Six months
in Italy. Six months, in which I haven’t uttered, written one single
non-professional word. I have been holding my breath - in synch with my dozing
muse. I have been idling, hovering above myself, waiting, holding out, hoping
to wake up one day with not only two feet on the Italian soil but with my heart
rooting within it. A futile attempt, a futile resistance. Six months later, the
moment has come to confess that the Italian ground is offering not the right
blend of nutrients for my heart to strike roots. There is no one to blame,
however. Neither Italy, nor myself. It is the pairing that doesn’t work, like
an equation that will always show a false result.
It is a
well-known phenomenon that most of the people who spent some time living in
London will always look back with nostalgia. In my case it is more than
nostalgia as against the backdrop of Italy’s uniformity – that in my personal
case translates into monotony –London’s qualities become a necessity without
which I don’t want to live. There is no black or white, I am aware of that, but
there are pros that weigh heavier than others, and there are cons that are more acceptable
than others. For me, the aspects of England that one can define as negative
are manageable whereas their Italian counterparts paralyse my very nature. The
English delights, however, are dearly missed and beat the Italian equivalents
by far. I won’t name any details as this piece is not being written to highlight
my dislikes and affections when it comes to these two unequal countries. Each
of them is what it is; each of them has a strong character and innate idiosyncrasies.
But I am lucky enough to live in the European Union where I can chose freely
where to stay, and I am even luckier to be in a professional position where I
can move around the globe without the need to anchor.
It was my
choice to come here and try out the “Dolce Vita”, and it was me who had to find
out that the Italian way of living fails to taste sweet on my tongue.
I have been
thinking a lot since I left my homeland behind three years ago, about cultural imprints
and differences and the concept of culture itself. It is a multi-layered,
complex topic that I don’t dare to touch upon but as an emigrant I can surely say
that there might be only one place like home but that there are places outside
your native country that to you feel more homey than others and constitute a home-like
environment made up of like-minded people, sociological reference points as
well as cultural and personal compatibility.
I have come
to terms with the fact that there is a possibility of me never arriving, and I
am willing to simply follow my adventurous heart – like I did twice – and go
back to that place on the island to experience it with my latest findings in
mind. I have the feeling that this decision will bring me home, afterall my
muse found her tongue the very day my English nostalgia turned into the firm plan
to leave Italy behind to reconquer that city called London.
“There is no place for grief in a house which
serves the Muse.” ~
Sappho
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