Ecco, facciamo cosi'. Magari.

Amongst dogs and christmas shopping and tinsel and large trees and lights and suitcases and coral nail polish and chicken parmegano..lies my inability to make any decisions.

Send or don't send.

I have to think, but thinking get's me nowhere. I simply want to exist. In the midst of my empty, albeit productive day, is uncertainty and dread. All I am able to see is that it will never make me happy. I can't string together sentences.

The christmas tree is too big. The star is crunched against the ceiling, bended painfully,


Praise the odd, serendipitous world.

secondo mè "Back to life" hanno deciso di suonarlo in paradiso..

I haven't written in while, and I must admit that I found a strange pleasure in the fact that this blog is so fucking old, and never changes. The colors .. I mean. The layout. I've kept it the same for all of these years. It's refreshing that some things remain the same, even if they're only in cyberspace.

I checked to see if my sister was still a bitch the other day. I suspected she would be, and was not disappointed. She twisted the knife, so we say, and I'm not entirely certain that I'll be going back for more. A broken family, I am told. But where do I even fit in? Am I included? I've been taught so long that I have not been broken from one family, but joined into another. Dare I consider the other point of view? I despise her. If only because she represents everything ugly in myself. All of my negative feelings surrounding the issue are ...manifested in her little body. I am overcome with hatred . I am livid. I am on fire. And for what? Fuck them. If only I could say it, do it, act on it.

" GO TO HELL" I want to say " Thanks a lot guys, but you've done your part." . Could I be like tigger and say " ta-ta forever?" Leave them behind, and continue on. Not all of us have the option to opt out.

Even within less dramatic scopes, I find myself unable to let go. I have to stop writing letters ,calling, etc. Why do I bother? Why am I such a fucking pussy?


I want something profoundly different. But what? I want to go away, far away, and forget all of this shit. Form new memories so the old can wither and die on their own. No euthanasia necessary. I want fields and new languages and sunsets and old stone buildings, laced with moss and glazed with moisture. I want history and music and quiet. I want the city; smog filled air with people-filled streets. Lights, smells , and honking horns. Over boiled coffee and cigarettes. Everything is so romanticized, and sexualized. Who can sort through it all?



I want you two to split. I want you to ripen. And I want myself to shrink and grow.

Witchcraft anyone?

Nothing.

The smell of cherry reminds me of so many things. None of which I particularly feel like listing , or discussing in any great detail. My hands are soft in New Hampshire. What will this next year bring forth I wonder? So many things could happen, so many things could go wrong or go right. Who am I to presume which will be what?

I am tired of being how I am. Go , go , go , go , go!

Something that isn't there.

I want so many things and yet I do not want any of them. I love Chester, and I love its people and I love my new friends. It is surprising to me, which with all this love floating around, that I am so utterly and strangely …unsettled. Not even that. I am pleased and content where I am, but I know that this sense of security will never last long.
I must organize my life. December I will be in Italy. I must keep my wits about me. That’s all I can say. Why do I always expect the worst? I miss Daniela and I want to go see her in Bolivia. I have the time, and the money, and I certainly have the desire. But is it going to be beneficial? Or am I going to pick open a scab that has just recently crusted over. Gross.

I want to learn Spanish. Next summer I want to go to Guatemala for a month or so to…immerse myself. This also involves money. I’m not afraid.

Oh yeah, and this blog is shit. I never say anything interesting. Even that sentence was monotonous.
I start tomorrow.

writing to no one

I missed you today.
Seeing the damage you've done to others fills me with sadness ,but also an inexplicable relief that I have been spared. From you, essentially. Does that hurt your feelings?

Maybe I am feeling this way towards you because I am currently in the process of grieving other things. Picking up the pieces, finding myself, collecting and processing past moments and turning them into memories. How beautiful this is, the creation of memory. It's what we are left with when god takens something away, or so I read somewhere once. We nurture these memories, we dance with them.

The pillow you gave me is losing its scent. It smelled of really strong lavander, but now I find that I have to bury my nose in it to detect even a hint of its former glory.

I hear that you still have some invested interest in me. Occasionally you will ask about me, or ask for my number. What is it that you want?

