Winging It

I have been silent.   I have  been living like an extrovert and it has had a toll on me. Much has happened yet it feels so minuscule in the grand scheme of things. 

I left Italy. So I thought. I quit my job packed my things and came back to America. Only to have remorse. I wasn’t super upset just afraid of how I would manage in a country I haven’t lived and work in 2 years .  I started writing a plan of what my possibilities could be…..however travel is a part of me. 

I decided to work in South Korea. I ordered what documents I needed and apostilled everything. I just needed hand written  reference letters -sounds easy and yet slow. I was ready mentally to take the leap. I passed all the requirements and interviews so far. I started reading up on the lifestyle and culture of the country. I started following bloggers full of experience there. I was ready  just needed the letters from my last employer. 

I received one reference by snail mail, the other two would have to come from Italy.   No problem, I thought . I knew I was returning to Italy for the last of my things..  yet they are now my new starter kit. 

I know that my ex -boss doesn’t move st a useful pace.  I figured I would have to physically pick  up the letters.  I called her and made the arrangements. Everything   seemed on track. 

My ex -boss decided she wouldn’t honor the request for reference at the last minute whether out of sheer laziness or selfishness I cannot say.  She left me hanging which halted the possibility of working in Asia for now. 

All of these events happened literally two days after returning to Italy.   I was nervous about what to do next. Then it happened..friends came to my rescue; people I have met and bonded with over the past two years. They helped me brainstorm, gave me room and board and helped me find employment while I tried to figure out my next course of action. 

I can go back to Usa and create a life and I probably will when the time is right.  I don’t know if its just fate or my selfish desire to be in Europe.   I just know I am here-in Rome Italy , once again. Romeing the streets ,  drinking the vino, fighting with the metro, kissing a Roman, working a stereotypical expat job all while sipping on a caffè macchiato. The only question is where will I grow from here?

I spy

At Termini  station in Rome I just came off the metro and made my way to the ground level when a skinny, tall, lanky, big eyed Italian approached me. This guy -Fabio looked like Ichabod Crane Disney version not Johnny Depp. He asked me if i was a model. I told him nope just a Jamaican.  I continued to walk and he continued to talk to me. He asked me about Jamaica.

Side Note: Many Italians have no clue where Jamaica is. They do know where Dominican Republic , Brasil and Cuba are located , however for other reasons that I will share on another occasion. Anyway this is how the conversation usually goes except in an Italian accent.

Italian person named Fabio: Where are you from?

Me: Jamaica

Fabio: Jamaica! I love Jamaica

Me: Cool!

 Fabio: Where is Jamaica?

Imagine having this same conversation for six months. I decided to have a file saved on my phone and did the quick spread sheet  with a map , showing location, population, food, flag, where I am from exactly , agriculture .etc.

So after I get the routine   out of  the way, he told me he had been to England and saw  the Caribbean carnival  and thought it was wonderful! He was there learning English and asked if I could have a coffee with him.  So I did. We sat up stairs where there is a lovely view of train schedules and Armani ads.  I got a cappuccino and I sat and enjoyed it slowly. Fabio asked me many questions about Jamaica and the Unites States and I gave him answers to the best of my ability.

Then we came to the occupation part. He asked me what I do, I told him: an educator. I asked him the same : private investigator. Now the conversation became interesting. So I asked what type of cases he gets. Fabio said sometimes criminal and most of the time infidelity. Oh Italia! He told me this is where the big bucks are, watching  cheating spouses and naughty girlfriends and boyfriends. Apparently, money is no object when it’s about following a cheating lover. He told  he once followed a “subject” to this station and boarded a Trenitalia train to Salerno without a ticket. He had to hide most of the trip in the restroom to avoid the train agents.  I asked was it worth it? He told me yes she went to see her lover and spent the weekend.

Then to really get me going he told me he was following a “subject ” who was to arrive at the station for a 1:20 pm train. I said okay , well good luck. Then he went there….do you want to watch me work. I said no. He began to be persistent and pushy.

Why youdon’t want to wait with me ?  You have a boyfriend ?

 I said yes , he is from Napoli.

I learned that mentioning a boyfriend from Campagna region especially  Napoli makes unwanted advances diminish.  My friend’s nonna from Napoli taught me this. She said if a man is a man he will not be afraid of strong man from Naples.

Poor Naples has the worst reputation for no reason. It’s an older city. Some say the first state of Italy. It has it problems but so does NYC; people still live there.  Anyway when I tell people from the north of Italy I am going to Napoli the reaction is something like this…” You be careful there, people die there. Because only bad people live there. et …YES! people do say this.

Back to Fabio. Fabio’s big  eyes got quite bigger then he asked is  he is a very jealous man then?

Yes , I say VERY. You know how they are.

