A Haiku From “Things I miss Already”
Always by my side…
Your endless nights and weekends…
Cell phone, I miss you.
I have a cell phone, but I have to pay-per-call. That's painful...knowing that every second I'm talking on the phone I'm draining my prepaid account. Plus, when it runs out of minutes, I'm screwed until I can get to the store to recharge. As much as I hated the $39.95 verizon monthly bill (or usually $63 since I barely ever stayed within my minutes), I hate this pre-pay thing even worse. So much for chatting for hours about nothing in particular.
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
Monday, January 29, 2007
Turkish Translation
“Where are my muffins?" said my Turkish friend Ipek as she looked in her purse for her ear muffs.
Loved it.
Loved it.
The World in a 1-bedroom Flat.
Last Friday during the day we had our revision for the group project we’re working on. (A revision is a progress check and review before the final projects are due.) Ellen, a Korean girl, invited the 5 girls in the group over to her house for dinner afterward. I had only slept 3 hours the night before, and my roommates were having a party at our house later in the evening so I really wanted to go home and get a few hours sleep before our party. Instead I went with the girls to Ellen’s.
When I got there I was glad I hadn’t skipped out. I could tell from my first moments inside her apartment that Ellen had carefully planned for us, with wine and glasses already on the table. We found out later that she had stayed up until 3 am cooking the night before.
We ate a mixture of Italian and Korean food while the Italian version of Mariah Carey's "Hero" played in the background. One thing that amazed me was how much pop culture we all share. We talked for awhile about music, and everyone was in the know. I was the most out-of-the-loop because Americans don't usually hear all the world artists. (By the way, have any of you out there heard of Faithless? My British friend was amazed that I had never heard of them before I arrived here. My introduction to them was a 3-hour video marathon on Italian TV the first week I was here.)
When working in our group, most things happen in English, but for this party there was an additional person who speaks only Korean and Italian. So she would speak in Italian and the Turkish girl or the Taiwanese girl would translate it to English. Or sometimes I would interpret as much as I could myself. We talked, we laughed…our group finally had fun together. Overall there’s been a tension amongst us, and that night it was finally gone.
The dinner, for me, was a knitting together of our lives and our hearts. (yes, cheesy but it was very meaningful for me.) There were 6 women in the room, all from different countries except the 2 from Korea. The conversation went from English to Italian to Korean and back again. Even with all the translation back and forth, we all understood one another. The topics were the things of life and he heart, and I left feeling closer to the girl who spoke the least English than anyone else in the room.
My favorite moment of the evening:
Ellen bought 3 kinds of beer Beck’s, Heineken, and Budweiser. I took a Beck’s, and I said something how I wouldn’t drink the Budweiser. LuLu, who’s Taiwanese asked about the Budweiser, I told her it was American, and she wanted to try it. I can’t explain how much it made me laugh when I saw LuLu, this really fashion forward Taiwanese girl drinking a can of Budweiser, a beer that reminds me of family Midwestern get-togethers. It was an odd cultural moment.
When I got there I was glad I hadn’t skipped out. I could tell from my first moments inside her apartment that Ellen had carefully planned for us, with wine and glasses already on the table. We found out later that she had stayed up until 3 am cooking the night before.
We ate a mixture of Italian and Korean food while the Italian version of Mariah Carey's "Hero" played in the background. One thing that amazed me was how much pop culture we all share. We talked for awhile about music, and everyone was in the know. I was the most out-of-the-loop because Americans don't usually hear all the world artists. (By the way, have any of you out there heard of Faithless? My British friend was amazed that I had never heard of them before I arrived here. My introduction to them was a 3-hour video marathon on Italian TV the first week I was here.)
When working in our group, most things happen in English, but for this party there was an additional person who speaks only Korean and Italian. So she would speak in Italian and the Turkish girl or the Taiwanese girl would translate it to English. Or sometimes I would interpret as much as I could myself. We talked, we laughed…our group finally had fun together. Overall there’s been a tension amongst us, and that night it was finally gone.
The dinner, for me, was a knitting together of our lives and our hearts. (yes, cheesy but it was very meaningful for me.) There were 6 women in the room, all from different countries except the 2 from Korea. The conversation went from English to Italian to Korean and back again. Even with all the translation back and forth, we all understood one another. The topics were the things of life and he heart, and I left feeling closer to the girl who spoke the least English than anyone else in the room.
