Today is the day.

Today is July 30th.

Today is the day several months revolved around: the day I would leave Italy again.

I've blogged a lot about my life decisions, revelations, and changes here, so I figured why not add a few more? And so the story begins:

My Fulbright year could be defined in many ways, but as I reflected the most fitting word is "challenge," be it referring to both the stand taller with a puffed chest type and the "am-I-ever-going-to-get-through-this?" moments. There was challenge everywhere. Challenge in my work. Challenge in my personal life. Challenge in my path to know myself. Challenge in living on another continent. I realized, maybe later than some or just in a different way, that growing up is hard. There are lots of things to do, many more than could ever be done in one lifetime, and so with that comes priorities and hard life choices. And that became my biggest challenge.

Among the series of challenges I fell into or created for myself, I started to doubt the plans I had set. Who knows why, but it was like a slow developing bacteria. A serious talk with a friend, a family member, or an acquaintance now and then grew in number and emotion. Soon attacks came more frequently and were stronger. My resolve strengthened and imploded on itself so often that I started to doubt my whole person and that, above all, made me unhappy. The only thing I could gather was that something had to change. So I took off the cruise control and pulled off the road to look at the map. My route had to change.

So then in May I emailed the professor at Western Washington University and informed her that I would no longer be attending the Experimental Psychology program. It was one of the hardest decisions I've made to date because it meant saying goodbye to something I still found interest in, but just wasn't a priority. The fear of making the "wrong" decision filled me with anxiety because WWU was an atmosphere and a setting that I wanted, that I had worked towards. Alas, I had found in my reflection more of a desire to add to community planning or policy change than I did to grow within an academic environment. Some work here in Florence with a conference called Diversi. E Allora? (Different. So what?) really enlightened that area inside my consciousness.

After that, I realized that I had to get to work. I have student loans to pay, after all. Which brings us to another more humiliating thing to admit: after all of this time, my project still isn't done. I got lost in theory. I made my life harder. I stumbled over my ideas and got discouraged instead of cleaning them up. I wanted so much and then didn't know how to ask for help. I could skip out of town or buckle down and make things work. In reflection I realized how much I had learned reading and not, interviewing and not, writing and not. This time with some real help from Gabriele--the person who knows best how to give it to me straight... in the nicest way possible, I recognized how much of a shame to my experience and a general disappointment to myself it would be to not complete a project. Plus I would feel so much better citing things I had learned from a finished product at job interviews.

And so today is the day I didn't leave Italy again. At least for now.

If there is a purgatory, this is it.

Today I went to the post office. I've talked a lot about the post office because it's a place no one really visits while being here for a short period of time, and, well, they are really Italian. At my particular branch you enter and take a number from one of three sections (finances, where you pay bills among other things signified with the letter "A"; banking, because the Italian post office also has a bank system, which have the letter "F"; and sending, for, you know, doing normal post office things, which is accompanied by the letter "P"). When I usually go, it's always a toss up what I'm going to find, but I'm usually pretty sure it's going to be a wait. If I'm both lucky and go at really unpopular times like early during lunch time or Friday evening, I usually only have to wait for 15 minutes. Tops I've been there for 45+ minutes before being called. Trips usually lean more towards the side of eternity than not. Usually I bring a book or my journal. Often I tweet. Anything to pass the time.

Today I went around 6pm. I'd never been there at that hour and thought I'd pass by. If there were too many people, I figured I'd head there tomorrow. I scan the room and find about 5 people waiting. I go to take a number. Of course there was a choice to make. Do I take an A for the bill I had to pay, or a P for the letter I had to send? Most times I take both, but I started with A244 and found that on the list of numbers recently called my number there was A243 making mine next up. I sat myself down without getting a second number. At least the place is one of the few here that has good air conditioning. People, it's hot here.

Anyway, the time stamp on my ticket was 17:55/5:55. Around 18:15/6:15 some girl jumps toward an open counter to ask if any A's will be called. P134. P135. P136. The woman sitting next to me had P137. She came in at 17:52/5:52. Apparently in this office they mostly pull numbers by order of arrival, but that's not always the case. Certain counters have certain functions. They can do it all, but they don't. Then there are people who jump the line. Why? Because they have something "urgent" or they just have a "quick question" that turns into being helped. After all, we are still in Italy.