I see others with theirs, and I am so....jealous. So envious of that which everyone I know takes for granted. I want to search in your face, and find something of myself in it. I want to crawl into your arms. I want to know that everything is going to be alright. Tell me please.

I know that it is impossible for us to have anything.

perdoname

I am harboring a fervent desire to escape.

I need to stop eating, and start school in two weeks.

I want to be happy again with what I have and what I've done and what I am.

I want time to pass.

College starts soon. Not soon enough.

Something wicked this way comes..

Neither good things, nor bad things, are currently gracing the crevices of my cerebellum.

Everything I am in nothing.

I'm want something to occur. But, as always, it seems that I am waiting for something that is has not intention of arriving. Distractiondistractiondistractiondistraction.

Metamorphasis.

I made a promise to myself, years ago when I started this blog, that I would write only the truth. Thus far, I've done a pretty good job of it , my biggest offences being only minor omitting of truths. But hey, if I can afford to omit in my own , private blog, whose business is it but my own? And for this entry, which could create significant problems if read by certain others, I would like to start out by saying that I am very often wrong, but sometimes I am right. And it should happen that when I have a hunch about something unpleasant, it often turns out to be dead on. And so it is with a significantly heavy, bored, exasperated heart, that I will share with cyberspace what I knew was coming all along.

I have tried my best. I do everything in my power to keep things happy. To keep connections going. To keep the beast alive, so they say. They also say that you can "bring a horse to water, but you can't make him drink." I have found that this is true. And as the days go by, I feel my "longing" lessening. I feel things that were once SO important to me becominng less and less so. Moments and snibbits of my life that I treasured so dearly, loved so strongly, are now slowly taking on the form of memory.

I have been trying to fight it.

That part of my life is over, but I didn't want it to be. I accepted that it was done, but at the same time I wanted something new and beautiful to grow out of it. We could never have the same moments again, but maybe we could build on them. Maybe we could make it better! I wasn't going to let the miles, and later, the years , affect relationships at all.

My efforts have been reciprocated enough, but slowly I am beginning to get the feeling that I am the last one hanging on. Perhaps its timing. Familial issues getting in the way of my "readjusment" and so I have not been able to assimilate myself quite as quickly. The bounceback has been more of a ..crawl back. But I am only now beginning to consider the possibility that maybe this is how it is supposed to be.

I will continue what I am doing. Letters, emails, phone calls, etc. But at the same time I have to prepare myself for the almost inevitable. The growing apart that people do. The distance that is not getting any shorter. And of course, the only thing we can all be sure of ; the time that will surely pass. I will take these moments, these months, these weeks, these heartaches and triumphs and confusions and these loves, and I will weave them into memory. Something to look back on when I am old. Something to love and nurture from afar. It never ends you know ,this love, it only changes; takes on new form and energy and meaning as time passes.


I am a small child, looking out of my bedroom window moments before dawn, looking out over the roof of the neighbor house. To my small eyes, it is a mountain. The colors change ; blue, to purple , to pink, to orange. Sunrise approaches. The world awakes.

waterslides.

I've discovered recently that my main emotions, at least lately, are those of anger and boredom. Which , in my opinion, is an absolutely deadly combination. Because when I am bored, I think, and upon doing that, I get mad.

I feel as if nothing is happening. nothing bad, nothing good, nothing nothing nothing. I am a blob of useless and ridiculous energy. In rarely accomplish anything, and when I do, I get impatient with myself for not immediately accomplishing something else. I don't know where I want to be. I certainly dont know with whom I want to be (as if that could ever be easy) , and I am fairly sure that i am going insane. Slowly. So slowly in fact that no one is noticing, because I am a good faker of sanity. I talk and walk and smile and discuss extra long sheets for my dorm room, and sicilian cooking, and dog hiccups. But really, not belonging anywhere is driving the cheese off the cracker.

I want something so good to happen. Everyone tells me how much fun they are having, how many things they are doing, and what am I doing? I want something good to happen, so all of this seems like a distant piece of nothing. I want to go to bed late, so i wake up late in the morning. So my day is half gone!

