in bocca al lupo

Today is my two week anniversary with Italy. I really have a crush on her, but I’m not so sure that she feels the same way. She’s really playing hard to get, flirting with me one minute and ignoring me the next. 

It has been pretty quiet around here for the past two weeks in part because I’ve been getting used to my new school schedule, but also because I’ve had trouble articulating to myself what it feels like to be here. On one hand, I’m in a charming little city that is just as picture perfect as anyone could hope for. I’ve made some fascinating friends in my program and had more good, hearty laughs than I can keep track of. I have cooked and eaten excellent meals and enjoyed great conversation. I’ve started classes studying something that I could (and do) talk about for hours on end. 

Through all of this though is the persistent isolation that I can’t help but feel- not at school where classes are taught in English, but in the rest of Italy- based on the fact that I can’t speak Italian.

I was reading on my bus ride to school on Friday and a man on the bus wanted my seat. I didn’t even realize that he was speaking to me initially and I couldn’t piece together what he wanted in time to stave off his losing his temper. As he stood there shouting at me on the crowded bus, my eyes darting around for someone who might be able to help me defray the situation, it became very clear to me that he wasn’t just angry that I didn’t stand up, he was angry at me for not understanding. It was pretty unmistakeable that he thought I should be ashamed for not speaking Italian. 

I was grateful to the woman in front of me who jumped up to offer him her seat, and even more so for the book already in my lap that gave me something to focus on for the rest of the ride. Because in a way, I agree with him. I’ve asked myself countless times what business I thought I had moving somewhere that I don’t speak the language. I’m not content to be the American who comes to Italy expecting that everyone will speak English, but I have to wait and work to match what it is that I want to communicate with what I can understand and what I know how to say in return. 

Oh Italy, won’t you be mine?