“Being dubbed as a hunk sort of annoys me. It gives me a yucky feeling.”
Well, you can only blame yourself for looking so good, Mr. DiCaprio.
It’s been a month and five days.
And I finally have some time to breathe. Actually, I don’t; I have a bunch of drawings that are due this Tuesday, and that’s really stressing me out. Not really because I’ve been procrastinating, but more because I know for a fact that these drawings that I produce will never amount to what my professor expects of me and the entire class. Let’s just get one thing out in the open and cleared: I’m notan artist, I’m notan art major, and I don’t have the capacity to draw or create anything magnificent or extraordinary. This is whyI have never taken a formal art class, this is why I decided to pursue something that fulfills my interests, exemplifies my talents, and makes me feel like I’m accomplishing something worthwhile, and well at that. I feel suffocated in this beginner’s level class that I was forced into so that I could study abroad. And I’m frustrated to say that most of my concerns and efforts are put into the one class that I care the least about. I am here to study ITALIAN, and I am also here to immerse myself into a new geographical, cultural, social, political environment. I am not here to study art, I am not here to get better at art. This course is not required for me to graduate, it will not fulfill any prerequisites that I need to complete my degree. Let’s also establish that my professor, my advisors, and DePaul’s Study Abroad program all knew beforehand that I am not an art major. And so, for all that I have just elaborated upon, I ask, why am I being graded on a caliber of somebody who has prior experience with drawing? This isn’t fair, and I shouldn’t have to feel guilty for having zero artistic experience because I can’t produce something that is up to par with an “artist’s” standards. I am doing the best that I can possibly do, and it doesn’t seem like it’s going to cut it. Don’t giveme an average or below-average grade for what youthink isn’t my best. I know what my best is; what I give to you is the latter.
This is at the bottom-end of my list of problems here. I have never felt so lonely within a group of people. I can’t seem to fit in or get along or build up trust with anybody here, and I feel like a laughing stock and a topic of catty conversation every day with these people. Luckily, thank God, I have a few people here who I swear will remain my friends. I am so fortunate to have them here and in my life in general. I really don’t know what I would do, however, if they weren’t here. I’ve never, in my life, seen a group more divided, untrustworthy, full of more bulliesthan in this one. I am not believed here to be the person that I know and everybody at home knows I am — confident, secure, outspoken, friendly, and happy. Here, I’m miserable with this group. I can’t possibly feel confident and secure because I am rejected constantly. Which means I can’t be happy or friendly or outspoken. I’ve tried numerous times throughout the last month to be friends or at least be kind acquaintances with them. But what is the point of doing so without any positive, worthwhile response? (Not even the gesture of a lunch invitation.) It’s not that I am desperate to befriend these people or make the friendships last for life. It’s not that I even like them very much as individuals. But why do they all, in general, get along, and I cannot seem to find my way in? I’ve never thought that I would be the problem, and yet thisis how I feel. I’ve never done anything wrong to them, and yet they still can’t even say a genuine “hello” to me. I usually won’t get so worked-up about something like this, but usually I’m not stuck with a group in a context like this for this amount of time. Just this weekend, I was in southern Italy, and multiple times I couldn’t help my eyes well up in tears because it was so beautifulthere, and I hadto do this trip with these people, who don’t seem (I mean it when I say seem, because after all, I haven’t had the chance to get to know them) to have a care in the world about what beauty was laid before their eyes. I would replace them in a nanosecond to have that experience with my parents and very best friends. Because I knowthey would love it. And it would make my memories of being there so much better. But I’m stuck with the memories of hearing trash-talking about others in our group; looks of disinterest; the utter embarrassment of a damaged hotel room after a night of drunkenness (because they can’t put the bottle down for one weekend). This is no self-fulfilling prophesy, in terms of my initial concerns of fitting in with this group; I wasconcerned, but I went into this experience with an open mind and lots of hope that I would get along with most, if not the whole group. And this has always been the case with me, being sort of left out. But it doesn’t matter how many times it happens; it never gets easier. I’m happy being me, and I’m confident in who I am. My only question is why people don’t like or accept that. It makes me feel like I haven’t met anybody’s expectations. But I’m not dead set on the dynamics of this group. For now I’m done trying. But only because I feel like I’ve put in all the effort, and now it’s their turn to give it a go with me, if they want. I can forgive people. And the friendships of the groups within the group may change, hence the change of them. Because I really don’t think any of these people (except for one, who shall remain nameless) are really bad or have cruel intentions. I think it’s insecurity and the needs and wants that I also have: the drive to fit in and be accepted. But I personally am not gonna budge my beliefs and personality for their benefit. So we’ll see. And if the duration of this trip continues like my experience so far, I can rest well with the fact that I won’t ever have to deal with these people again come November 28th.