The mind has mountains.

What will the summer bring forth, I wonder? Everyone , including myself, is growing up. Moving on, going away, traveling, etc. I feel left out even though I am not. I want to have a lot of fun, because with fun and distraction, time comes more quickly. And with time, perspective. Which I want very, very desperately.


Off to be social!


i am an artichoke.

Ci troverà la sera....

Slowly, and painfully, I am readjusting to my life in America. No longer do I wake up in the morning, expecting to be burned intensely by the Sicilian sun. I don't cry anymore, or long to get my ass back onto the plane and speed my way back to Sicily, back "home". Home is here now, and I've accepted it. Now I need only make it real for myself. But with the beautiful reality that my life is progressing, and that I am someone new, there is also the reality that something extraordinary has ended.


My time in Italy was the most trying and beautiful of my life. Hands down. It was not all sunshine and roses and puppies, but what is? I've loved more passionately, and hurt more intensely, than ever before in my life. And so to enter that life was the best decision I've ever made. To leave it, the most heart-shattering. Its embedded in my mind. I stood with my suitcase, munching on a little apricot cake thing. I stood leaning on the bright lime green of my suitcase, listening to my friends talk about something. I cannot remember exactly what at the moment. I had cried on the bus ride there, in the dark, at 3AM, with Daniela the Bolivian girl sprawled across my lap, sick and nauseous. She told me that she was going to miss me very much and then she sort of...crawled on top of me, and slept. She slept, and I cried, because I had grown so attached to her in the past year, and the leaving part of our friendship, the only part we could have foreseen, was approaching all too quickly. And so I stood, with my suitcase, waiting. And the moment that the Bolivian's flight was called, I began to weep. She hugged , told me not to cry, and was gone. I went to my other friend from Honduras for comfort, which she gave. Crying too. And then it was my time to go. And so I did, and here I am. Re-assimilation sucks. my year is done my year is done my year is done. time to move on move on move on move on move on. Grow up grow up grow up. Learn learn learn learn learn. ANDRO' AVANTI! I will always go forward, but it gives me still a feeling of great , powerful sadness to look back. But also , one of extraordinary satisfaction and joy. Which to feel in completion is something I'll have to wait for. My friend Erica's deaf cat named Ice wants to comfort me with his fuzziness. I owe it to my soul to allow him, in all his fuzzy glory, into its crevices. Home never felt so bittersweet.

Nobody expects the spanish inquisition.

I knew it was going to be rough.

I knew, and yet I wasn't prepared.

I am content, and I feel as if no time has passed.

And yet , there is a whole chapter of my life that I cannot name or catagorize or explain.

I want to wake up tomorrow morning, and die of Sicilian heat. I want to shower in my shitty bathroom in the basement, I want to go to the beach and get burnt , I want to talk to Daniela and take walks in the Piazza. I want to be there,but I know that I must be here. Not only be here, but WANT to be here, because there is no other road to take.

I have so many good things happening right now, none of which I can enjoy because I am still not 100% here.

I am very sleepy, and I still need to wash my face.

What will the next days bring forth I wonder?

Absense makes the heart grow fonder, weaker, and more prone to sentimental hooey.

my chest aches.

Between the Wanting and the Getting

The reality is finally setting in.

Piano, piano. Slowly. Slowly.

Slowly, and ever so painfully.

And yet, even with the realization that I truly am leaving in 4 days, I have yet to fully..feel it.

Oh I’ve felt something, sure; pinpricks of soreness and little previews of the severe anguish that is sure to occupy the next few days of my life. But to be honest the authenticity that I will, in fact, be boarding a plane in Switzerland whose wheels will touch upon the pavement at JFK international airport in NYC is something that I cannot yet comprehend. Or perhaps I am reacting upon human instinct, and avoiding those agonizing thoughts for as long as I can.

I cannot…imagine what those last moments are going to be like when I am in Rome before I board the bus to go to the airport. That will be the moment I leave my friends from Intercultura, to embark on my long, stressful journey home.
I will cry. This is a certainty. Even as I am writing now, I feel my chest tightening, the first signals of tears that are sure to arrive. If now, I am feeling the beginnings of snuffles, what will it be like when I actually have to say goodbye? I will moan , and cry, and hug until arms are sore and I have to force myself to let go.

