the documents with the name you deservein Italy, is an ordeal of permits and courts, and a thousand people have to put their beaks into your discomfort, your pain, your hopes of being able to live a life like everyone else’s. And now they knew that I, at least by age, was not Alice. My mind was spinning thoughts: I was already imagining the double meanings, the little phrases, the allusions, and having to change poker, since it had taken me so long to find a really good one. At that moment I think I turned red like a star about to explode. In an instant the cheer of a Saturday night was shattered. My life itself seemed ruined forever by that trivial oversightfrom the absurdity of not being able to have my real name on the documents.

But, at that point, I had a brilliant idea: «Thanks, it was my brother’s wallet, who knows how angry he would be if I lost it», I said aloud, with a naturalness that almost convinced me too: «Did you know that I have a twin brother? We’re the same, right?” «Identical…», the girl replied, «I didn’t know…», and I don’t know why but she seemed to me that she sagged a little. Even her colleague seemed dumbfounded.

Perhaps they thought they had come into possession of a precious secret, and would embarrass me. Perhaps their welcome hadn’t been as kind as I’d thought, and I’d narrowly escaped a cruel teasing. But I like to think that my name didn’t matter to them, and that they just liked me for who I am.

In any case, when I’ve finished the process to conquer my true identity, I really think that one of the first things I’ll do is forget the documents in my favorite poker room…

Alice is the author of the book An Alice like another, Giunti Editore