Cabinet

Another year

About this time last year, I stepped out of Fiumicino airport into the mild winter of Rome. The ride home was lined with statues, buildings, and piazzas straight out of an art history book. It was dreamy, foreign, like my first time listening to Sigur Rós. In the coming months, I began to note the differences and similarities in my lifestyle here and at home. Eventually, I came to the conclusion that everything is more or less the same, wherever you go. You eat, sleep, and shit. Work on weekdays, go out on the weekends. Eat a little healthier, maybe get some more exercise. Read more. Care more. Try more. And don’t drink so much. The unavoidable rituals, motherly advice, and half-hearted goals that make up the bulk of a life—the constant, I guess.

Not knowing the language, leaving friends and family at home, and adapting to a new culture turned out to be surprisingly painless. I found that all you really need to communicate is a permanent smile and furious hand gestures. Newfound friends taught me this, and a substitute family is easy to find in a hospitable country like Italy. In the end, the most significant differences are the little ones. The variables. Not finding ginger ale. “Please, please, take my order.” The bus ticket that is never checked, but always paid for. Damn, it’s hot (no central a/c) and damn, it’s cold (no central heating). Eating more pasta than I did in college. Birds that cropdust the streets, and everything on it. Shops being closed Sunday, including the Tabacchi…

And, of course, the good things. Discovering there was no microwave at home, or need for one. Pizza, really good pizza—and gelato. Churches that actually move you. Looking up to find the dome of St. Peter’s Basilica guide you home. Orange and teal. Italian. Touching a Brancusi, sitting on a Bernini, and talking smack on Berlusconi. Beautiful people. Wandering into the places that never made it into history books. Pounding cheap beer under the gaze of priceless statues, looming facades, and sparkling fountains. Really old cars. City blocks that turn with the street. Orange and teal. I imagine most of my memories from this time will be tinged with these colors. Philly’s got its brick-reds, New York has its greys and metals, and Seoul—flashing neon.

When people ask what living in Rome is like, I don’t really know what to say. It’s just the little things I mentioned before that make life interesting, and the rest is the same. I don’t mean to suggest that it’s not worth visiting, because it definitely is. But visiting a place, is different from living there. This is why when you say, “but Italian food is so delicious…” I want to smack you in your mouth. Because after we have our delicious pasta dinner, you can take your little flight back home to a cheesesteak, burrito, or even take-out Chinese. I’m eating pasta. If everything is awesome, nothing is awesome.

So, I’ve got high hopes for 2010. Knowing that I’ve put in a year, somehow makes the next one seem manageable. I think 2009 was generally overwhelming. I’m shooting for consistency in ‘10. By the way, how does everyone say ‘10? I just murmur a little before saying ‘ten.’ Is this acceptable?

And just for merde e risatine, I leave you with this. Best purchase of 2009: Bicycle. Worst purchase of 2009: Cycling shorts.