Titles (Erroneously) Suggest Cohesion

...and this blog entry has none. I have so much to report, but in these days have given myself much less time in which to say it. I'll try to at least break it up into paragraphs.

This was a busy morning: woke up, morning duties with the boys, walked to the market for fresh fish and bread, walked to the gym for a "tone-up" class with ex-ballerina Giorgia (she's a beast) (I hurt), then high-tailed it downtown to see a Goya exhibit with a friend. Then I read a book while walking home, and checked email while I ate lunch. All that before 13,00! Lately I've noticed a sort of frenzied need to do do do everything before-- before what? Before I leave Italy, I guess; before I grow up and have to pay bills and don't get to do things that I like, take side streets, look at the sky and strike up long conversations with strangers. My mom just forwarded me an article from UC Berkeley News titled "Pressure to Be A Supergirl Causing Teen Mental Health Crisis" that makes socioeconomic sense of this weird pressure I can't seem to name, the way I've been wearing myself out for no real reason (http://www.berkeley.edu/news/media/releases/2009/02/10_triplebind.shtml). In the article it's referred to as "the culture of "busy-ness" that surrounds teens," and goes along with "the stress of homework and sleep deprivation; the ever-increasing sexual objectification of young females; today's relentless cyberculture; and how genes and environmental pressures are combining forces to compound a teen mental health crisis." Dang. We have a lot to deal with. And even though he's talking about American teenagers, I've managed to bring this busy-ness with me into my 20s, and to Europe. It has manifested itself into a string of multitasks (like reading/eating, exercising/watching a movie, getting a coffee/writing) that leave me exhausted at the end of the day. Even in Italy, even with all the free time I technically have, I can't seem to slow myself down enough to start, finish, and enjoy, one task at a time without feeling an incredible guilt that I'm not doing enough. Author Hinshaw advises girls to "focus less on themselves by finding a wider sense of purpose," and "urges parents and schools to promote self-discovery" over achievement. This is brilliant: FIND A WIDER SENSE OF PURPOSE! I will try to focus less on myself. Hmm... that sounds like a contradictory statement...

I'm taking it easy right now, anyhow, curled in a blanket on the couch, laptop propped up against my knees, and will probably nap when I finish this. The other morning our cleaning woman said that I've taken a great opportunity to just grab at everything I can, take all that life has to offer me at this moment, and that was nice. To get some unbiased validation for this strange year I've given myself, doing a non-traditional job that I don't plan to apply to a career; living with a family that isn't teaching me to speak Italian, in an Italian city wholly unlike the one I fell in love with; losing my personality in a culture and class made up of privileged consumers. I often wonder where the benefits are, here. How exactly this is all helping me grow. Maybe it was the movie trailer for Benjamin Button that said something like, "Life can only be understood backward; but first it needs to be lived forward." I guess I'm just trying to live it forward.

Anyway. Some things that have happened lately. This weekend I went to a friend of A--'s (my host dad) to watch the first of six professional rugby games that make up the Six Nations tournament with three Italian dads. They explained the rules to me, in Italian, and I watched the game with great interest. I watched them watch the game with even greater interest. Since my host dad is crazy for weird organic foods, we brought over a biological fruit tartlet which we then ate with biscuits and tea while England completely dominated Italy. That was fun.

I went to the Filipino church on Sunday, for the first time since I've come to Turin. Silly Lauren - I should have gone a long time ago. I walked to the church, about 20 minutes from my house, and noticed that the number of Filipinos on the sidewalk increased exponentionally with my proximity to the church, until I entered the courtyard and found myself surrounded! Mothers pushing strollers, grandmas pinching cheeks, kids running through the adults, cell-phoned teenagers in twos and threes, the elderly men standing nobly on the periphery with hands clasped behind their backs. Lots of laughing; lots of Tagalog. I didn't even know how to feel. They all looked like Grandma. The priest was an Italian man, but the service (which started late, further supporting the notion that there is, in fact, such a thing as "Filipino Time") was completely in Tagalog. Except for the sermon, that is, which was delivered in a combination of Tagalog, English and Italian. Not like he said one piece and translated it into two other languages, but he spoke continuously in all three. I was amazed to see that most everyone appeared unfazed, and able to understand the discourse in all three languages. How adaptable they are, I marvelled, to absorb so much of this other culture without losing their own.