My favorite moment of the evening:
Ellen bought 3 kinds of beer Beck’s, Heineken, and Budweiser. I took a Beck’s, and I said something how I wouldn’t drink the Budweiser. LuLu, who’s Taiwanese asked about the Budweiser, I told her it was American, and she wanted to try it. I can’t explain how much it made me laugh when I saw LuLu, this really fashion forward Taiwanese girl drinking a can of Budweiser, a beer that reminds me of family Midwestern get-togethers. It was an odd cultural moment.
Friday, January 26, 2007
finally.
After two full weeks in a hotel room, I have a room of my own.
On Monday night we finally moved our suitcases across town to our home on Via Ponti.
My roommates and I smiled and squealed when our landlord shut the door behind him.
The keys were finally in our hands.
A 3-bedroom on the 3rd floor (or 2nd if you’re a Euro)
My space is perfect---
a big window with a marigold curtain
& a dresser large enough for my year’s wardrobe.
I don't mind that I don’t have a quilt for my bed yet-
I’ll sleep with just a sheet and my bath towel for this week.
On Monday night we finally moved our suitcases across town to our home on Via Ponti.
My roommates and I smiled and squealed when our landlord shut the door behind him.
The keys were finally in our hands.
A 3-bedroom on the 3rd floor (or 2nd if you’re a Euro)
My space is perfect---
a big window with a marigold curtain
& a dresser large enough for my year’s wardrobe.
I don't mind that I don’t have a quilt for my bed yet-
I’ll sleep with just a sheet and my bath towel for this week.
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
Those Brits
Brit saying of the day: “I’m so hungry I could eat a scabby donkey.” -Mel C.
There are four English girls in my class, all with very distinct Liverpool accents. I’ve always gotten a kick out the slang and quirky sayings that haven’t made it across the sea.
However, I never predicted that my American accent and tendencies would be such an amusement to them. “You’re so American…it’s ‘Totally’ this and ‘Totally’ that.” English Lauren laughed out loud at the way I said Official.
I guess it's not the official way.
The other day British Mel was quizzing me on Prom. I guess they don't have anything like it in Britain. "Do you really dress up in fancy dresses and go in a limousine? And is it a big deal who you take..do you have to go with a date?" Loads of questions flowed from her mouth, probably spurred from episodes of the O.C. and other silly teenage shows that we export. I had a feeling that she wished she could go to prom too.
There are four English girls in my class, all with very distinct Liverpool accents. I’ve always gotten a kick out the slang and quirky sayings that haven’t made it across the sea.
However, I never predicted that my American accent and tendencies would be such an amusement to them. “You’re so American…it’s ‘Totally’ this and ‘Totally’ that.” English Lauren laughed out loud at the way I said Official.
I guess it's not the official way.
The other day British Mel was quizzing me on Prom. I guess they don't have anything like it in Britain. "Do you really dress up in fancy dresses and go in a limousine? And is it a big deal who you take..do you have to go with a date?" Loads of questions flowed from her mouth, probably spurred from episodes of the O.C. and other silly teenage shows that we export. I had a feeling that she wished she could go to prom too.
Sunday, January 21, 2007
Clean Streets - a Haiku
For some reason I have been thinking in haiku. Today's entry is from my Haiku collection "Things I Miss Already."
CLEAN STREETS
Poo is everywhere.
Old cement smells of urine.
Watch your step, TQ.
The streets here are filthy. Dogs and animals alike relieve themselves where they like and don’t bother to “pick up” after themselves. Instead of looking up at the buildings and the sites around me, I find myself looking down to avoid the feces piles and those random puddles that seem to have appeared on the otherwise dry streets.
The other day I was walking in front of the school, and there was an empty Chicken McNuggets box beside a pile of dog feces. The pile was just the right size to fit in the box. The placement was so perfect that it almost looked like some artistic, political mind had put them there as a statement against America. We'll never know.
CLEAN STREETS
Poo is everywhere.
Old cement smells of urine.
Watch your step, TQ.
The streets here are filthy. Dogs and animals alike relieve themselves where they like and don’t bother to “pick up” after themselves. Instead of looking up at the buildings and the sites around me, I find myself looking down to avoid the feces piles and those random puddles that seem to have appeared on the otherwise dry streets.
The other day I was walking in front of the school, and there was an empty Chicken McNuggets box beside a pile of dog feces. The pile was just the right size to fit in the box. The placement was so perfect that it almost looked like some artistic, political mind had put them there as a statement against America. We'll never know.
Thursday, January 18, 2007
Hoping for Brilliance
"I want you to be my love" by Over the Rhine playing in my earbuds.
Old favorite calms me after a rough day.
