I was a small child when my grandfather, Nonno Peppe, proudly showed me the land he owned. From the humble house in the countryside, set on top of a hill, it was possible to see, at a glance, the acres he had been buying – or, better said, “conquering” – over the years.

He was obsessed with the idea of expanding his land. Yet those lands had very little economic value. They were steep and rocky, generally impossible to cultivate, and dry – painfully dry.

He felt pride walking across them on foot – the only possible way to reach them – alongside his animals, the sheep. The same sheep that produced the milk he used to make the cheese we call tuma.

Although I never asked him, I am quite sure that what he felt for his land was not ownership, but belonging – not that the land belonged to him, but that he belonged to the land. It was an extension of himself, the place where his origins resided. The more land he owned, the deeper his roots became.

The same strong sense of belonging is what I feel towards Sicily.

From my family, I have inherited this deep connection to the island; to its land, its people, and my own origins. Being born and raised abroad, Sicilian identity has always coexisted within me alongside a more global perspective, allowing me to look at my homeland both from within and from a distance.

I see its light and its shadows – its contradictions and ambiguities – but also the extraordinary beauty of its landscape and, above all, the people who live and work with a deep sense of responsibility towards their land.

Emotional Sicily grows from this way of seeing, and from the people who carry it forward.

Manila Di Maira