So finally at 18:23/6:23 my number is called. Everyone with an A number behind me is saying "Finally, we're moving." I offer my bill to pay and ask if I can also get a stamp. She said of course. I take out my cash and she asks me if I'm paying my 75 euro water bill in cash or using a bank card. I tried once using the bank card, but apparently they discriminate about that, too. I didn't have this tiny design on the back so I had to withdraw from the ATM outside. "Cash," I reply.

In the meantime, a man walks up and asks if he can have the bag. "All of it?" she whispers. "Yes, I'll take all of it." He isn't an official. I don't know who he is. The woman goes in the back room, comes back with a medium sized shopping bag from a retail store. They start talking about lawyers and contracts. I white noise them because I don't want to be privy to any information I shouldn't be. Six minutes pass in this hushed conversation. The man walks away.

The woman returns to my aid, printing out the postage for the letter. I wrote down the address exactly as my friend had given it to me. Apparently I missed something he didn't write.

The woman asked me, "This is going to Holland, right?"
"No," I said quietly, trying not to avert the other clients, "it's going to Afghanistan."
"What?"
I clear my voice and raise it half a decibel. "This letter is for a soldier in Afghanistan."
"But the state isn't written!" she exclaims.
"Va bene. Okay. I can write it. Or I can just take it back and ask him again. Either way."

Maybe she didn't hear that last part. I'm not sure what happened, but the next thing I know this woman he got up and went to the two other women with clients and is "asking" what she should do. But really this asking is more like complaining. And she's doing it very loudly. I can feel everyone's eyes on me. Especially the other A's. My cheeks get hot. Despite the cool atmosphere, sweat starts to appear on my hands. A real Italian would have turned to someone nearby and pleaded their case. I can't even turn around to face the A's. I purposely don't pay attention to the words they are saying, a skill I now realize that I have clearly perfected. I hate that Italians seek to publicly shame, but it's part of their way. Especially postal workers. I think it's a job requirement.

After another two minutes in which her colleagues scream their advice and commiserate with her about just how impossible it is to send a letter without a state, she explains to me that this letter cannot, in fact, be sent if the state to which it is being sent is not known.

"But I know where it's going. It's going to Afghanistan."
"Oh." She pauses. "And this address in the corner of the letter is yours?" she says while pointing to the address of the street around the corner, followed by "Firenze, Italia."
"Sì." I say. "That is me."
"Ah, well, we didn't understand each other."

Yeah, something like that...

A Masterpiece.

In my search of integration, I have gotten obsessed with learning about the kitschiest parts of Italian culture and recently I was introduced to some of the very best of the worst best that I just had to share it with y'all.


I decided this post needed to be written while Lindsey and Chris were visiting from Pescara. We went to a restaurant and I heard what is possibly one of my favortie Italian songs of all time: Insieme by Mina. In all honesty, months ago I wouldn't say that Mina belonged in this category. She is a wonderful artist with an amazing voice. And I'm such a fan of the lyrics on top of it all. My German friend Linda gave me some of her music and I went through periods where I would play it non-stop. Her hit Parole, Parole, Parole will really get stuck in my head sometimes, but in the good way. While talking over these songs with Gabriele, he finally showed me some of her performances on YouTube. I can't believe I had never thought to watch her before. I'd say she certainly knows how to work a camera. But the strangest part is that at some point she decided not to make any more appearances on television after a huge success there. What a character! I consider her along the Barbra Streisand persuasion, maybe because they are contemporaries with strong pipes.


Gabriele caught on to my enthusiasm for early 70s Italian music and reintroduced me to Raffaella Carrà. I had first heard one of her songs a few months back at a private concert by Pilar, which ended in a wonderfully amusing scene between the sweet voiced Pilar and the host of the concert dancing. The dance happened because the song she sang is called Tuca Tuca and is accompanied with a dance I'd consider a more intimate version of the macarena. Gabriele explained that this song was often played at school dances when he was in middle school (which just made me giggle a lot). Turns out Raffaella is a gay international symbol a la Madonna as a dancer with catchy songs that are popular not only in Italy but also Spain, Brazil, Greece, Russia, and elsewhere. She was also in trouble back in the day with the Vatican because she was the first womanin Italy to ever show her belly button on television! Che scandolo! Anyway, after hours of more clips, I knew I wanted to share a bit with you, but this video sealed the deal. Ladies and Gentlemen: Raffaella on the tour of Italy in Tanti Auguri. A masterpiece.

Say "duty" five times fast.

I have far too many things to write about that are greater adventures, but I wanted to tell a fun little story here for two reasons: 1. To remember it myself; 2. To give you all a chance into my daily life.

