Published on: Jul 2, 2007
As you may know from reading this blog, I’ve been studying
Italian….not just the language, but all things Italian. I’ve managed to master
three semesters of university-level classes in less than a year, so I’m feeling
quite pleased by that. But it’s not enough. Somehow this interest has become a
hunger, a passion that is not easily sated by taking classes in an American
university, reading books about Italy
or watching movies in Italian. I still feel too far removed from the longing I
have to be immersed in Italian culture and life.
I’m not sure where this longing came from, or why….I only
know that I want to honor it as best I can. I just finished auditing an
intensive intermediate course at the university here, which helped to cement
some of the grammar that had been eluding me. Being in class for two hours each
day for an entire month was a godsend. In addition, I have several pen pals in Italy that I
converse with each week through Skype, a free online program that allows us to
talk together through the wizardry of internet connections. Thirty minutes in
Italian, thirty minutes in English, so we each get to practice the languages
we’re learning. I have several other pen pals that I write to nearly every day.
We correct each other’s mistakes and learn about each other’s lives and
cultures in the process of our sharing. Most of my pen pals have become good
friends by now, and I treasure these connections.
It stands to reason that I can’t get enough of reading books
by English-speaking people who have moved to or lived in Italy , as this
is the root of my desire. For as long as I can remember, I’ve wanted to live in
another culture and become fluent in a language other than my own. I want to
experience the culture as deeply as I can, to understand the nuances that only
natives are privy to.
My favorite author along these lines is Marlena de Blasi, an
American who married a man from Venice
and has lived with him in the city of Venice ,
and the regions of Tuscany
and Umbria .
I’m currently reading her most recent book, The
Lady in the Palazzo, about their life in Orvieto, an ancient city in Umbria . This quote from
the book exquisitely expresses my own sentiments:
“I’d
thought, you see, that one of the best things about going to live in another
country would be the chance to be ten years old again….Everything fresh,
untested. Learn to speak and think and dream in another language. To see how
the new people sip their tea, break their bread, treat each other. Not just a
passage through, not a wander among the natives but setting up with them. I
knew that to be at home in the world was the way to grow rich. The way I wanted
to be rich.”
Like the author, I don’t want to see Italy as a
tourist, removed from the subtleties of Italian culture. I want to know, as
best I can, what it means to be Italian. Alas, even if I spend the rest of my
life working towards this goal, I may only scratch the surface. But I’m willing
to make the effort, whatever the outcome. I’m not yet sure how I’m going to manage
it, but it’s my intention to live in Italy , at least part of the year,
for the express purpose of attending to this longing that has guided my life
for the past year. It’s been a magical adventure so far, filled with unexpected
gems of friendship and jewels of knowledge that leave me eager to delve deeper,
to learn more, to be immersed in the experience of being “at home in the
world.”
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