I'm listening on repeat as I type.
Friday our first projects were assigned. Group projects...groups of 7. The only thing good about groups of 7 is that 7 is a good digit in and of itself. Also a part of the group dynamics equation is cultural diversity:
2 Koreans
+1 Chinese
+1 Turk
+1 Brit
+2 Americans
(x 2 who prefer Italian to English)
= my group
Something is lost in translation everyday...including important things like when the next group meeting will take place.
The project itself asks us to take from each of our own cultural experiences and create a collection that represents us as a group. Depending on how we execute, our end result will be desperately confused or hightly brilliant.
Old favorite calms me after a rough day.
I'm listening on repeat as I type.
Friday our first projects were assigned. Group projects...groups of 7. The only thing good about groups of 7 is that 7 is a good digit in and of itself. Also a part of the group dynamics equation is cultural diversity:
2 Koreans
+1 Chinese
+1 Turk
+1 Brit
+2 Americans
(x 2 who prefer Italian to English)
= my group
Something is lost in translation everyday...including important things like when the next group meeting will take place.
The project itself asks us to take from each of our own cultural experiences and create a collection that represents us as a group. Depending on how we execute, our end result will be desperately confused or hightly brilliant.
Monday, January 15, 2007
Taking a Breath
This morning I walked to school for the first time without my two roommates. My walk took me by places I have only seen from the trolley. The endless pizzerias, the newspaper stands, the caffeterias (coffee houses)…
It’s important for me to venture on my own. If someone else knows the way, I just follow and neglect to pay attention to street signs or which way we last turned. For a whole week my roommates and I have been sharing a 3 bed hotel room, and consequently I have spent little time alone or doing things independently.
Today I liked the city. It’s not that I haven’t liked Milan, I just haven’t let myself evaluate it yet. I’ve been in survival mode…"fly to Milan, meet roommates, start school, meet new friends, try to speak Italian for the simplest of things, go, go, go"…I haven’t had time to just be...to smell the Milanese roses.
This week is men’s fashion week in Milan. Each fashion student has received 1 or 2 invitations to different runway shows. At noon our interpreter announced she had invitations for some to the Roberto Cavalli show, but those who received them had to leave right because the show started at 1:30. My name was the first to be called. I don’t know why, but it made me feel special, like I was the first picked for kickball at recess.
But why did I leave my camera at home today?
And why did I wear this outfit?
We had to figure out the show’s location and race across town to make it in time. We were late, but luckily we’re in Italy, where "on time" doesn’t mean anything.
Free champagne at the door.
Everyone dressed in black.
Me in my sneakers and puppy dog sweatshirt.
The male models, average age 18, were gawky and walked with odd form. The only thing I could think was their pants were too tight and were preventing them from taking normal strides. The young men looked unnatural in the luxe fabrics like silk, cashmere, and fur in which they were clothed. The show wasn't as polished as I expected.
It lasted all of 15 minutes.
A short first Milan runway show experience.
Still, my favorite part of my day was my half hour walk to school.
It’s important for me to venture on my own. If someone else knows the way, I just follow and neglect to pay attention to street signs or which way we last turned. For a whole week my roommates and I have been sharing a 3 bed hotel room, and consequently I have spent little time alone or doing things independently.
Today I liked the city. It’s not that I haven’t liked Milan, I just haven’t let myself evaluate it yet. I’ve been in survival mode…"fly to Milan, meet roommates, start school, meet new friends, try to speak Italian for the simplest of things, go, go, go"…I haven’t had time to just be...to smell the Milanese roses.
This week is men’s fashion week in Milan. Each fashion student has received 1 or 2 invitations to different runway shows. At noon our interpreter announced she had invitations for some to the Roberto Cavalli show, but those who received them had to leave right because the show started at 1:30. My name was the first to be called. I don’t know why, but it made me feel special, like I was the first picked for kickball at recess.
But why did I leave my camera at home today?
And why did I wear this outfit?
We had to figure out the show’s location and race across town to make it in time. We were late, but luckily we’re in Italy, where "on time" doesn’t mean anything.
Free champagne at the door.
Everyone dressed in black.
Me in my sneakers and puppy dog sweatshirt.
The male models, average age 18, were gawky and walked with odd form. The only thing I could think was their pants were too tight and were preventing them from taking normal strides. The young men looked unnatural in the luxe fabrics like silk, cashmere, and fur in which they were clothed. The show wasn't as polished as I expected.
It lasted all of 15 minutes.
A short first Milan runway show experience.