I was in a position I've never been in before, the only white person among hundreds of Filipinos. Other than the priest, and one tall man I saw across the church, that is. Probably someone's husband. It was slightly uncomfortable, as I felt very foreign and very clueless (more so, surprisingly, than I often do in and around Turin), but I plan to introduce myself to some people when I go back next week. Maybe I'll have learned more words by then. So far, my Tagalog word bank includes "How are you?," "Happy Birthday," "I love you," "peace," and "beautiful girl." I've been Filipino for 23 years and that's all I've got.

Have also been doing weekly English sessions with an anthropology grad student, focused mainly on her work to promote tolerance of Roma (gypsy) children in the European classroom through a thorough education and debriefing of the educators themselves on Roma history. Giorgia's level of English is about at the same as mine in Italian, though her vocabulary is a bit more scholarly, and the 90 minutes I spend in her apartment each week - usually drinking Japanese tea, and listening to flamenco guitar - is a true delight. The more I learn about the widespread oppression of and prejudice against Roma children, the more it resembles that of African-Americans before the Civil Rights Movement. There are all kinds of stereotypes of "gypsies" as being lazy, shifty, and stupid, nearly all stemming from the 'otherness' imposed upon them by the majority (in our case, Italian) population; and these stereotypes are perpetuated in the classroom, which largely functions as a microcosm of the larger society. This week we talked about my experience at the Filipino church, and when the topic of language came up she told me some very fascinating things about cognitive linguistics and the difficulties that arise for children who don't fully learn their parents' mother tongue, when it comes time to learn a second language. It made me wonder how my dad and his brothers not only learned English so well, but went on to college and law school with parents who didn't speak English correctly. That's something I've never slowed down to think about... not only within my family, but in ESL communities everywhere. Americans have it so friggin' easy; we can find English most anywhere we go. But think about all the people who have gone out of their ways to learn our language. Most Europeans are not bi-, but trilingual by the time they reach high school.

There are so many things running through my head these days, that I can't fit it all into the hours I have.

The kids are growing, changing, every day. The youngest has completed his first "semester" of school! He can read and write and do basic math, though hasn't yet figured out how to tie his shoes or like vegetables. The oldest sometimes rages or cries for inexplicable reasons - we assume it's hormones? - and loves it when I serenade him to sleep with my guitar. I think he's attempted a couple of sly boob grabs this week, out of curiosity. Both continue to be picky eaters, favoring chocolate over everything else. Lately we've been playing a lot of "I Spy" from the bus, in an attempt to get them to practice English in fun ways. We have already begun to talk about things in terms of Before and After Lauren Goes Away, which makes me sad. On Saturday, I cried watching their swimming lessons, because I know that I will never love two little rascals the same way I love these.

What else can I tell you all? What have you been missing lately? The weather is getting nicer here, though still chilly in the shade. My hair is still short. I bite my nails like I always have. The heartache and homeache that coloured the months before Christmas seems to have lifted, and I find myself trying to remember what it means to relax (like I did when I first arrived). I'm currently reading "The Glass Castle," a memoir; "Il Buoi e Il Miele," the novel upon which the screenplay for "Scent of a Woman" is based; and "Ill Cammino dell'Uomo," still. Daydream about going to the Philippines in 2010, going to Croatia and/or Tuscany in July, and how and when I will stumble onto the great loves of my life.

This weekend I will go to help the florist with some deliveries for Valentine's Day, then there's a lot of special outdoor performances going on around town into the evening. Next weekend I'll go to Ivrea for the annual Orange Battle. Stay tuned for photographs!