The theme of this story centers around the blunders one learns while learning to speak Italian.

As most of you know, today is election day in North Carolina for some primaries and a really big issue known as Amendment 1. Because I feel strongly about this issue and am even more aware of my citizenship while living abroad, I made sure to do my civil duty and get my absentee ballot. Not having a printer, I've had to visit the cartoleria, or paper shop, to do all of my printing, faxing, and scanning.

In years (let's be real, months) in the past, I was so insecure with speaking to strangers that this would have been a near-impossible task. Speaking to unknown people involves spontaneous changes in conversation, unknown words, and sometimes impatience and even bigotry. Plus my need to be right always put a damper on chatting with someone new. But after all this time here, I've mostly gotten over all of that. Some people are just not going to have the will to talk to a straniera like me.

Thankfully, though, the young and older man that work in my local paper store aren't like that at all. I've gone in about 7 times since October to handle paperwork, and although we had never had a conversation before yesterday, they were always patient and kind with me. So I walk in the store tranquillamente with my pen drive, ask for them to print a document, and say I'd like to fill it out and then I need to scan it. Both of these men jumped back a bit so I insisted that it'd be really quick, but then I needed to scan this document.

The young man took my pen drive, printed out my ballot, and I stepped to the side to fill it out while he helped someone else. When I finished, I handed over the papers to the young man and he went to the fax machine. I pointed to the scanner and said, "Excuse me, I wanted--" to which the older man interrupted, "Yes, I remember," and the young man laughed, excusing himself for forgetting. Great customer service, right?

I thought so, too. Then I got a whopping dose of humility with a language lesson:

Old man: You know why I remember you wanted a scan?
Me: No, why is that?
Old man: Because you wanted to use the word scannerizzare but said scannare.
Me: Oh, excuse me, you're right....
Old man: Do you know what scannare means? (He chuckles.)
Me: No, what does it mean?

At this point I'm getting nervous thinking of all the things I could have said.

Then the old man takes a pen in hand and holds it up to his neck, demonstrating how I wanted to skewer slaughter really quickly after having my document printed. Cue laughter and blushing. Remember that great customer service? The young man insisted it was okay. I decided his job must be really tough since he admitted it's difficult for him to hear the difference between "sheet" and, well, some other word starting with "sh" and ending with "t."

A Return Post

I just checked. The last time that I posted was in September. I'm sorry for all of you that have checked back here and those who have requested an update. October brought some struggles with my grandfather passing away. In November was my first Thanksgiving (and favorite holiday!) away from my family. And in December I missed a very special birthday, got a new roommate, stood by the phone as my brother was entered boot camp, and couldn't help but think about my empty nest parents on their first Christmas without either Jason or me. (Read: I got homesick for my people.)

Meanwhile, there was some real personal adjustment happening within me. I have been learning how to live in an apartment on my own. On the other side of the world. First time paying all of the bills. First time budgeting money. First time shopping for food and feeding myself. Not an easy adjustment to do these things for the first time, but how about in another system? I mean, you think about standing in line for at least half an hour to pay bills at the post office and get back to me if you still think I'm a wimp. Not to mention all of this living is done in another language. One that I'm getting better at, but am still quite far from being an expert. And as for making new friends? I have them and the ones that I have are great (truly AWESOME!!!), but it is a process to create a whole new network of people in a completely new place. (Which is both unsettling and exciting when I think about a move to Washington state in my future.)

And finally, there was my work. Having been out of a good, solid schedule for the almost year I spent at home, I found that I had really lost a great number of my skills as a super productive human being. Not to mention, I set out with this massive project in mind with a loose infrastructure of support on this side of the pond. Don't get me wrong, my professor is great and I have wonderful friends and colleagues in the two other ladies in my lab. But I had to teach myself a new area of the identity research that I loved and didn't have anyone to discuss some of my confusion in the theories. That left me feeling like a fish out of water for sure. As a response, I've also reached out to my professor-to-be in Washington who responds with all the patience and enthusiasm I could ask for in someone who doesn't even owe me anything.

But it's not all woes and tears! I'm happy to say that I'm well on my way to standing on my own. I feel like it all started in a crawl, I'm cruising, slowly pick up speed, and ready to storm straight ahead. Like I said, I have made some wonderful friends and am always opening myself up to new ones through a variety of experiences. My research is moving along. I started volunteering and am enjoying getting to know different women while putting some of my own life in order. I am less self-conscious about speaking Italian in general, but especially to strangers. I got over the homesickness hump and have been making Firenze a familiar place.

