"Open my heart and you will see Graved inside of it, 'Italy'"Robert BrowningItaly is a mystical place. It's a dichotomy of senses--the tastes, the sights, the sounds seduce and satisfy yet the longer you call it home, it somehow unveils itself. The colors always deep, even in the rain. Italy is chaos. Italy's structures are many and rarely followed--stop signs are suggestions and crosswalks for design. Italy is blind. "Il Fumo Uccide,"--smoke kills--it is written in large, black letters as the youth inhales, tags a monument, and throws its rubbish on the curb, as il cestino-the trash can- sits lonely on the street. Italy reflects forgetfulness in nature's mirror. The Italian's sight becomes foggy and dim and when the foreigners fawn, Italians remember. Italian street food, American fast food, and Italy's Slow Food Movement all dance La Tarantella. Italy is proud, regionally proud, provincially proud, proud of its city, proud of its town, proud of its community, proud of its neighborhood and proud of its block. So proud that language changes regionally, provincially, by city, town, neighborhood and block--no wonder there are so many Italian accents and dialects. Italy is messy but dressed fashionably. Italy ignites a complete satisfaction as it does a complete frustration. Italy is patient without the patience. It's peaceful. It's frenetic--its roots profound. Its history preserved and tangible a mist a modern and changing world, where nothing changes. Italy is a living vacation---La Dolce Vita paired with La Bella Figura. Its story felt strolling its streets. And as you stroll, one cannot help but fall in love with this mystical, chaotic and paradoxical place.
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I fell in love with this place at five years old. I have been back almost every year since. My parents are Italian immigrants now living in the States. Most of my family is still in Italy and when I come, I come as an American. I come as an Italian. I come as an Italian-American. I sometimes come as a tourist. I sometimes come to live. I am completely absorbed in the culture and in the every day lives of its people. I am completely absorbed and immersed in family, in the day-to-day minutia, in the every moment of what it is to be Italian. However, I have, and will always have a slightly skewed view of Italy. I was born in America. I live in America. I always wear American sunglasses when I arrive, until the Italian sun reveals such a simple yet forgotten truth--Tutto il mondo e' un paese--the whole world is one town (it's a small world). We are all so very similar. Our aesthetics change but we are all still so very human. It's this humanistic quality that Italy highlights, that Italy personifies, that Italy exposes with such depth. No wonder Humanism was born here. Italy is beautifully flawed and with all its imperfections, we are allowed to see our own. We see Beauty and its not always beautiful. No matter how many times I come to Italy, I see and learn something new; something about its people, its nuances and more importantly something new about myself--one cannot help but grow in this place, find an inner peace and solace unlike a Tibetan monk yet just as spiritually enlightening. One cannot help but fall in love with this place. I fell in love at five years old and I still play in its perfectly flawed streets. I invite you to play with me and hope you too fall in love with this mystical, chaotic and paradoxical place.
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