Still, my favorite part of my day was my half hour walk to school.
Friday, January 12, 2007
Put a stamp in my passport, I’m FOREIGN
I became a foreigner the moment I arrived at gate B20 at New York’s JFK. It hadn’t occurred to me when I bought the ticket to Zurich via Warsaw that the only people who take Polish Lot airlines are Polish.
The flight attendant came over the speaker in Polish asking a specific passenger to come up to the desk for an important message. There happens to be a Polish word that sounds a lot like my name…“Rashana” or something to that affect. The announcement was repeated several times over the next 20 minutes and I kept thinking, “Are they saying my name? Am I the idiot who isn’t going up there?” Each time heard it my neck would tense up for 10 seconds, and then I would let it go. No wonder I need a massage.
(Just a note: the first day of school a Turkish girl asked me if my name was Romanian or Polish.)
My last few minutes in the United States were spent admiring the lights of New York out the plane window with the Polish man sitting next to me, who offered me a mentos before take-off. My Polish seatmate was an elderly gentleman who spoke little English but whose genuineness crossed language barriers. He seemed to look after me throughout the 8.5 hour flight. He insisted that I use his pillow in addition to my own and gave me the front page of his newspaper to wipe up the grape juice I spilled when there were no napkins in sight. He woke me up when the drink cart came and even translated “beef or chicken” so I wouldn’t choose the wrong dinner. He was the one who made my flight pleasant in the middle of a foreign world.
(Ever noticed how the person you sit by can make or break your flight? There are times when all you want to do is sit in silence, but the person next to you insists on hearing your life story. Then there’s the person who doesn’t realize that the arm rests are a neutral area, and one’s arm should never be placed far enough that it touches the other person. My personal favorite was my seatmate on a flight from London to Chicago that drank Jack & Cokes starting at 8am and every half hour afterward until he began to wreak of alcohol and fell into a deep, snore-producing sleep.)
The flight attendant came over the speaker in Polish asking a specific passenger to come up to the desk for an important message. There happens to be a Polish word that sounds a lot like my name…“Rashana” or something to that affect. The announcement was repeated several times over the next 20 minutes and I kept thinking, “Are they saying my name? Am I the idiot who isn’t going up there?” Each time heard it my neck would tense up for 10 seconds, and then I would let it go. No wonder I need a massage.
(Just a note: the first day of school a Turkish girl asked me if my name was Romanian or Polish.)
My last few minutes in the United States were spent admiring the lights of New York out the plane window with the Polish man sitting next to me, who offered me a mentos before take-off. My Polish seatmate was an elderly gentleman who spoke little English but whose genuineness crossed language barriers. He seemed to look after me throughout the 8.5 hour flight. He insisted that I use his pillow in addition to my own and gave me the front page of his newspaper to wipe up the grape juice I spilled when there were no napkins in sight. He woke me up when the drink cart came and even translated “beef or chicken” so I wouldn’t choose the wrong dinner. He was the one who made my flight pleasant in the middle of a foreign world.
(Ever noticed how the person you sit by can make or break your flight? There are times when all you want to do is sit in silence, but the person next to you insists on hearing your life story. Then there’s the person who doesn’t realize that the arm rests are a neutral area, and one’s arm should never be placed far enough that it touches the other person. My personal favorite was my seatmate on a flight from London to Chicago that drank Jack & Cokes starting at 8am and every half hour afterward until he began to wreak of alcohol and fell into a deep, snore-producing sleep.)
"my very own miracle" timeline
December 19: left Portland on a roadtrip back to Nebraska with hopes to turn in my visa papers in Denver on the 21st.
To get a visa for Italy one needs to hand in the paperwork in person to the consulate in his or her respective area. Since I wanted to use my permanent address and my driver’s license, needed for proof of residency, was still issued in Nebraska, I needed to visit either the consulate in Denver, St. Louis, or Chicago.
December 20: called the Italian Consulate of Denver to check hours and found out some interesting news.
~The Italian Consulate of Denver is run by one woman who runs it out of her home. She sees people by appointment only from 1-3 weekdays, and she informed me that she was booked through Christmas. Who has ever heard of a consulate run out of someone’s home? This was the day I became concerned. This was also the day I started praying.
December 20 & 21: stuck in “the blizzard of 2006” in Wyoming and Northern Colorado.
December 22: called the Denver Consulate 7 or so times to see if I could sneak an appointment in. No dice.
