Tag: travel

TWFB: No, thank you. I am not a prostitute…

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Colosseo, photography by D.M. Blake (2011)

I am still listening to Vivaldi…Don’t ask…

(TWBF=Travelling while Black and Female)

I spent last night mulling over what my exact experiences have been as an overseas traveller since reaching adulthood.  The reality is that there was a lengthy gap, of almost ten years, between my travels overseas.

I had basically ceased all of my overseas travelling in 2001.  Partly because of my own anxiety around 9/11, the war, and also being in the process of becoming an American citizen.  Simply, at that time, it seemed to me to be in my best interest to stay put in America.  Thus, I did just that.

Of course, one thing leads to another (as in years passed by while I was living).  I moved from Florida to Massachusetts, studied, graduated, and then was working.

So, what have been my experiences since coming to Rome, i.e. as a Black woman?

(YouTube is a great travel resource.  Please, watch SaitamaFlowers has some wise words.)

Hmm…I suppose, for the most part, I have been treated respectfully here.  There are some things that I have come to understand and experience that leave me with some concerns.

In general, however, my grievances are a bit superficial…like not being able to find makeup to match my skin tone (Thank the universe for Kiko Milano! :)), and not being able to find hair products (Thank the universe for olive oil and Cielo Alto!:)), etc.  These types of things, which if one is persistent in seeking a resolution, then all should be mostly well.

It is true (again, this is my experience) that some older Italians are not accustomed to dealing with foreigners.

Sadly enough, while I was waiting in line in a grocery store, there was an elderly man who kept hitting me with his shopping cart.  At first, I thought it was an accident, but I recognized after the second/third/etc times that this man was having a serious problem with me.  Of course, I tried my best to redirect his behaviour, but he simply let loose a string derogatory words about my non-Italian status.

Luckily enough, the people in the grocery store, customers and employees alike, came to my defense and were quite apologetic, and they told the man that he was in the wrong.  The experience was shocking to me.  The response of the bystanders, however, gives me hope for the future of multiculturalism here in Rome.

It is true (again, this is from my experience and some research) that some Italian men see Black women (really, I should say here foreign women, especially young Americans) as easy sexual targets.

For Black women, it is possible too that we may be thought of as prostitutes as there is, apparently, a significant number of North African women who are considered as engaging in prostitution–This is an exceptionally difficult topic, and I am trying to handle it in the best way I know how.  Please, understand that I mean no offense.

First trip to Rome (2010)

One of the things to which I had to become accustomed was the staring.  People here stare.  When I write “stare,” I don’t mean like a lengthy sideways glance.  No, I mean stare.  They seemingly try to stare you down.  These days I treat it as a challenge…a little staring contest.  You know, like in childhood, Just who will be the first to look away?? 😉

Now, when I first came to Rome, I took major offense to this behaviour.  You know, it felt like I was being silently assaulted by these stares, because I did not know how to understand them.  A part of me was like, Do you seriously have, or want to have a problem with me?

Then, I learnt that the staring-thing was not just directed at Black people, or foreigners (yes, I asked several people), or people dress a little oddly like I do.  Oh no, Italians stare at Italians too…and I have witnessed it first-hand.  Actually, I find it quite amusing these days.

So, yes, people here stare.  Try not take it too seriously if you travel here. Of course, it is true that they may be staring at you because you are obviously a foreigner, but again it’s a cultural thing.  So, don’t let it upset your day…try to have a sense of humour about it.

I will say this:  it is important to learn the basics of the language of the country to which you are choosing to travel before you leave.  Practice aloud greetings and asking for help.  Also, it is important remember formalities of the country/culture.  The more you know about culturally appropriate behaviour, the better off you are.  Perhaps most importantly, it is important to keep a sense of humour, especially at the most difficult of times.

If someone offends you, regardless of intentionality, just remember to treat it like water running off a duck’s back.

Until Next Time!Best,

D.

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Travelling while female…and Black (Part 2)

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In Florence, photography by D.M. Blake (2011)

Where to begin…where to begin.  I am still listening to Vivaldi.