After these words left my lips , Fabio decided to leave me be. I thanked him for the coffee and continued on my way. I did look over my shoulder just in case he was following me…after all he is a detective.

Aero

I am dabbling with writing. I made a vision chart before arriving in Italy 2 years ago. My goals are to be a photographer, a painter, a yogi, a lover and a writer.

So this is me writing…

Aero woke from his nightmare, sweaty and thirsty. He wanted to pretend that it was not the same nightmare that had been haunting him for months. He shook of the feeling and wanted to quench his thirst with a glass of water that he usually kepts on his bedside table. The glass was not there. He thought his mind was playing tricks on him. He was absentminded; however when your parents were psychoanalysis thought retention was learned before the alphabets. I did put a glass of water here, where did it go, he thought.
He slowly sighed, and figured he would go to the bathroom for some water. He swung his feet off the bed only to feel a strong tingle in his feet traveling up his spine and ringing in his head. He didn’t drink that much last night; he was the designated driver. He took baby steps with his hands outstretch heading to the bathroom adjusting his eyes in the darkness shaking the sleep off his legs.
The bathroom was filthy; he hadn’t done laundry in weeks. He maneuvered to the sink only to realize the faucet wasn’t working. “Great! this moment is really getting annoying. He contemplated going back to bed; however the thirst was overpowering him. His nightmares always drained him. The only consistent memory involved a crow cawing and flying around his head. He needed water; he sighed and headed to the kitchen.
The kitchen was downstairs. The steps were very old and wooden that exploded with noise with each toe touch. This house has been in his family for years, every inch reminded him of his parents and Jess; he painfully missed them. He always felt guilt for their death; if only I wasn’t abroad this summer I could have stopped what happened. He saw it in his sleep for weeks. His nightmares were not really nightmares but premonitions; he took them lightly back then. If only he understood then what he did now, if only.
The kitchen was very modern; his dad had made many upgrades to it. All his friends said it was pretty cool, in fact there’s an appliance that turned tap water into carbonate water. He felt tears filling his eyes when he turned on the lights. The table was still set just the way his mother loved it. He touched the setting like fine silk, chasing memories of all of them together in this very room. How Jess would put baby carrots in her nose and scare mom. He wanted his family back. His hangover began to throb in his temples and the cawing became louder, the room began to spin.
He fainted. He felt something gently scrapping at his face; it was Pluto their tiger cat meowing. He sat up and pulled Pluto close to him, stroking his head. Aero felt the thirst again, stronger even. He stood up and got a glass of water while holding Pluto. Once he gulped the last drop he realized Pluto shouldn’t be at home but in a cage at the veterinarian since two days ago for quarantine. Then what am I holding; he thought. He slowly looked down.

It Happens

When you are heart broken does it make sense to continue wailing. Months pass,  days, hours and minutes and yet nothing will truly stop the heartbreak.
When the wall of emotions has been penetrated and the idea of “together has been reached. The invader plants his flag of victory only to run away. To become complicated when in truth there’s nothing to complicate.
The captive feels betrayed. You let him in and he saw the truth of you.  Was it too intense, too naive, too freeing?? Regardless, the end happened. 
So, why carry the grief into the next life?  Happy moments are not emphasize like the disasters of life. Acknowledge the situation and let it be free. Time reveals and the captive is no longer a captive. The captive is free again.
Not many people get this chance to be free again. To soar with the eagles . To oversea the world once more.
It’s tragic yet hold the beauty of what was , acknowledge the ending for what it truly means and soar.

image

Tomorrow

He is looking at models on his phone. He is laying beside me and looking. He looks at them like a computer. He looks at everything -calculated and precise. He gives little room for errror. He looks and looks and then he finds the one. The perfect match.

She is a model, 23 yrs old. She has sun-kissed brown skin like me. She has his tired eyes, my nose,  his forehead and my almond shape face. She is tall and thin like him.

He turns to me, smiles and says this is her.

Who is she?

A model.

I hope you are not asking to look like her because it’s not happening. Plus I can’t grow any taller.

Lol, no fattylicious….she is what are kid would look like..

How long have you been thinking of this?

A while now. It’s a fixation.

In so many ways my workaholic boyfriend says the things I need to hear. He knows all. He is a computer of a man. Luckily, he has humour or we would have faded.

Yet, he is a workaholic. He lives for his first born-his company. I think of what kind of life we have and it’s really warm. However, there are many faint days because his work takes him away so much.

I wonder if I would take our story for granted or he me. I wonder if we can have a family. I wonder what he will think of my little lost family. I have no “dowry” of sorts.  I am a screwup.

He is flawed too, however in an over perfectionist A -type manner. He comes from comfort and unumeral resources. He has it good and he works to keep it so.
I am thinking of my financial woes, student loans and my credit card debt. My ADD way of changing occupation as my mood changes.
My family is broken on a personal level, yet they are mine. I love them. Could he?
Would his mother love me? After all, he’s her baby. Her only family, more or less.