It will be especially difficult , I think, for me to leave Daniela, who I’ve grown to love with such fierceness. I’ve seen her every day for a year. She has been such.. a crutch in my life. A crutch in the sense that if I need something to lean on, there she is. Strong, solid, and dependable. I’ve been with her nearly every day, and it will be an adjustment to find my day, suddenly, without her in it. The attachments formed during periods of difficulty are the strongest. And so, saying “adios” to my dear Bolivian friend, is something I am dreading.

I can write, and reflect, and dread and anticipate, but nothing will prepare me for the near future. And this future that I speak of…it is coming all too fast. I am not prepared. I am not ready. And there is nothing I can do to make myself such. I am entering uncharted territory.

Saying goodbye makes me too nervous, so I’m going now to buy a suitcase with Daniela, and then we will watch movies at my house.


I am so sun burnt, you could boil an egg on my thigh.

my back is a desert, and the coyotes are tickling me with their tails.

My back really itches. So much, in fact, that I want to take some sort of medieval blow torch and sear the skin off my shoulders and upper back.

dont thinkabout it dont think about it dont think about it dont thinkaboutitdontthinkaboutit.

I smell like papayas. So much in fact that I want to take a huge bite out of myself.
Not really.

I also cannot write anymore. have you noticed? every word that shoots out of my fingers is dull, and every . and , and ! and ? is meaningless and tired and trite.

scratchscratchscratchscratch....


i want the future so badly.

change makes me nervous and anxious and sad and happy and insane.

which makes getting to future a little bit difficult.


FLYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I have solved for "x"

Dear You,

Okay, so I’ve decided that I am right, and you are wrong. You may think that this is stupid, and that I am a selfish, ungrateful, pretentious child who cannot possibly understand anything. But I understand more than you will ever know. This is the life you chose for me, and now, the life that I choose for myself. May I highlight, for you, the word “choice”? Read it. See it. Understand it. Can you feel the anger radiating off me? You will not unwittingly insult me anymore, and degrade what I have. What you gave to me. What you would have to pry from my arms if you ever thought to take . It is not second best. It is the only thing I’ve ever had. It is not inferior . It is what I want. When I am 18, I will not come to live with you. I will not undo your mistake. I will not help you work past it . I will not help you reconcile with yourself. I understand how you feel, and I cannot fathom doing what you did, but it is not my responsibility. It is not my burden to carry. I will not feel guilty for loving what I have. I will not feel sorry for you for being irresponsible. Or maybe you were responsible, and now regret what you have done and want peace. But I have no peace to give. You can accept your role in my life, as it is now. Or, you can get out of my life. Simple as that. Simple as pie. I’ve worked very hard in my life as not to feel that I am nothing. I belong where I am. Non sono una figlia di un cane, una figlia di un preservativo rotto.

Love,
Me

Surprised by Gravity

I am at a loss for what to do.

I thought that I had all my answers. I had every fibre and filament inplace, ready to be built upon, ready to be rested and laid upon. But now that they have dissolved, broken into nothing, I find that I am very much without a place to sit. Without a place to breathe or relax or settle down and rest my tired, tired head.

I'm going home soon. Which fills me with a dread and a comfort that I cannot explain. There was never a debate about if it would be difficult. The only question that remains is how difficult it will be.

savemesavemesavemesavemesaveme.

the kitchen walls recieve my sigh.

I don't know what to say to anyone. I have nothing to say . There is nothing to say or to do or to make or to feel. I don't have anything to say to my parents, or to my best friend, or to my grandparents, other than how much I want to see them. I have so much to do. Italy, Rome, going home, parties, NYC, college, college college. And I should be happy. I should be excited about my future, just like everyone else is. But all the looking forward I have to do is destroying me . All I want to do is crawl into bed( I'm not even sure which...) and listen to my iPod and cry and cry and cry until my cheeks are raw with salt and whatever else is in tears, and until my chest is tight and my eyes are burning and my head is throbbing. Then I will sleep, and wake up, and find everything how I've left it. Whatever my everything is.