How is Vivaldi relevant to the topic?  Well, actually, I have found that listening to instrumental music is quite helpful when managing emotions.  And throughout my travels, I have most definitely had to learn how to manage my emotions (although I am not always the most successful).  😉

I have been travelling alone since 1987.  My first trip was a 3-4 hour long flight from Kingston, Jamaica to Boston, Massachusetts.  Strangely enough, I remember feeling neither terrified nor excited–I was busy thinking about the most appropriate way to act, in order to make the best impression on those who would encounter me.  Even at the young age, I had tapped into something that has served me throughout my travels of the years.  That is, neither fear nor excitement will get you anywhere, if you do not behave appropriately.

So, let’s fast-forward some years to 1996 when my mother and I decided to backpack from London to Edinburgh.  Although it was a great deal of fun, it was also my first instance of having someone look at me askance.  What I mean to say was that my long braided hair, bell-bottom (before they were called boot-cut) jeans, guitar slung over shoulder look along with my big blue Jamaican passport causes one of the (thankfully female) guards to do an extra check on me.  It was the first time that I had someone basically put their hands on my person in such a thorough manner.  And I remember recording that in the catalogue of my mind.

Apparently, I did not learn from episode 1996, because in 1999 when I travelled to Berlin to attend an overseas program, again I was stopped and thoroughly searched:  shoes removed and all.  Of course, I was still rocking out in my hippie-mode the long braids, guitar (I think), big blue passport, but then I had traded my jeans for cargo pants…you know, with the many pockets.  The guards at Tegel weren’t having it.  I wasn’t annoyed then…that came later.  I figured I would allow for stereotypes to simply be.  After all, even in the US, people pair Jamaica with the word marijuana, so…

Looking perplexed crossing the Charles River into Boston, photography by D. M. Blake (2011)

Berlin…to Prague?  No, I don’t think so…

Everything changed when I decided to take a trip to Prague to visit a friend in November 1999.  I remember clearly that it was an early morning trip, and already Berlin had become cold.  Even as I journeyed to Prague, I could see the pilings of snow covering buildings and streets–At that time, snow still fascinated me.  (Live in Boston for a couple of years, and you get over the fascination really fast).

So, what could have happened on that trip?  Well, long story short was that I, along with other people of visibly minority status, were escorted (I use that for the sake of politeness) off the train and told to return to Germany…i.e. even with my big old visa that gave me the right to enter into the Czech Republic and thus visit Prague.

Yes, that’s right.  My passport was taken from me and I was kept in a holding area (feel free to read into that a little) until train heading back to Berlin had arrived.  Mind you, in German I directly asked the German border patrol what the meaning of this was.  He equally directly and quite civilly told me that the Czech didn’t want people like us there, and that was the reason for our removal. Wait…People like us??  

Well, that was my first and last time to have an experience like that…and why?  The following is not a definitive reason.  However, I will say that the episode caused me to do something I never thought I would do… I decided to become an American citizen.  I understood that with my Jamaican passport, I would continue to run into problems. Now, please, understand that this is merely my experience and my then-logic.  I understand now that problems with travelling can occur regardless of your passport. The little blue passport, however, did help me in my travels.  No longer did I get the strange delays and the weird looks (okay, so I still got the looks). 😉

(Expat in Korea celestrial81186 at YouTube.  See part two here.)

Okay, so what does this all mean?  No, I am not saying every person of colour  who is not American should run out there, toss their citizenship, and try to become an American citizen.  I am proud to be an American citizen and equally proud to be Jamaican.  What I am saying is that it is possible that the origination of your passport potentially can help or hinder your ease of travel as a person of colour.  Again…these are just my thoughts.  Also, there is a difference when travelling to a place for vacation, and staying in a place for a longer period time, but I will come to that next…  😉

Also, if you have specific questions about travelling, please free to ask and I will address them in my next post.
Until Next Time.
Best,
D.

P.S. I was attempting to find a cute cartoon featuring Black women travelling…and so, I did as we are expected to do these days and went on Google Images…What did I find?  Well, nothing could be posted.  Many of the cartoons were quite derogatory towards Black women.  Now, why is that?

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AMBW… What??