Here are some of the highlights during my blog black out, some of which I hope to fill you in on much better later:

Fulbright Orientation in October: Here's a picture of most of us on the Spanish Steps. I met the other borsisti, had some great laughs, and made some new friends.

 

Friendsgiving 2011: Linda and I cooked for two days and we had a feast with all my favorites--food and people alike. I was the turkey assistant at Thanksgiving 2010, but orchestrating it for the first time was a lot to handle. It wouldn't have worked without the wonders of technology and the wisdom of Grams. In the end, I filled up my plate three times and cried because it tasted like home. 

Protest against razzismo: There was an incident here in early December against some Senegalese men and the people of Firenze came out to show how they feel about that. This moment turned out to be a defining one for this city, this community, and my project.

Visit from Corinne: After a total of ten months spent in this country over three years, I had my first official visitor to Italy. Ever. And Corinne and I had a blast in a whirlwind tour of Firenze and Siena.

Christmas: I spent it with my dear boyfriend Gabriele and his family. I'm only sad that I didn't get pictures of the pheasant, dove, and pigeon we ate. I'd never have thought I'd say this, but it was so, so yummy! But easily my favorite part was his amazement (and mine!) to follow the scavenger hunt to his Christmas present in his own house.

New Year's Eve: One of my roommates Laura is Spanish and co-hosted a semi-traditional Spanish New Year's Eve feast. At midnight we ate a grape at every strike of the clock that is meant to represent the respective month of the coming year. I didn't know that until after the fact and was so busy shoving down grapes, 2012 is still going to be a surprise for me.

Private Concert with Pilar: A friend invited Gabriele and I to a private concert, but since he was playing with his band I went with my roommate Giorgia. This artist named Pilar was easily the greatest voice I have ever heard. No pictures from the evening, but here is one of the songs she sang. It was such an intimate experience to sit on the floor with 30 other people in someone's house for an unplugged performance by candlelight!

Visitor's Galore: I had an awesome overlap of friends come to visit at the end of January. First was Natasha and her husband James. Natasha is one of the friends I made during my tenure at Winston-Salem Theatre Alliance. Then one of my best friends and my very first Meredith friend Lauren came to visit. You can find her recount of some of our adventures here (which you should go see since I didn't take any pictures and would just be stealing hers).

Valentine's Day: Gabriele and I had our first Valentine's Day together. We decided that we would stay in and try our hands at some new recipes. Despite being total novices in the kitchen, we lucked out and had an absolutely delicious three course feast of seafood. He did the first course, I made the second (even though the first was way better), and then surprised each other by both having our own dessert. Plus he got me the best looking and smelling (!) bouquet of I have EVER over which everyone on the train ride home was jealous. Just look at that table!

Trip Home: I went to the land of Freedom and Liberty for two weeks. It was easily the fastest time has ever passed for me. I had no intention to return to the United States during my Fulbright year abroad, but when my brother decided to be a Marine, he was whisked away to boot camp at a time when I started to recognize just how important my family was to me. So I took a wild trip, going straight to Parris Island before even seeing home, and surprised my favorite Marine for his graduation. We are so very proud of him!

Las Fallas: Soon after my return from the States, Gabriele and I took a long weekend to Valencia, Spain. In all of my trips to Italy, I had never been outside of the boot, and after hearing the raving over the festival I was determined to go. And Gabriele wanted to come along having been there the year before. Despite being on antibiotics the entire trip, Gabriele was a great tour guide and we had such a wonderful time!

March Madness: In my desire to bring my culture to my little Florentine world and introduce it to some international friends, the NCAA tournament came to Tuscany along with some traditional game time food like the almighty Buffalo chicken wings. In respect to Thanksgiving, this spread felt like a piece of cake (the box kind you can only find in America, not where you have to start from scratch like here). And although it took a bit of trouble to find one streaming across the Atlantic, we eventually ended the night with a basketball game as advertised.


Il Trentissimo: Although I didn't get to plan the party like I hoped, my dear friend Chiara had a week long celebration for her 30th and graciously invited me to two celebrations. The first at the most beautiful Hard Rock, where we ate all-American and danced to Beatles and beach music. The second was a more intimate house party among friends and fun. How can you hate welcoming a new chapter like that?

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I'll do my best to fill these in a bit more and return far more often for your entertainment and my posterity. Can't make any promises because spring has sprung, but keep checking back and I'll see what I can do.

Baci da Firenze!