I comfort myself with the knowledge that affection is only a habit.

I want everything and nothing. I believe in everything in nothing. I am everything, and nothing.

IT'S ALIVE!!!!!!

I can almost smell home. I can see the faces of my friends, and the fur of my dog, and the color of my bedsheets and the sound of my music. I can smell New York City. Hot dogs and sweat and exhaust fumes and those sugary peanuts that everyone eats even though no one is sure where they come from. I'm just not..quite..close enough to touch it.

School is almost done, and it is so hot.

I have never wanted to go home so badly, nor have I ever wanted so desperately to remain.

I must combine worlds. Sicily and New York. Mixed in a very large mixing bowl to become a new reality, just for me.

Selfishly, I want to combine borders, cultures, languages, and friends.

I want everything and everyone all at once, without losing anything.

I am a child. I want my comfort, and I want it now now now now now.

I want the quiet and peace of Gigi and pepas house, mixed with the craziness that is my friends. I want Daniela and Lisa to tell me to stop smelling all of the lotion in the supermarket, and I want Erica to assure me that it's okay, because it makes me special. I want to snuggle with my dog, and fall asleep watching Dr. House, but when I wake up I want to be able to walk out the door and onto the sandy beach of the Mediterranean. I want to attend school in english, but joke in italian. I want to love un ragazzo, but I want him to live in America with me. I want my parents, but I also want my host brother and sister.

I want to craftily mold my lives into one, and live in this psuedo-reality for ever and ever.

I'll enter my old world, only to mourn my former. The italian amanda is going to die (or at least be brain dead and clinging to life....) The american amanda has long been buried. The only things left are the cold, white bones. I'm gonna create a new frankenstien existance, slabbing together the new and the old parts. Heart from america. viens from italy. languages of bones stringing it all together.

I'm coping as best I can.

runneth over

Nothing is important anymore .Nothing matters more than the crocus like lust that is blooming within the small intimate spaces between me and my bello, incredibile, ragazzo.

You tell me that my hair looks like tuscany, and that I smell like rock and roll.

I want to crawl into your pores and snuggle within the spaces inbetween your ribs.

We speak in whatever language suits our fancy. We joke in italian, explain complicated concepts in english, we curse in both. Ti amo, i love you, ti voglio bene, sei troppo incredibile, you get better the more I see you.

Our occasional language barrier makes us laugh. Makes us fall to the floor with tears in our eyes. We exchange pleasantries and flowers. Kisses and fingers. Nose to nose. We kiss in a language that is all our own.

Ma vaffanculo!!!!

These past few days have taken a toll on my body. Really.

I haven't gotten very much sleep at all, I've had a head ache and a slight stomach ache.

And why? Because people are never what they seem.

Non è una causa morale

Ignorance, in my humble opinion, is one of the humanities deadliest weapons. We could talk
(or ..blog..) all day about what it has done to our world. All sorts of other horrible things spring from “lack of knowledge”. But who is to blame for this unawareness? We laugh at the ignorant among us; but what about the people who are so only because they have never been taught? People who are ignorant about other countries, how are they to know unless they have been there, or someone has bothered to teach them?

Last night, I had the pleasure of spending time with a good friend of mine, who is another exchange student in the same town. Because her language skills sometime surpass mine, I found myself asking her how to say something was “wrong” in italian. Not in a scholastic sense, but in the sense of morally, or ethically wrong. She thought for a moment, and taught me that , in italian, we don’t use the word “sbalgio” (wrong) but instead, we say “questo non è morale…” (this is not moral). Of course, this got us talking . What, in our opinions, wasn’t moral. We talked about assisted suicide, gay marriage, and finally, abortion. Of course. We are both, surprisingly, for it. I say surprisingly only because she is from a very catholic country in South America. Anyway, she told me that if people don’t want kids, abortion is the only option. If a woman who was considering abortion decides against it, and allows her child to live with her, what kind of atmosphere is that creating for the kid?

“I didn’t REALLY want you..but..you know. Abortion is murder. Non è morale!”

