I've been having a difficult time bringing myself to blog again. Last week, I started getting personal with my writing, and by personal, I mean sentimental. It's really hard to walk along that line. I think that by doing so, I got a little frightened. I felt as though I had dipped my toe into freezing water and was afraid to go in for the swim, so here I am, having not blogged in days because I am afraid to share my blessings.
Classes are going better, but I feel like I can only say that because it is the weekend, so I don't have class! My quiz on Thursday went better than I expected (I think), and I felt relieved after it was over. Ceramics has been going better since we refined our pieces. I have felt a little better about them, even though they aren't even or anything. I went into the studio yesterday to finish painting them for their first firing. I can't wait to see how they turn out, though two of them are cracked already and probably won't survive. Our professor already gave us our second assignment, but I haven't even started the first! We have to research designs and styles and ideas first. How much do I have done? Zip. Oops...
Recently, I have been accumulating a ton of mosquito bites. The funny thing about it is that I've really only see around 5 or 12 mosquitoes. I counted my bites yesterday, and I was at 55. I counted them again in the bath this morning, and I am up to 77. At first, they didn't bother me because they didn't itch. Now, the itching has set in, and I have been going crazy. My arms and legs look like I have chicken pox. I have a bite under my chin, and I fear that when I itch it, the Italians may think that I am expressing profane body language.
As I walked into my apartment today, an Italian man on the street said to me, "I like your tattoo. I like your green sandals. I like your sexy feet. I like it all." I rolled my eyes, said "Grazie" and gave a nonchalant wave. Oh, men. Sometimes, I would really just like to know why they try to flatter American girls. What do they expect us to do but laugh and walk away?
I wish that I could live like I never have to leave here, but the reality of the brevity of this trip is constantly weighing over me. Before I left home, these six weeks (almost) seemed like such a long time to be away! Now, they simply aren't enough for me.
I want to remember every detail about being here. I don't want it to fade away when I go home. I never want to forget the feeling of living abroad--the beauty of it. I want to remember going to the store and deciding how many eggs I want to buy since they are sold in cartons carrying 2, 4 or 6 eggs, all for less than one euro. I want to remember drinking warm "milk" out of a carton and buying it for sixty-five euro-cent and feeling like an astronaut during the process. I want to remember the sounds of the "city" and how this term differs greatly from the U.S. I want to remember what it feels like to walk out my front door into a crazy market or to sit on our terrace in great companionship, overlooking the Tuscan landscape of hills. Oh, and of course, buying food in the market with my broken Italian.
The exchange rate doesn't bother me anymore since I am so used to thinking in euro. Sometimes, when things are a little pricey, I will think of them in USD to remind myself of their lasting value to me, but otherwise, I have gotten so used to working with euro, that I'm not so afraid of the currency anymore. The funny thing is that when I go back to the United States, I will feel like I have more money, but I really won't have any more than when I left!
I have two volunteer projects set up for my time here, and I am really excited for both. Starting this upcoming week, I will be gardening at Museo Stibbert. It's huge (or so it looks on the map), and I don't really know what to expect yet. I am very grateful for the opportunity to give back on this trip though. The best part is that I will be able to give back to the environment through the gardening project, as well as the people, through my other project which is volunteering at a summer camp! The summer camp gig is only two days, but the hours are a little longer than the gardening one. While there, I was told that I will be helping to teach children English! I am so excited! I was hoping to do some kind of service, and I just feel like both of these opportunities are perfect for me. I just pray that the plans carry through and that I don't miss the bus and that I can serve as God calls me to.
On Thursday, we went to the exhibit "Angry Young Men: Picasso, Miro, Dali." It was amazing. It featured their earlier works, beginning in the year 1926 and going backwards in time. Learning how their art changed over the years and what influenced it was phenomenal, and seeing their earlier works that aren't shown as much... oh! Words cannot describe! At the exhibit, one of Picasso's notebooks was displayed. This showing was the first time that it had been viewed outside of Spain. To stand there and think of the masters that created them warmed my heart. I felt like I was standing in the same room as them. Dali is my favorite painter that I have encountered yet, and his work "A Moment Before" was my favorite until this exhibit. Here, they displayed his painting called "Bleeding Roses," and it was absolutely fantastic! The colors! The details! The vibrance! Don't even Google-it because you won't understand. I tried to find an image that would do justice to show you, but the color is lost, just so much is lost that it's not even worth it. Just trust me.
Sometimes I feel like I live here for the long-run, like this is home now. It's almost as if I have always been here, as if this is all that I have ever known. Sometimes I forget that I live in a house an ocean away, lost between trees and fields, not an apartment in the middle of a crowded market with busy streets. Sometimes I forget that I go to an American college, not an International Institute. The memory of family and friends becomes fogged and distant; which of these is my life? Can two weeks really feel like this long (in a good way)? I usually get this feeling of the familiarity of life here when I am walking down the street. I get frustrated with the tourists gawking at the monumental structures of my front yard, then I laugh at my hypocrisy in it all. At the exhibit, though, I forgot that I was in Italy. Walking through, everything was in English under the Italian markers, and it didn't feel strange at all. When we left, and I realized where I was, I experienced a momentary shock as if awaking from a dream.
My cousin Derek is in the hospital at home because he had to get his trach put back in, and he has Sepsis which is keeping him there a little longer. I am very worried about him, and I feel guilty for being in Italy instead of by his side, but I keep reminding myself that, even if I were there, I couldn't change anything. I just pray that he gets better, and I ask for your prayers as well.
As I laid in bed last night, I moved the tips of my fingers over the little bumps clustered along my wrist: my bug bite rosary. I am praying for this trip. I am praying for Derek. I am praying for God.
Blessings.
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