Allora...ho lasciuto Roma un'anno fa, e voglio ancora tornare alla lingua più bellissima del mondo. Non l'ho studiato molto quest'anno, però l'ho parlato un po'. Mia sorella Gita ha viaggiato in Italia e lei ha imparato di italiano abbastanza bene.
Quest'estate, ho comprato "The Language Hacking Guide" di Lewis. Ero in Kenya e volevo imparare Swahili, ma non ho praticato mai e ho tornato a casa senza questa lingua. Volevo anche praticare francese è imparare spagnolo, ma adesso devo scegliare una lingua. Sono più certo avec italiano, quindi sceglio questa. Faccio molti errori - sempre! - e anche non so quando ho tempo per praticare, ma voglio dare 3 mese al quest'esperimento...forse non sono totalmente senza speranzo.
Ciao tutti, e grazi per la vota di confidenza...l'italiano qui non è perfetto, e mi dispiace per tutti gli errori!
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Saturday, December 12, 2009
Reaching the End
Travel journal entry written for my Lit class, "Italy and the Literary Imagination."
They say that when you travel, it's time to depart as soon as you begin to feel at home. I thought I'd skipped ahead. I'd fallen into a Roman rhythm, a rut that was familiar and endearing, and I missed it when I left the city for ten days on Fall Break. But another month has passed, and things have changed again.
Each day I've sunken deeper into intimacy with the ancient city. What began as a spark has transformed into a pulsating flame, which is fueling a cavernous range of emotions. My eyes tear up when I think of leaving, but I also miss home more desperately than ever. Yesterday, Jade and I made French toast for lunch and went out for Chinese at night, but I'm dreading the day when I won't have access to fresh, amazing Italian food every day of the week. 6:30 am on December 22 shifted from an indefinite point in the foggy future to a week from Tuesday. That scares and excites me in amounts that I don't have the ability to measure.
I've been asked "How's Italy?" and "How do you like Rome?" When I'm home the questions will remain, although they'll unfortunately be shifted into the past tense. Italy is a foreign country, foreign in so many tangible ways, with the better and worse inextricably bound together. Who am I to delineate, itemize and judge? It wouldn't duplicate the experience. But no one wants to repeat the past few months of my life. Something small, candy-coated and easy to swallow will do just as well. In my reflections, I try to be honest. I say that I've grown up this semester, grown more confident and independent; that Italy is beautiful; that Rome is a rich old city with endless churches, museums and monuments to explore. I can dredge up a few anecdotes if they ask for more detail.
Soon I won't be able to end the questioning by logging off Skype or closing Facebook. I won't walk down Via Giulia in the morning, dodging speeding motorcycles, quickening my pace every time I check my watch, certain I'll be late for class. I won't order una piccola coppia di gelato and wince when I hear the American pronunciation, juh-law-dough (particularly when it slips from my own mouth). I won't worry about whether the grocery store is still open when I want to make dinner. I won't watch the news in puzzlement, trying to figure out what story is being covered. I won't experience the bliss of a sunny winter afternoon in Rome, mercifully free of snow and gloom. I won't wake up and fall asleep in my own room with fifteen-foot-high ceilings. Soon I'll be home, with my memories and pictures and the building blocks of a new language. And I'll live another life that will bear great similarity to the one I led before. There will be differences, subtle and grand, because I've changed. But I can't take everything home: Italian people and places will remain rooted in Italian soil, and while I'll spend months trying to articulate what I experienced abroad, I'll never make anyone understand completely. I might not even get it myself.
They say that when you travel, it's time to depart as soon as you begin to feel at home. I thought I'd skipped ahead. I'd fallen into a Roman rhythm, a rut that was familiar and endearing, and I missed it when I left the city for ten days on Fall Break. But another month has passed, and things have changed again.
