I take care of myself and take antioxidating supplements

Host: The villa overlooked the Mediterranean — a stretch of blue water shimmering beneath the late afternoon sun, the horizon blurring where the sea met the sky. The balcony doors were open, letting in the sound of waves colliding softly against the rocks below. The faint scent of olive oil, citrus, and basil drifted through the air — life distilled into sensory elegance.

Host: Inside, Jack lounged in a wicker chair, his shirt unbuttoned, his eyes half-closed behind a pair of sunglasses that caught the gold of the sun. Across from him, Jeeny sat barefoot on the tiled floor, a glass of white wine in her hand, her hair undone by the breeze. Between them, resting on a small marble table, lay a glossy Italian magazine opened to a quote printed beside a photograph of the timeless Ornella Muti — laughing, radiant, effortlessly human:

“I take care of myself and take antioxidating supplements suggested by my best friend and first fan — he takes care of my Internet presence — Doctor Mario Rosario Porzio. I eat well — in fact, very well.”

Host: The words, like her image, exuded warmth and ease — not vanity, but vitality.

Jack: “You know,” he said, his voice slow, thoughtful, “there’s something disarming about that. It’s not a statement about beauty. It’s about friendship — trust — even gratitude.”

Jeeny: “Exactly,” she said. “People always read quotes like that and think glamour. But to me, it’s gentleness. She’s talking about care — not as luxury, but as connection.”

Jack: “Care,” he echoed. “That’s a rare word now. We use it to sell things, not to mean things.”

Jeeny: “But Ornella means it,” she said, smiling faintly. “You can hear it between the lines. ‘My best friend and first fan.’ There’s humility in that. She’s saying, ‘I’m not self-made — I’m supported.’”

Host: The sunlight shifted, gliding across the tiled floor like a slow golden tide.

Jack: “It’s interesting,” he said, “how she ties physical care — eating well, taking supplements — to emotional care. Her friend isn’t just her doctor; he’s her confidant. It’s a holistic kind of health.”

Jeeny: “That’s very Italian of her,” she said, with a teasing grin. “To see life as one whole thing — food, friendship, laughter, beauty — all woven together. They don’t separate the body from the soul there. They nourish both.”

Jack: “Maybe that’s why she still glows like that,” he said. “Because she’s not chasing youth. She’s savoring life.”

Jeeny: “And that,” she said, “is real wellness — not the kind you post online, but the kind that happens quietly, between good meals and better company.”

Host: The waves outside crashed a little louder, as if punctuating her words. The air smelled of salt and lemon. The world, in that moment, felt suspended — as though nothing beyond nourishment and conversation existed.

Jack: “You think people today have forgotten how to take care of themselves?”

Jeeny: “No,” she said softly. “They’ve forgotten what that means. We mistake maintenance for care. We work out, take vitamins, buy serums — but we don’t feed the parts of us that hunger for connection.”

Jack: “And Ornella does.”

Jeeny: “Yes,” she said. “She talks about her friend with as much affection as her food. She’s reminding us that care isn’t selfish. It’s relational.”

Host: Jack leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You know,” he said, “we live in an age obsessed with optimization — productivity, biohacking, mindfulness apps. But her words feel... old-fashioned. In the best way. A return to the sensual. To the embodied.”

Jeeny: “Because she understands something modern wellness doesn’t,” she said. “That health isn’t about control. It’s about pleasure. To eat well. To be well. To let yourself be loved.”

Jack: “You make it sound almost spiritual.”

Jeeny: “It is,” she said simply. “A body that’s cared for by kindness — not fear — becomes luminous. You can see it in her. She’s not fighting time; she’s dancing with it.”

Host: The sunlight caught the rim of her glass as she lifted it, the wine glowing gold like liquid afternoon.

Jack: “So maybe beauty,” he said, “isn’t something you preserve. It’s something you feed.”

Jeeny: “Yes,” she said. “And not just with food. With laughter. With trust. With the small, good rituals of being alive.”

Host: The wind swept through the open balcony doors, carrying the sound of distant church bells and the smell of rosemary from the garden below.

Jack: “It’s funny,” he said, “how her quote sounds simple, almost casual — but underneath it’s a philosophy. A rejection of the frantic.”

Jeeny: “That’s why it’s powerful,” she said. “It’s not trying to impress you. It’s content in its own rhythm. Just like her.”

Host: A silence settled between them — comfortable, rich with unspoken agreement. The kind of silence shared by people who understand that living well is not about grandeur, but grace.

Jack: “You think we could live like that?” he asked, quietly. “Without rushing, without proving — just... being well?”

Jeeny: “Maybe not every day,” she said with a smile. “But we can try. One meal, one moment, one friendship at a time.”

Host: The camera pulled back slowly — the open balcony, the blue horizon, the two of them framed in the glow of sunset. The room felt timeless — like a photograph of serenity in motion.

Host: On the marble table, Ornella Muti’s words shimmered softly in the fading light, elegant and unpretentious:

“I take care of myself and take antioxidating supplements suggested by my best friend and first fan — he takes care of my Internet presence — Doctor Mario Rosario Porzio. I eat well — in fact, very well.”

Host: And as the sea breeze swept through, carrying the last warmth of the day, her philosophy became visible — not written, but lived.

Host: Because care, real care, isn’t a regimen — it’s a relationship. And those who nourish life with friendship, gratitude, and good food never age; they simply ripen.