I ask him, how would we survive?

Easy …don’t ever let go.
image

Pregnant

Her sister’s words rang through her that morning straight into the next day. Pregnant. So final and real. She always knew that it would happen. She just never prepared herself for that/this moment. It was here. It was happening. A baby.  

It is not the first time she felt shone up by her little sister nor would it be the last.  Her sister , despite exhausting problems, always received. It never failed. Fate was never for her but her sister. She wanted a family, a partner, children, to be in love instead she was dealing with her father’s lack of interest, poor choices and lack of options with boyfriends, and the curse that her granny told her; ”  children love you thus you will never have your own”.   Overall, the short end of the stick.

On many occasions she pushed forward and others she hid in her shell. She felt forgotten and undesirable. They say what you feel is what you call into your atmosphere. In truth despite of what you feel life makes you what you shall be. In her case, her current and continuous mood was hunger.

She hungered by the minute. She hungered to be in love , to be noticed, to be taken seriously, to have an easy day, to finally step out of level 1 and into level 2,3,4. She hungered to plant roots, have a dog or two, to be somewhere and know it’s her home.

It was an obsession,  a fantasy with no reality….a constant letdown. At times she thought she made it only to be again on level one. Even her hair would tease her. She really wants big curly hair. She  craves hair that could be wild and free yet tame-ish and elegant.

She wants to win.

Her career has finally shown potential yet there is a major hurdle preventing the moment of exhale. She thinks of how she would finally buy a house  with this exhale.  Get a dog, and shop with a truth. She thinks of how her life would improve at least financially. She hopes and is afraid. She feels sick often thinking of this.

She is getting older and worries about her eggs. Could she every make a child. Another being with ten finger and ten toes, a face that may resemble her own . She wonders if there would ever be love in her life. A partner of pleasure and friendship. A co-conspirator in this constant world wind called life. Would the fates ever allow. Would God ever have mercy on her?  She wonders these things daily. They are an obsession.

She is going to be an aunt.

image

Foolish Daughter

How can I be so powerful yet so dependent on the affections of a man? How is it so? What is the curse that I “believe ” in what he thinks, feels, and understands … he is just a man. What is the curse that I take so much more meaning of his feeling towards me, that have some how overrided MY feeling and attitude about me.

How can this be? My body can carry life, harbour it until it is ready to leave the shore. I am the power, the nature, the nurture, the magic. I am so lost on this constant cycle I experience , as well, women I know.

He is not all, yet I make him so.

I am still the little girl waitng for her daddy to really fight for her.  He never did nor will he. He is content in his  inadquate space in my life. He is not trying to be more. He never tried. I know daddy issues are my key problem. I know he never was a fighter. He was never a brave man.

My dad  just exist.

I see this reflected in my relationships. I want bravery. The little girl in me knows her dad is not a defender yet she keeps hoping. The woman in me pushes on and yet is still holding hands with the little girl ..waiting to see.  If maybe.

In all the debacle, the mother is left holding the world in one hand and her children in the other. The children , especially the eldest, me. I take for granted so much of what she did and does because I was waiting on my dad, to be brave.

I neglected the true warrior. The bravest, boldest, gentliest human ever-my mother. The true life force. I kept looking past her and not at her. I was and am  a foolish daughter.

I am lucky .  My mother is still alive. I am given time to rectify the misguidance of my younger self. Hopefully, it  will start to reflect in my relationships.

I love both my parents. But I am in love with my mother.

 

Night in the Park

image

I have never been to the Borghese at night until now.  I am here , waiting to watch “The Lobster” at a tiny cinema that is called  Cinema dei Piccoli ( tiny cinema). It is so small that you have to wait outside until your designated movie starts.
Why go to the movies in the middle of a park at night?? Because sometimes I feel abandoned and thus I go places that I feel I could disappear into.  In a few days I will be at a  Christmas party and I will be eating and forced to eat endless yummy artistry and drink countless vino….yet tonight, this second….I feel abandoned. Go figure.

I was walking around the park , waiting for my designated time  and  discovered this staute.  I have never been this side of the park before so it was interesting to find her. I have no clue about who or what it means. I know she lost her head and it was a  tragedy.   I would have to Google or asked a historian friend for details yet I prefer to make up her story.

