4 Years and Holding

Four years ago, as a naive 22 year old who believed herself to be a bit jaded and totally mature, I took off for Italy on what I had thought was going to be a year long experience of English teaching, sight seeing, life (and resume) enhancement...

Well, the English teaching and life enhancement turned out to be true, the sight seeing a bit less than I had planned, and the experience as a whole has lasted far longer than I originally thought it would. Three years longer to be exact. And in that time I have learned to further love and hate Italians and Italian life, learning more than I thought possible about life itself and what exactly it is that I want from it.

Going back a few steps, my love affair with Italy and all things related to the "Bel Paese" really began in 1999, though it's roots were growing years before. My great grandmother's family had immigrated to America in the 1860's just around the unification of Italy and settled in Globe, AZ, which ended up being a transplant of most of her families small mountain village in Piemonte. My grandpa grew up speaking English, Piemontese and even a little Mexican, but the strongest thing, that rests still today in our family is the family closeness that comes with being from Italian origin. It's something in your blood, that holds onto your heart and refuses to let it go. That hold squeezed a little tighter when I was sixteen and I decided I wanted to see where my family came from, what being Italian was all about and feel a little closer to the great grandmother (who they say was an absolute pistol) I never really got to know.

I decided to go abroad my senior year of high school, leaving my life, family, friends and boyfriend far behind. It was only 10 months, but it felt like I was leaving for 10 years. My family was shocked my dad was even considering allowing me to go, but I think he knew in his heart it was something I had to do in order for me to start making a life for myself, based on my own decisions and my own desires. Something he had always taught me was my right. The year I spent away from my family was filled to the brim with learning-about the language, the culture the history and the people of Italy, but not only, because I also learned so much about myself. There are surely things I wish I hadn't done, and things I wish I had, but in the end every experience is something we can learn from and if given the choice I wouldn't change a single one. In any case, the 10 months literally flew by and soon it was time to go home and face reality and the rest of my life.

I chose to study Italian Studies, though nobody told me at the time that my degree, without a Masters or PhD after it would be absolutely useless, and continued to foster my love for a country that wasn't really mine. After graduating I decided to apply to grad school, but, since nobody is really interested in studying contemporary Italian life except for contemporary Italians I didn't get into the PhD program I really wanted and so I decided to come back to Italy for 1 year. And so here we are...four years later and holding on for dear life. How did I get here, and is it forever?