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I have a tendency towards researching things.  Yes, I am a bit obsessive.  However, when I speak or write about a topic, I like to be as well-informed as possible.  In my last posts, you may have noticed that I have been using information from Asian countries, i.e. expats living in Asian countries like Japan and Korea.  I have been researching on YouTube what it is like for Black women to live in countries where they are a perceivable minority…Little did I know that this research would lead to…

Apparently, there is a growing celebration of interracial relationships between Asian Men and Black Women.  I had no idea.  Of course, I think it is brilliant that people of different ethnic/racial/religious/etc.  can and want to get together.  I am, however, a bit concerned by the seeming exoticism of it all…

I know in my life, I have tried to stay clear from people who are seeking to be in a relationship with me because they have a prepared plan of only dating Black women, because Black women are x, y, and z…,or who are seemingly fixated on my cultural background.  So, I am uncertain as to what is happening here with this AMBW push.

More importantly, I have noticed that there are even virtual battles that are being waged about the beauty of Black women and where we stand on the beauty standard totem pole…And according to some, we are at the bottom.  There are even some arguments that Asian men and Black women should get together, because we are both on bottom in terms of desirability…And I am like (yes, I wrote “like”), “What??!!”

Have I missed the boat here?  Was there some big thing that happened culturally that I wasn’t aware of it?  It’s true that I don’t watch television, listen to the radio, avoid newspapers and magazines.  So, it is quite possible.  When, however, did minorities exoticizing other minorities become in vogue.

(Very good YouTube video that addresses this issue. Video by Charly in Korea)

 My apologies for the tirade, but…

Until Next Time.

Best,

D.

P.S.  This guy is just too much :D…

 (“Interracial Dating – Korean Guy’s Perspective”

by famousamos on YouTube)

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Travelling while female…and Black (Part 1)

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“Travelling Home to Rome….” photography by D. M. Blake (2011)

As I mentioned in my last post, I had a long conversation with my mother that included remembrances about her childhood and my grandfather.  There was something else of which spoke that made a deep impression upon me.  That is, she spoke about her travels around the world.

It is a bit strange, perhaps, that my memories of my mother are of old photographs:  my mother standing in snow-covered places, my mother amongst tulip fields and windmills, my mother feeding pigeons in a wide and open plaza, my mother on a ship…

My mother in places that I, as a child, never understood how she came to be there or if I would ever see such wondrous sights in my life.

I remember finding and displaying all the coins from the many foreign countries in which she had travelled.  Places with strange names, strange languages, differently shaped than the money I knew as a child in Jamaica.

How could one person have travelled so far at a young age?  So very far from the island country that served as a birthplace, and where she had both children and husband awaiting her?

Then again, how could she have not?  She was teaching us, her children (and even our father), something very important.  She was teaching us that no matter who you are and where you are, you should never limit yourself.  Think big, dream even bigger, and allow life to take you where you will it.

“How to Create Dreams I” photography by Diedré M. Blake, 2011 (Rome)

There are many answers that one could give, or rather, that I could give.

The fact is, I travel because I need to understand that nothing is this life can limit me but my own self.

Not the colour of my skin.  Not the kinkiness of my hair.  Not the language that I speak.  Not the relationships that I have built through blood or friendship.

Perhaps it is selfish.  I am certain that culturally, for some, this type of attitude is selfish.  For me, I see it as setting an example for the younger generation of my family, who will undoubtedly face a world that is filled with stereotypes, some of which will be aimed at them.

Trust me, travelling is not easy for people of colour, especially in parts of Europe, where the colour of one’s skin can mean a reason to be attacked (again, this is my own opinion).

Travelling, however, is one way of challenging stereotypes.    It takes courage to say, “Let me leave everything behind and go somewhere far away.”  And that is regardless of race/ethnicity/sexuality/religion/etc… Everyone, I believe, feels some fear when away from what is familiar, and from those who are accepting of us.

When we open our eyes and our arms to the world, we allow ourselves to see beyond stereotypes…Equally important, we allow for the world to see us as individuals.  Thus, why should the world not be our oyster?

I thank my mother for passing on the wanderlust that has allowed me to have and to act upon the desire to see as much of the world as I can…I suppose she, in turn, thanks her grandfather, who was a ship engineer.

Until Next Time.

Best,

D.