I disagreed, declaring that adoption was, in fact, another option. (God.. did I really say it….)She didn’t even look at me when she replied
“ Yes but then I do not think that the child will have a good life”.

I suggested that we buy some crepes.

The Burden of Perspective

I’ve been told recently about a serious flaw in my personality.

It’s not something most people would consider a flaw, of course. But since I am the queen of self- critical (at least today) I’ve decided to count this little quirk a defect in my character.

This shortcoming, measured by most as mere sociability, is the remarkable ability to be kind to nearly everyone. And I don’t mean just cordial, how-do-you-do-I-like-your-shirt genial. I mean, full on by-the –end- of –the- day- you –think- I –am- your- best- friend-genial.

Let us explore.

When I meet someone( who I don’t find objectionable..which is pretty much everyone) I rush in with full on “Amanda”. I leave nothing out. I give every aspect of my personality. My speech my music my trust my confidence my inner workings and my cheerfulness I am just as nice to them as I would be to say, my best friend. Or my dog. Or anyone else who is important to me and who deserves my affection. I am trusting, and kind, and enthusiastic. I have this ability to make people happy, and to make it seem like I really like them. And I do. This is not falseness we are talking about here. I’m genuine when I say that I like nearly everybody, and I do my best to express my fondness by being warm.

But here, my dear friends, is where the quandary arises.

I do not enter a relationship with caution. I am not a fly on the wall, looking good and hard at the situation before putting myself into it. I do not observe, or evaluate or inquire. The only thing that will make me “step back” a little,(less friendly less trusting less open) is a slight on the other persons behalf. I am wholehearted and passionate and unquestioning until someone gives me a reason not to be. Thus opening myself to inevitable disillusionment.

I give everyone everything I’ve got. I jump head first into friendships and relationships, hoping only for something equally as warm and inviting waiting for me on the other side. Sometimes, however, people don’t respond in quite the way I expected, and I smack onto marble. Or concrete. Or some other chilly, hard substance. They do not respond with the same level of loyalty, or correspond with my expectations. They take my kindness for granted; mistake my gentleness for naivety, or worse, weakness. I become unacknowledged, as everyone is so confidant that I will remain by their side, regardless of how I am treated. And because I didn’t look both ways before I jumped into this swimming pool of closeness , I am left laying at the bottom; skull cracked, brains and plasma seeping out through every broken bone.

Vietato agli animali

I am caught in a strange web between extreme happiness and extreme despondency. I've been tangled so long, and no solution has come up, that I find I am tired from the struggle.

I am living here, basically on my own. I function here in a way that I have never had to function before. I am beginning to miss my friends, and my family and my pillow and my bed and my dog..and all the things that have always been so ...comfortable..to me.

My brain is cloudy and my nose is stuffy and my eyes are hurting.


5 more months. An experience is an experience. Nobody said it would be a jar of roses.

I feel like that isn't quite the expression I was looking for.


I can speak Italian.

Gentle rain from a cloudless sky.

I can recall and relive any given moment of that evening.

I remember being nervous. Making mindless smalltalk with the person sitting next to me.
"Don't worry" Paulo said " You'll be able to handle it"

Sure. Great.

I remember staring out the window, watching the sparse trees go by just a little bit too fast.

You called his cell phone.

"Where are you?"you ask. Voice frantic. Anxious. "Two minutes away ", we said. "We're turning into the apartment complex right now."

I remember how my heart raced as my confidence wavered.
Maybe this was a bad idea. I bet I could stay here in the truck, and tell everyone it's all a big mistake.

"I'm not ready! I'm not ready! I can't do it! Don't make me! "My brain is screaming.
But outwardly, I'm silent. I could just turn and run, everyone would understand.

Instead, I get out of the car.


I can't believe I'm actually doing this. How many years has it been? And now, to resurface it all. It seems insane. And yet, I keep walking. I figure I have another 2 or 3 minutes until we locate which apartment is yours. 2-3 more minutes to prepare myself.

