soy italiano

"Choice is restorative when it reaches toward
an instinctive recognition of the earliest self.
As Dante recognized at the beginning of The Inferno:
What must we do in order to grow?"

*Frances Mayes, Under The Tuscan Sun

my book of choice, since finishing Shutter Island, has been a combo of
The Power of Travel (simply put, simply awesome), and
Under The Tuscan Sun.
i also dabble in my Let´s Go: Amsterdam travel book,
Washington Irving, and his Tales of The Alhambra,
alongside a spectacular guide book of Paris
with stunning color photos and pull out maps of the innards of the architecture.
but that book of Paris, has a downfall...for me at least, it´s in Spanish.
so my only knowledge of Paris, thus far, is tangled in Spanish-French phrases.
the historical facts glimmer in my rough translation and only make me exhausted.
i gotta get an English guide book, or a decent map of the land.

within my books of choice, i have come upon the phrase above...
"What must we do in order to grow?"
i love it. i repeat it when i take my runs looking into the eyes of the sierras.
i repeat it when on the bus into Granada.
i repeat it in rhythm with my huffs, up the hills on my way to The Alhambra,
i repeat it when buying my airline tickets online.
i repeat it, and repeat it.

i´m obviously searching for my answer.

upon my arrival in Bilbao, i was anxious to see the
mammoth Guggenheim structure.
i followed the signs that took me the wrong way.
i circled back.
i looked at my mini google map.
and circled back.
damn.
my independent spirit gave into the chill of the upcoming rain shower we,
in Bilbao, were about to have,
so i asked for directions.
a good smelling gentleman, with a vibrant scarf, frosted hair
and large Harry Carey gafas, looked a safe bet to me.
by asking, pointing, smiling, thanking, and gesturing,
i think i have found my way!

"Where are you from?"
"¿Como?"
"Where are YOU from? Italiano?"
"Uhh, ¡si! ¡Yo soy Italiano!"
"Claro...claro...and where in Italy are you from? ¿Where were you born?"
"¿Como?"
"Where...in Italy...the south of..."
"¡Si! ¡The south of Italy! Si."
"Where...Pisa..."
"¡Si! Pisa. Mi familia es en Pisa, tambien. Si."

i had taken on a new life. easy as Italian pie.

unfortunately, the family of 3 nearby overheard i was on my way to the gugg
andthat i was miraculously Italian! and guess what!
so were they!
so in Italian, the dad spoke to me,
hoping he could give me better directions than the Spaniard,
since i obviously must speak Italian better than Spanish,
and, guess what!
they were from Pisa, too!
i tried to then convince them i was actually Italian American,
and that neither my Italian or Spanish was very good.
but i thanked them for their help.
they still led me the correct way to the gugg with the best view.

my new fear: being American.
obviously.
being too American, being too submerged in pop culture, being overweight,
being unaware of political happenings, being too loud, being too confident,
blushing when taking about sex, not eating or choosing the "right" regional
food to eat, the fumbling quality of being
American-Peruvian and looking the way i look, and expected to
talk the way i look,
and not owning my flag of the North and South Americas, and i´m not Italian,
but they think i am, and that´s got to better than being American,
so i agree to it, because who wants to be American nowadays, anyway, right?
. . .right?

or is now the time i push through my fear of being exactly what i am.

an English speaking American-Peruvian, whose first language was Spanish,
and whose birthplace is Milwaukee, Wisconsin, and yes,
GO PACKERS! and go cheese!
and i also lived in Land O´Lakes, Florida for a total of 5 years, but now,
Chicago is home, GO BLACKHAWKS! and my Alma mater is
Columbia College Chicago,
Illinois, off the Roosevelt Red Line, Harrison will take you there, too.

and as my mom drove me into Chicago,
taking the Magnificent Mile south to the 11th Street Theater,
where we stayed at the Best Western across the street
(before the informative walk around the South Loop Campus the following day),
i remember looking up at the skyline, city ablaze, my city, my college, my home.
all the city stars blurry swollen eyes with small tears...i found home.

i found home.

i found home, again, in Lima, Peru.

i found home, again, on the north side of Chicago, on Oakley, Foster, Monitor.

i found home, again, seeing my mom at home, in Crete, home for good, from the hospital.

i found home.

i may find it in Paris, France, when reunited with my sweet Peruvian prima,
who speaks Spanish, French and English, in her home in Vanves,
with her new fiance, from France, after they met in Iowa, who traveled to Peru,
to ask for her hand in marriage in complete Spanish to my
Tio Gabriel and Tia Milagro.

i may find home, again, in the city built upon marshlands,
in The Netherlands,
with my spectacualr boyfriend of 5 years.

what must i do in order to grow.

for now, keep waking up every morning...and go out exploring.

namaste, and I will see you in Paris, France next!