P.S. —

Some YouTube Links of Black Women Travelling:

Babs in Japan: “Love life and Japan” http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2VLx7Yc0dwU&feature=share&list=UL2VLx7Yc0dwU

Charly in Korea: “Black in Korea” http://youtu.be/mbLVIWNtdzo

Interesting Blog from China: “Life Behind the Wall”  http://lifebehindthewall.wordpress.com/

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In Absence of Loc’s…

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Almost two years ago, I sat on the floor in my bedroom, staring at a propped up full-length mirror.  My eyes were red and stinging from crying.  My ex was staring at me with concern.  I am not sure where the dogs were, and it’s quite possible that they were there too.  It was Thursday.  It was evening.  It was Thanksgiving Day.  It was also the beginning end.October 1999.  Stanford-in-Berlin Program.  It was the day before we left to travel as a group to Weimar to visit Buchenwald and to see the Bauhaus School of Art & Design.  I sat in the darken closet space in the library/loft bedroom that served as my home for a semester.  My hands were moving silently and quickly trying to unravel, trying to untangle the part of myself that was false.

They weighed 2.5 lbs.  My dreadlocks.  Long, black, streaked red, interwoven with the hairs of those whom I had loved and still loved.  I placed them in a large wooden box, buried them with the things that once belonged to that which was now lost.  I buried the box under boxes, the memories hidden from my sight, my head free and light, even if my heart was fully empty.

I shoved the engineered strands that once formed plaits, that once gave me an image of who I wanted to be but was not.  I decided then, thirteen years ago, to accept the image of myself that stood:  dark circled eyes, lips too big, cheeks puffy, pimpled face, brooding, always too hungry and never fully satisfied even after consuming anything and anyone.  I had been living in a vaccuum catering to my illusions and fostering my disillusionment with the world around me.

The screaming voice, terrified in its inaction, broke my heart.  The words did not make sense, but then again they did.  Drop everything and run.  Dropped everything and ran to my car, open the door and drove speedily on curved roads.  It wouldn’t have changed anything.  It changed nothing.  Death happens sometimes in an instant.  There is nothing to be done. Whether it is the warmth of the cooling body that lays still beneath touch of a palm roughed and ruined by age and care.  In absence of signs of either life or death, there is neither hope nor grief.

“Bend or Break,” photography by Diedré M. Blake (2010)

Going against the grain.  It’s what I do best.  After I came out to my mom in 1996 as a lesbian, I immediately started dating men, resulting in memories best forgotten and the decision that all men were bigs…I’ve changed my mind about that…somewhat.  It’s doing the unexpected that make life worth living.  At least, you know that you are choosing and not someone else.So, I decided to resign from my job just when I was eligible for indpendent licensure.  I decided to leave the country that served as my home for twenty-odd years to move to place where I didn’t speak the language, had nothing and no one.  I decided to cut my hair just when I began to recognize myself in the mirror.

—

Until Next Time…

Best,

D.

Spending Time Strategically Avoiding… and Engaging Life…

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ImageHmm… Well, I thought of starting this off with a big, fat lie about how I lost my computer/lost internet connection/forgot that wordpress existed/convinced myself that my blog was just a dream…

Eh, but why avoid the truth, which is so very simple? 😉  I was busy living…

Yeah, that’s right.  Living. Can you believe it?  It’s something I’ve been strategically avoiding for some time now.  Actually, being avoidant had been quite useful while going through that period of… well, how should I put it… difficulty and uncertainty. 😉

Truly, however, benefit can be found in focusing in on yourself, in order to heal and reinforce one’s emotional and psychological foundation.

Gratefully, I have achieved a sense of stability in my new environment.  That is, I am attending university, working, and making and spending time with friends.  Also, I’ve been learning the ins and outs of what it means to actually ‘live’ in Rome as opposed to the ‘extended visit’ experience I had before.

What is truly wonderful is now I am in a place of balance… and can return to doing the other things that I love, such as writing (blog, etc.) and playing guitar.  It’s a nice feeling…

I promised at the end of my last post that I would talk about men, a neverending source of dicussion here in Rome for women as women are for men.  Below is an excerpt from my essay “Why Rome…”, which basically sums up my observation of men in Rome.  Hope you enjoy it.

Connection isn’t Obligatory

There is a particular occupation of Italian males that I believe must be highly expected and duly ignored.  I call it the ‘Sexual Objectification Initiation Program.’  It is like a built-in computer program that is implanted at an early age in the brain of the average Italian male.  I will explain in further detail.  Just keep reading.