~Since it was only the week before Christmas at that point and I wouldn’t arrive back in Nebraska until the weekend of Christmas, my next opportunity to visit a consulate would be on December 27th, when the offices resumed business. Visa paperwork, once it is handed in, take 4-20 days to process. I was scheduled to fly to NY on January 5.
December 23-26: cried, stressed, prayed, and repeat.
~Can I get a Christmas please?
December 27: flew to Chicago with Mom
~We flew in the morning and took a taxi straight to the consulate. Our goal was to hand the paperwork in and spend some time shopping on Michigan Avenue, knowing that it was all out of our hands. However, we left there with paperwork still in our hands because the consulate asked us for more information, information that was not included in the original list. The man at the consulate had initialed everything so that we could send it in the mail, but I couldn’t take the idea of losing another 2 days.
December 28: Sent the paperwork in the mail, knowing it wouldn’t arrive for another 2 days, the arrival day being a Saturday.
~The consulate is only open Monday through Friday. Considering the New Year holiday, the soonest they would look at it would have been January 2nd, that’s only if the consulate chose not to close for the Gerald Ford Holiday.
January 4: Tried to get word from the consulate to know for when I should re-schedule my flights. No word was received, so I decided to try again the next day.
~I had resigned myself to the fact that I would not fly out as scheduled and would probably be late for school, which started on the 10th. I tried to forget about it and celebrate my birthday by going to Omaha to see my sisters and friends.
January 5: Woke up to my sister saying mom and dad were on the phone. An express mail package has arrived, and they thought it must be my visa.
~There is no reason I should have received my visa on the 5th of January. It was so improbable that I hadn’t packed my bags. I needed to drive 2 hours home, pack for a year in Italy, and drive 2 hours back to Omaha by 7pm. I made it on the plane with two (over)packed bags. My flight was even delayed 20 minutes so I could spend a half hour talking and making toasts with my family before take-off. It was all an absolute miracle.
To get a visa for Italy one needs to hand in the paperwork in person to the consulate in his or her respective area. Since I wanted to use my permanent address and my driver’s license, needed for proof of residency, was still issued in Nebraska, I needed to visit either the consulate in Denver, St. Louis, or Chicago.
December 20: called the Italian Consulate of Denver to check hours and found out some interesting news.
~The Italian Consulate of Denver is run by one woman who runs it out of her home. She sees people by appointment only from 1-3 weekdays, and she informed me that she was booked through Christmas. Who has ever heard of a consulate run out of someone’s home? This was the day I became concerned. This was also the day I started praying.
December 20 & 21: stuck in “the blizzard of 2006” in Wyoming and Northern Colorado.
December 22: called the Denver Consulate 7 or so times to see if I could sneak an appointment in. No dice.
~Since it was only the week before Christmas at that point and I wouldn’t arrive back in Nebraska until the weekend of Christmas, my next opportunity to visit a consulate would be on December 27th, when the offices resumed business. Visa paperwork, once it is handed in, take 4-20 days to process. I was scheduled to fly to NY on January 5.
December 23-26: cried, stressed, prayed, and repeat.
~Can I get a Christmas please?
December 27: flew to Chicago with Mom
~We flew in the morning and took a taxi straight to the consulate. Our goal was to hand the paperwork in and spend some time shopping on Michigan Avenue, knowing that it was all out of our hands. However, we left there with paperwork still in our hands because the consulate asked us for more information, information that was not included in the original list. The man at the consulate had initialed everything so that we could send it in the mail, but I couldn’t take the idea of losing another 2 days.
December 28: Sent the paperwork in the mail, knowing it wouldn’t arrive for another 2 days, the arrival day being a Saturday.
~The consulate is only open Monday through Friday. Considering the New Year holiday, the soonest they would look at it would have been January 2nd, that’s only if the consulate chose not to close for the Gerald Ford Holiday.
January 4: Tried to get word from the consulate to know for when I should re-schedule my flights. No word was received, so I decided to try again the next day.
~I had resigned myself to the fact that I would not fly out as scheduled and would probably be late for school, which started on the 10th. I tried to forget about it and celebrate my birthday by going to Omaha to see my sisters and friends.
January 5: Woke up to my sister saying mom and dad were on the phone. An express mail package has arrived, and they thought it must be my visa.
~There is no reason I should have received my visa on the 5th of January. It was so improbable that I hadn’t packed my bags. I needed to drive 2 hours home, pack for a year in Italy, and drive 2 hours back to Omaha by 7pm. I made it on the plane with two (over)packed bags. My flight was even delayed 20 minutes so I could spend a half hour talking and making toasts with my family before take-off. It was all an absolute miracle.
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