Let’s begin…this is llaria the mother of Joy.  She was always a happy woman even when someone died, or when she stubbed her toes or a major disaster happened she continued to be happy.  It was not that she was mocking peoples’ suffering but she could not frown. She was blessed and curse with happiness. Llaria was a beautiful woman for her features were diverse.  She had curly dark hair that depending on the time of day went from light brown to black. Her eyes were like water. Her skin like Nutmeg.  She smelled of lavender naturally and was a helpful woman.
Like all women she desired to be in love. After a time she encountered a robust man with a  moustache that curled who was charming despite his sealish laugh. Soon they were married and she was pregnant.
Llaria was always happy. Her life seemed happy, however, it was not. Her robust husband became more robust. He treated her bad while she was pregnant.  If you didn’t attend the wedding you would think she was a servant of the house and not the lady.
Llaria endured.
One day she was in the barn feeding the animals when her water broke. She screamed for help yet the noise of the animal drowned her out. She screamed and push and screamed and push until a little head pop out, then shoulders , arms,body and tiny toes,looking all wrinkled and bloody.  She felt a tear and it was joyous. She named the baby Joy.  Joy was a boy.  He was her joy. She had felt pain,anguish, anxiety and tears, sweet tears for the first time thus he was joy. When she had enough strength she ran away into the forest. To whom or where no one knows for she didn’t reach far. She heard her husband shouting her name and turned around in which she ran into a tree that took her head.

Joy never knew his mother, only the tales told. So he made a grand statue in the garden. For she was his tragedy.
                           FIN

I do think that the park is quite calm at night despite the cold. I can see my breathe! I am sitting on a dilapidated bench …….

image

writing this post on my phoneand waiting to see if the Lobster becomes a lobster.  Ciao

Squirrel

image

I have never seen a squirrel in Italia. If they exist they are ninjas because they hide super good. I was in the Big Apple this summer and when I saw this guy posing for the people I was hooked.
He would turn his head so that you captured his essence and grace. A true model. Yes, he/she is a bit plump but it’s not its fault-protein diet :Nuts.

I miss squirrels. I miss these little ninjas that steal your food or make nest in the drain.  I am waiting to see one here….no luck. There are pigeons , ravens and green parakeets that love shitting at metro stations on waiting passengers.  Yet, no squirrel in Roma or any part I have visited so far.
     Oh Squirrel,  where art though????

              

image

This has been rambling from a late sleeper that hasn’t had brunch yet on a cool, sunny day in Roma.   She will now stop and make a caffè . ciao!

Fairy Tales

It’s hot in Roma. It is so hot the choices are 1) stay at home in your underwear and drink everything cold in the house, never  use the stove because that will make heat  2) go away –far away from  Roma  3) go to the beach daily if you cannot afford to travel or  you have time to use before your vacation 4) Stand still.  I chose option 3- the beach is what i did for a week or so , more or less. I spend my days burning my already brown skin ( with SPF 30) until was completely even.

Ostia is easily accessible by train. The station is Piramide in Ostiense. It’s about 40 minutes from beginning to end . Then a 10-15 minute  bus ride, depending on what type of beach you fancy. My fancy is the free beaches that are closer to the end. Ostia doesn’t have picturesque beaches. Its a usable beach that works.

I went for a few days to pass the time sometimes solo or with friends. I am so tan right now my mother is going to have many words for me when I see her in a few days. Anyway, I was at the beach, trying to practice my weak swimming in peace when a man decided he should invade my space. Like a true shark he swam around me for about 2 minutes getting closer and closer  and then  creating dialogue.  He ask formalities and I answered with short answers. Then he decided to talk about the beach. “This beach is used also by nudist:”

Me:  I know I see them.

Man: I usually am too

Me: Good for you

Man: Would you like to try to?

Me: Why are you so uninviting?

Man: it is perfectly normal,….in fact i will do it now…( HE took off his shorts in the water) ………He was standing there feeling proud in his unclothing .

I turned and swam away. On the sand my friend asked me if she just saw what I witnessed..I shook my head yes.  We sat in silence.   The man comes out the water , puts on his pants and disappears for some time. When we are settled and relaxed , like a shadow, the man appeared.  I was getting ready  to responded when the couple beside us jumped in and told him to go away. He left for good. This is Roma.

I am a woman of color. I have many experiences of highs and lows of living here.  This is just one encounter that was UBER extreme. Overall, my experiences have been graceful and respectful. This guy was the first to just disgust me and I am sharing it.  When men ask if I am Brazilian , it’s more due to what they know of black culture. Despite watching all modern programs , music artists and pop culture…a large group of Italians are still un-evolved on foreign women. It is not only dark skin women in this boat. I am only mentioning my experience.

I have met normal guys here , yet as in all things the asinine encounters really stick with me.I don’t let them become my personality  I just don’t forget. I have on many occasions confront them , which makes them run. Having a strong character is a must here.  I have a great love for Italy in a whole . I love the feel of living in this ancient slightly modern world. I just have no desire for romance, which many women find here , as the Italians call it EAT PRAY LOVE moment.  I would love to have such a moment even a temporary one. This would  require a brave guy to rise from the non-commitment, mammoni , bubbled culture.  It sounds impossible …however I still believe in unicorns.

varco 3