Rome is a city of attraction.   Attraction, sexuality, sensuality are a way of life here.  Above all, there is an exceptional appreciation of beauty that surpasses issues of race and ethnicity.  Really, I have been told, on more than one occasion, that Romans are not racist.   Romans merely suffer from an acute case of grand aestheticism.

No, no, really (my Italian friends assure me of this every time they see me), no matter what race you are, if you are perceived as beautiful, then Romans will accept you.  Not only that, but they will absolutely let you know about it.  (Now, think back to the above-mentioned ‘Program.’)

Roman males, in particular, try to be specific in their feedback and will let you know just where you fall on their personal attraction rating scale, even if they do not know you at all—let’s not worry, for now, about whether or not you have asked for this information.  For them, it is seemingly an automatic thought-to-mouth (or foot-in-mouth) experience of the ‘Program,’ which if I had to write its code in Standard English would be something like this:

  1. If Roman man, then notice all women.
  2. If woman perceived as young and attractive,
  3. Then stop mid-action, mid-conversation, mid-anything.
  4. Ignore intelligent thought.
  5. Revert to caveman-like utterances, of which the only intelligible words are ciao and bella.
  6. Ignore woman’s response.  Be persistent.
  7. Repeat process until life on earth ends,
  8. OR if wife and/or girlfriend present, break process by remaining silent (unless complete ass****).

Until next time… I promise that it will be much, much sooner.

D.

(“Via dei Condotti,” Photography by Diedré M. Blake, 2011)

Begin where you are…

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Tourists and Construction, photography by Diedré M. Blake (Via Frattina, Rome, Summer 2011)

The streets of Rome continue to be filled with tourists, street vendors, performers, designer and not-so-designer stores, construction workers and apparently me.  To describe Rome as “hot” in summer is a vast understatement – I am beginning to wonder if I have descended into the depths of hell, and am only a few moments away from seeing fire and brimstone.   Who knows… especially with the temperatures at night being somewhere between 80-95 degrees.  Regardless, I have come to look at this period as merely the final stages of my own personal experience of being tempered.

I’ve returned to Rome after being two months away.  The process of my return was not an easy one as it meant vast amounts of paperwork and a whole lot of letting go.  Both of which, I had assumed that I was quite accustomed to by now… apparently not. 😉

Beginning where I am: Part 1

It’s been a long time since I have written on my blog… and with good reason. That is, getting paperwork done to move overseas is never easy and is time-consuming as is the finalizing one’s life that is being left behind.  More importantly, however, I wanted to take a break away from my introspection – As much as sharing my thoughts with the larger world is an interesting and encouraging experience, I have found that there is equal importance to be given to the practice of shielding one’s thoughts.

In moving forward, I would like to make my blog a more interactive experience – I am not certain of how that may actually manifest itself. 😉  From some of the feedback I have received, however, I have come to understand that my thoughts have been helpful to others and have given them perspective/insight into their own lives.   And so, I would like to invite questions or topics to be addressed via my blog.   After all, how much can I talk about my life? 😉

Thus, I begin this new phase with the hope that I can reach out and help others more directly.  Of course, I will continue a weekly (or perhaps even more often than that) update of my blog with topics of interest that arise from my observation from the world around me.  In the interim, send me your thoughts and questions.  (diedreblake@gmail.com)

 D.

Monday, 29th of August – Beginning where I am: Part 2 (Self-deconstruction and understanding the strength of one’s self-foundation)

“How fast does a man run, when the Devil is after him?”

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Under Pressure, photography by Dolores Juhas (http://www.dolores-juhas.tk)

These words begin The Book of the Damned, one of the two books belonging to the collection The Secret Books of  Paradys 1 & 2 by Tanith Lee.  Whether I knew it or not, for the last few weeks, I have been attempting to answer the question by living it. 

From the moment I stepped foot on American soil at the end February, I began running from one place to the next, one meeting to the next, one person, one action, one word, one thought to the next, to the next, to the next, to the next… through illness, through injury, through fatigue… Fast.  Toward what end?

Stop.