No such luck

I avert my gaze from the ground, and there you are, walking hurridly towards us. At least, I think it's you. You say something, and all of a sudden, recognition slides across my face. At this moment, I can't remember exactly what you said to me, as you rushed over for the longest hug I've ever experienced in my life. Emotion sometimes dulls all of the other senses, I think. But I suppose it doesn't matter anyway.

After the neverending hug, we are ushered into the front door. Susie is there, so are her kids. Nonna as well. Nana rushes in for the kill. Another hug. Thankfully not as long as the last one.

We awkwardly sit on the couch. Paolo sits in between us. I relax, thankful for the buffer. Nonna speaks first." You know, I used to call you snow baby. Your skin and hair were so white. You got all the German in us. I bet you burn easily"

I do.

I nibble on generic brand mint cream oreos. We talk about apartment prices, childhood antics, and school. Anything to avoid whats actually important.There's an elephant in the room. He's big, and angry. Just waiting to surface.

And suddenly, he does.

I hear whimpering from a few seats over. Paulo whispers to you. You nod, and tuck your hair behind your ear. Paulo gets up, and you inch closer and closer to me. I stare at my feet. You falter, but only for a moment, as you start to stroke my hair. I can't take it anymore. Paulo comes back from the kitchen, drink in hand, and notices his seat has been taken over. He sits on the far end of the couch.

You smile and me, or at least I bet you do. I still refuse to make eye contact.


" We're all here, sweetheart. A family."

I feel a lump in my throat, one that is roughly the size of the previously mentioned elephant.

You tell me about your hair. It was longer once, but lately you just don't have the time to take care of such lengthy strands. You cut it a few months back, but you miss it, and plan to re-grow.

Half of me wants to run out the door,and never come back. The other half wants to dive into your arms, and never let go. It's time to leave, Paulo says. We have to meet some people for dinner. You rush into the bedroom, and bring out a little box. It's contents? A little stuffed pillow. Covered in blue satin, with butterflies. It smells like lavender. Or something. I think it's the kind you put in with your underpants, to make them smell nice.I thank you, give brief hugs, and I start to leave. I turn back only once.
You look different than I remember. You look, older. Slightly pudgy. You're hair is still auburn, and you have enough freckles to mimic the constellations. You're wearing a black shirt, and dark blue jeans. Black isn't flattering to such a light skin tone. Someone should tell you. But, that someone isn't me.You hug me one last time. " My baby" you say. Barely an audible whisper. For a second, I embrace this. I buy into it. It's comforting, this bond we are supposed to have. I want to stay with you longer. Listen to you talk. Listen to your stories,your dreams, your life. I want to understand all of this shit. I want to hear it from you! Tell me ! Please, please give me some sort of peace!

But as always, you don't deliver.We ride to the restaraunt in silence. I am overwhelmed. Disenchanted with your reality. Heavy with despondency.

" How are you?" Paulo asks.

Fine.

I open the card that came with my gift.

"Happy belated birthday. Love, Mommy"
The letters seem to dance across the page. As if to gain my attention, if only for a moment.

I shoved it back into the envelope.

to voglio tanto tanto bene.....proprio..

As I sit here in an internet cafe, sipping vanilla tea and trying to warm ny feet against the heat of the radiator in front of me, I can't help but wonder if I am drinking this beverage to drown out the last bit of emotion I have left in myself.

I stand amazed today, that my life, no matter how confusing and unbearable and insane it sometimes can be, is just what it looks like. Life. I am living my days in between a state of homesickness, and the feeling that I never want to go home again. Part of me wants to return to the states, and snuggle back into the life of my peers. A life of dorm rooms and scholarships and college acceptances and finals. The other part of me wants to buy an apartment near the sea, and live this new life for the rest of my days, speaking any language I want, switching from Italian to English as I please.
“Heyyy whats up! Come stai? Tutto posto? I’m so happy for you! Ti piace tua famiglia? Mine is pretty good. Everyone has their moments I suppose. Tu vuoi andara per pizza opurre.. qualcosa? Ho fame! You too? “

It comes so naturally to me know, this cambiarmente of lingua. This change of tounge. This life of being a foreigner.


I search for comfort in the most obvious of places, but keep coming up empty handed.


I wonder what I must do to live the life I've so maticulously weaved for myself.