My passport

When I was younger I used to wish for a passport full of stamps.

Today on my way to the airport I was glancing at my passport and I realized it is almost full. I remember wishing for a full passport when I was a kid. I remember looking at my dad’s passport and pondering all the places in the world that I have never seen. After fifteen years and an unexpected life later my prayer was answered. My passport is full of memories. My Italian visa, stamps from France, England (after dating Nickja from London half my passport is filled with stamps to england), Ireland, Germany, Switzerland and of course Italy. Each stamp has so many memories. I had so much fun looking back and reminiscing (rammentando) of my adventures.

I have left Italy. It has been heart-wrenching.

Will my clothes ever dry?

I am getting ready to leave and I am for once in my life starting early to pack and to get ready. Usually, I wait until the very last minute. I can't tell if it is because I am excited or if I have unexpectedly lost my procrastination. (Probably because I am excited). So, on Sunday I sorted through all the clothes I brought here. I have to wash everything in advance because it takes days to dry clothes here in Italy in the winter. There are no clothes dryers so everything is put up on a line. It is so humid here that nothing dries ever. My clothes have been on the line for three days and still not dry. I have to pack on Thursday, in two days and have no hope that they will be dry. I just don't know what to do at this point. I have started to bring clothing in and put them over all the furnaces but the state controls the furnaces and they only come on for a few hours a day and usually my timing is off.

Fashions shows are prime time viewing

I am really going to miss being in Italy these next few months. A part of me feels Italianized. I drink warm milk now for breakfast. When I was in England for one week, I was dying for a plate of pasta. I don’t like to eat on the run any more. I think in Italian and I dream in Italian. I wear a nightgown just like they do. I embrace their crazy ideas. I can argue and fight in Italian. I express my opinion even if it is against everyone else’s (something that is very Italian). I even got my own Italian mullet. I love watching soccer with them. I will miss it and as I am getting ready to say good-bye I am feeling quite sad.

I love doing artsy things. I feel like I have a real creative side to me that I just love to express. I love clothes; to me fashion is an art. Whether you are wearing a designer Gucci dress or designer jeans to a skirt off from the street markets, fashion is an art that people wear. So many people think that it is superficial or material but honestly it is a type of art that everyone gets to experience every morning. I love it! I love opening my closet (which has no designer, actually a tiny bit) and picking out what I am going to wear that day. Sometimes, I try to think of all the details from my clothes, accessories even down to my shoelaces. It is an art. Sometimes, I don’t have to think at all. This is the beauty of this type of art. Today in church I wore red shoes, a black shirt, a smart black button-up with a green vest and a purple scarf tied in the classic Italian fashion. I have seriously enjoyed this fall in Italy as I think the Italians have an innate sense of fashion. I love that in Italy fashion shows are considered primetime viewing and you can get your own fashion show just sitting in a bar and drinking my glass of warm milk. Italians just seem to get it right. Sitting in a piazza you can see such extreme styles. You can see the giovani or the young kids wearing a variety of styles. They usually wear short skirts with boots and tights accompanied by a tight leather jacket. They have the most extreme hair styles, very textured and very sleek. Even the old people in Italy take part. They are so put together. They only leave the house with their best on. They are much more formal. It is not uncommon to see elderly Italian women with fur coats and high gloves on the city buses. Since there are many ways of being stylish in Italy and I love a country that accepts that with open arms.


My favorite quote from the devil wears prada:



Miranda: I see, you think this has nothing to do with you. You go to your closet and you select out, oh I don't know, that lumpy blue sweater, for instance, because you're trying to tell the world that you take yourself too seriously to care about what you put on your back. But what you don't know is that that sweater is not just blue, it's not turquoise, it's not lapis, it's actually cerulean. You're also blithely unaware of the fact that in 2002, Oscar De La Renta did a collection of cerulean gowns. And then I think it was Yves St Laurent, wasn't it, who showed cerulean military jackets? And then cerulean quickly showed up in the collections of 8 different designers. Then it filtered down through the department stores and then trickled on down into some tragic casual corner where you, no doubt, fished it out of some clearance bin. However, that blue represents millions of dollars and countless jobs and so it's sort of comical how you think that you've made a choice that exempts you from the fashion industry when, in fact, you're wearing the sweater that was selected for you by the people in this room. From a pile of stuff.