I WISH — Disability, Dignity and the Right to Be Seen

I WISH — See the Person, Not Just the Diagnosis

A diagnosis tells part of a person’s story. It never tells the whole story.

I WISH is an English-language audiovisual work by Italian author and social communicator Sara Cicolani. Through the narrative perspective of Joy, a toy poodle who shared the everyday life of Sara and her husband Alfredo Valentini, it addresses dignity, accessibility, personal autonomy and the right of people with disabilities to be recognized as whole individuals.

Alfredo was a dentist, a writer, a husband and a man who loved sailing, music and life. A progressive neurological condition profoundly changed his physical abilities, but not his identity or his right to express preferences, make decisions and participate in the world around him.

The Film

I WISH — English-language film. Full transcript available below.

The full English transcript is available below as an additional, permanent accessibility resource. Caption timing is being checked separately against the narration.

Why Accessibility Is a Right

Four steps may seem insignificant to some people. For someone who uses a wheelchair, they may mean being unable to leave home. In an emergency, the same steps may also become a safety barrier. Accessibility is not an optional courtesy: it is a condition of freedom, safety and participation.

The project asks us not to overlook disability, but to see the whole person, disability included. Needing assistance does not take away anyone’s right to decide, to love, to work, to create or to be heard.

Part of a Long-Standing Commitment

Sara’s work in social and community settings began well before the public storytelling project. She reports working with cooperatives from 1999, joining Alfredo in disability-related work following his diagnosis in 2009, and sharing their experiences publicly through social media from 2015. Her work now spans books, music, theatre, video and public communication. These milestones will be supported by dated documentation in her professional biography.

Following Alfredo’s death in 2022, Sara continued this work, using personal testimony and creative expression to challenge stigma, invisibility and inaccessible environments. In 2025 she was appointed a Knight of the Order of Merit of the Italian Republic.

More Information

Read the original Italian IO VORREI project page and visit Sara Cicolani’s professional profile.

The video is available above, and the complete written narration can be read below.

Full English Transcript

To make I WISH accessible to a wider audience, the complete narration is also available in written form below. This transcript provides an alternative way to experience the story, whether you prefer reading, use assistive technologies, or wish to explore its message at your own pace.

My Papi’s name was Alfredo. He loved the sea, sailing, music, and his friends. And more than anything, he was madly in love with my Mami, Sara. Then a rare neurological disease changed his body. But it never changed who he was. Oh, by the way, I’m Joy. When I first arrived, I was so tiny I could almost fit in the palm of your hand. And to me, Alfredo was simply Alfredo. Of course, I saw his wheelchair. I saw the equipment and all the things he could no longer do on his own. But I saw everything else, too. His smile. His sense of humor. His will to live. The way he looked at Mami. I stole his glasses, pulled off his socks, and pulled his blankets up around him. During his respiratory therapy, I stayed right beside him. I’d even learned the rhythm of his breathing. Alfredo didn’t want his illness making every decision about his life. If something couldn’t be done one way, he and Mami would find another. One day, he said he wished he could feel snow again. He couldn’t leave the house. So we brought the snow to him. From our little balcony with its green railing, or from his yellow armchair, Alfredo would dictate his words to Mami. And those words became songs. And we began sharing our life with the world. The laughter. The friends. The hard days. The beautiful ones. A life. But sometimes, all it took was four steps to change everything. Four steps that might mean nothing to most people. For Alfredo, they could mean not being able to leave his own home. And when a fire broke out, we learned that a barrier isn’t just an inconvenience. Sometimes, it can stand between you and safety. Alfredo didn’t want pity. He wanted to live. And so, there is something I wish for. I wish for a world where four steps are just four steps. Not a barrier between a person and the world. I wish for a world where people see the person before they see the wheelchair. I wish for a world where no one has to beg for what is already their right. I wish for a world where a diagnosis is only part of someone’s story. Never the whole story. Because Alfredo was never just his diagnosis. He was a husband. A dentist. A friend. A man who loved the sea, music, and laughter. A man who still wanted to live. And then, the yellow armchair was empty. But his words remained. His songs remained. And Mami and I kept telling our story. Because there is one more thing I wish for. I wish for a world where no one has to become a superhero just to live their life. To leave home. To make their own choices. To love. To participate. These are not superpowers. These are human rights. I knew Alfredo. He was my Papi. And I miss him.