But let’s get to the good stuff; I can’t tell you how wonderful it is here. My host family is seriously a godsend. Silvia and Marta are so kind, willing to help me, willing to listen, funny, talkative…… the list goes on and on. I’m SOOOOOOOO incredibly lucky to have been chosen to stay with them. It really helps with any inevitable doses of homesickness. And the only language I speak with them is Italian. Which makes the immersion experience really great. Really, the only language I speak in Rome is Italian. And if a store clerk or waiter or someone else speaks to me in English, I respond in Italian. Because, as I explain to them, I’m here in Rome. I shouldspeak Italian, even if I don’t necessarily have to. It makes me feel good for two reasons: one, because it boosts my confidence and abilities in speaking the language I’m studying; and two, because I think it’s a way of showing fellow Italians respect for them, their language, and their country. How dare I assume that public establishments have workers who speak English on demand just because it’s a touristy city? Besides, my time in Italy would prove pointless if I weren’t to speak the language of the people, right? And the places I’ve seen so far… ahhhhhhh! So much to talk about! But the pictures really say everything. I’ll probably dedicate the next blog to my favorite pictures, but I’ll post what I judge to be the best picture I’ve taken in Rome thus far, and also one of the best pictures I’ve ever taken in my life. And I really think it’s the epitome of what Rome is; layers upon layers of history, ancient to the present, that simultaneously exist in harmony with one another.
A week from now…
I will have already completed my first day of living in Rome. I’m not so so nervous anymore, but I’m worried (and I have a right to be) about a few things still, and will not give up the worry until I experience it:
1. My relationship with my host family: I mean, even though it seems like I’ve got a lot in common with Silvia and Marta (whose name, by the way, I dreamt her name to be TARTA last night), I’m just worried that they’re gonna hate me.
2. Friends: Am I gonna fit in with everybody who’s going? I know a bunch of people who are going, but I just hope that I can develop good and trusting friendships with these people. Because you know, I’d like to have at least one sidekick close to me to defend ourselves against some muskrat kid who tries to mug us in a Roman alley. Or when greasy Italian men come up to, in my eyes, sexually harass me, but in their eyes they’re just offering a very forward compliment on how I look.
3. The deal with luggage: I sincerely hope that I’m not the only one going on this trip who is taking two decently-sized suitcases filled with clothes and other necessities for my trip. I hope the university, my family, and my classmates don’t judge me. I’ve already been judged by the fact that I’m actually almost done packing. Am I THAT much of a geek that I’ve prepared ahead of time? I just don’t feel like spending my last day in Chicago frantically packing.
Well, clearly I’m insecure and self-conscious and wimpy about this whole process. But I’m sure it’ll turn out okay. Everybody’s job for the remaining FIVE days that I’m here: Reassure me that I’m not the only one who’s anxious and concerned about what lies ahead for the next three months, and despite it all, I’m gonna be okay.
…… =/
Wow! Thanks, Google Italia Maps!
Well. That, right there, is a map of the general vicinity of my temporary residence for the next three months, which will promptly begin in exactly two weeks. A is where my host family lives and will be hosting my stay, and B is where I’ll be studying. And hopefully there will be a C, D, E, F and G and so on of places where I’ll be broadening my cosmopolitan self. =P
No but for real, I’m freaking out at this point. And although studying abroad in Rome is gonna be one of the best experiences of my life, at this point, I’m focusing on spending the most time possible that I can with my parents and my friends, and I’m trying to make the most out of these next two weeks. Because I’m no doubt gonna miss Chicago more than I have missed anything in my life.