Each day I've sunken deeper into intimacy with the ancient city. What began as a spark has transformed into a pulsating flame, which is fueling a cavernous range of emotions. My eyes tear up when I think of leaving, but I also miss home more desperately than ever. Yesterday, Jade and I made French toast for lunch and went out for Chinese at night, but I'm dreading the day when I won't have access to fresh, amazing Italian food every day of the week. 6:30 am on December 22 shifted from an indefinite point in the foggy future to a week from Tuesday. That scares and excites me in amounts that I don't have the ability to measure.
I've been asked "How's Italy?" and "How do you like Rome?" When I'm home the questions will remain, although they'll unfortunately be shifted into the past tense. Italy is a foreign country, foreign in so many tangible ways, with the better and worse inextricably bound together. Who am I to delineate, itemize and judge? It wouldn't duplicate the experience. But no one wants to repeat the past few months of my life. Something small, candy-coated and easy to swallow will do just as well. In my reflections, I try to be honest. I say that I've grown up this semester, grown more confident and independent; that Italy is beautiful; that Rome is a rich old city with endless churches, museums and monuments to explore. I can dredge up a few anecdotes if they ask for more detail.
Soon I won't be able to end the questioning by logging off Skype or closing Facebook. I won't walk down Via Giulia in the morning, dodging speeding motorcycles, quickening my pace every time I check my watch, certain I'll be late for class. I won't order una piccola coppia di gelato and wince when I hear the American pronunciation, juh-law-dough (particularly when it slips from my own mouth). I won't worry about whether the grocery store is still open when I want to make dinner. I won't watch the news in puzzlement, trying to figure out what story is being covered. I won't experience the bliss of a sunny winter afternoon in Rome, mercifully free of snow and gloom. I won't wake up and fall asleep in my own room with fifteen-foot-high ceilings. Soon I'll be home, with my memories and pictures and the building blocks of a new language. And I'll live another life that will bear great similarity to the one I led before. There will be differences, subtle and grand, because I've changed. But I can't take everything home: Italian people and places will remain rooted in Italian soil, and while I'll spend months trying to articulate what I experienced abroad, I'll never make anyone understand completely. I might not even get it myself.
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Immaculate Conception Day
It's an Italian holiday, Immaculate Conception Day, so I've had the day off school. Yesterday was my last Italian class, and tomorrow finals commence. I've been listless and indolent, reluctant to study, and my greatest accomplishments of the day include making vegetable soup, hanging up laundry, and listening to Italian language podcasts. I picked out a few pictures for my free photo assignment, and I tried to send them to my professor, but I couldn't think of a single thing to journal about them. I thought putting them onto the blog might inspire me.
Oh, and I was also inspired by my classmate Abby's blog, which has been far more regularly updated than mine and makes me wish I'd gone to Siena this semester!
A bell tower at Subiaco Monasteries, the oldest Western monasteries in the world. I tagged along with a Religion class and enjoyed the trip into the Italian countryside, despite the nippy mountain air and the fact that I hadn't yet purchased a winter coat.
Villa Adriana, Tivoli. Hadrian built this little haven from which he could supervise the enormous building project that was going on all around him, and it's an incredibly tranquil little island (which unfortunately we couldn't enter). I love this picture because the reflection is absolutely crystal clear and there are lots of curving lines.
Statues in Villa Borghese. These are two of the best faces I've come across in Roman statues, and I took several pictures to try to capture the expressions. The creepy guy on the right reminds me of a cartoon character (Rasputin, perhaps?). This is actually the only detail picture included here, even though I've taken so many; it is, after all, a Photographing Art and Monuments class, and I'm trying to include more work that falls under that category.
Ara Pacis, along the Tiber. This building takes my breath away. It's so simple, and so incredible. With the trees that line the Tiber reflecting off its surface, it's as if it's covered by a wall of nature. The museum houses an "altar to peace" built between 13 and 9 BC.
Interior of the Colosseo. I took lots of interesting pictures there, and this is one of my favorites because the forbidding nature of the subject helps to conjure the gigantic scale with which the place was built. Unless you look at the people milling around on the other side, you can gaze into the middle of the Colosseo and forget how big it really is.
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