4.14.11. Less than two weeks later, I find myself in conversations with women on airplanes and in buildings, discussing the passage of time, which somehow always seems inevitably wrapped up in variations on the theme of love, whether absent or present in one’s life.  From these conversations, I have come to realize that I am a person who is content with who I am and where I am in each moment for the most part, regardless of comfort or discomfort.  Life is life, and from it I learn and I evolve.

 

Jet Lag, photography by Diedré M. Blake (4.14.11)

I realize that for some the dynamic nature of love creates an intolerable fragility, internally and/or externally.  In turn, this fragility can breed a need for control of others, and a hostility towards the multiple constructs of romantic relationships and a simultaneous contempt towards chosen solitude.

It is my belief, however, that love is there if one chooses to give it and thus to experience it… regardless of relationship status.  I love and am loved.  It is simple, and I do not need to complicate it.

On the subject of love, however, I am no expert.  Rather, I am simply sharing some recent thoughts, or just think of this as a moment of the odd blog-rambling.

How fast does a man run, when the Devil is after him?

It depends… on how one sees the Devil and how prepared one is.   What is the Devil?  A reflection of one’s self?  A fear?  Moreover, is one prepared to deal with a confrontation with the Devil and with the inevitable aftermath?  Who knows…

I have stopped now as I have no need to run.  In stopping, I have come to realize that I saw the unknown and my doubt as my devils and so I tried to run away from them.  This “running” gave me some relief, because I thought I was doing  something.  And I was doing something in actuality… but that something was nothing good in the end for me, because I making myself more ill as I gave myself less and less rest.  I worked my mind and my already injured body hard… And again, toward what end?

The point is this – What need have I to run from devils of my own creation?  Why should I not see all the parts of myself, of my thinking and embrace them, so as to understand them, and thus to understand myself better?

Jet Lag II, photography by Diedré M. Blake (4.14.11)

Thus, here I am.  Rome.  Still… Toward what end?

Toward the within, of course…

 

Rome – Haiku (Spring)

sun, wind live moment

by moment in Rome, spring – Life

comes with ease like breath

-db (4.14.11)

The familiar, a foundation, and finding my path back…

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I could make many excuses, and all would be equally reasonable, as to why I have not written in so very long.  What I have come to realize is that no matter what, none of these excuses change the fact that I haven’t been writing, and that’s that.

Snow covered ground now

bones stiff with age like dried tree

limbs for wildfire

-db

Alice stepping through the looking-glass, John Tenniel (1820-1914)

So, what, pray tell, have I been doing with my time over the last week and a half?  Well, I have been learning what it means to be back in the Boston area, to be back with my family of choice, and to be around all that is familiar to me.  Somehow, however, the familiar has not been as comforting as perhaps it should be.  Rather, I find myself rather disconnected and jarred by the experience of being back…  I feel displaced as though I have landed in a version of Through the Looking-Glass, and What Alice Found There, where I have stepped back into a life that is quite upside-down, backwards, and surreal.

"Passage of Freedom", photograph by Dolores Juhas (http://www.dolores-juhas.tk)

Each morning the snow on the ground shocks me, and stiffens my bones.  I spend my days perusing employment advertisements in English, Italian, and German.  I research immigration information, and download more and  more forms, and consider the challenges involved in moving to Rome.  It is in these moments that I think about the days I have spent there, and the people, whom I have met;  and most importantly,  the person who I have become because of my journey to Rome.  Thus, these challenges have become opportunities for self-growth in my mind, and I understand that it is only through perseverance that one can truly accomplish one’s goals.  For myself, the goal now is to be happy, and at this moment in my life, where I am happiest is in Rome.

  

Foundation

It has been amazing to me to hear the various responses when I say that I am planning to move to Rome.  😉  The conversations usually go something like this:

Me: “Yeah, I would like to move to Rome by the end of September.”

Person: “Wow! Do you speak Italian???!!”

Me: “Umm…. No, not really…  Surely, I can learn though.  Right?”

Person: “Yeah, I suppose…. Um… Do you know how hard it is to get a work permit to work in Italy??”

Me: “So, I’ve heard.  I am a pretty positive thinker though.”

Person: “Oh.”

"Fragments of Freedom," photography by Dolores Juhas (http://www.dolores-juhas.tk)

I am often amazed by how easily others can be deterred by a seeming obstacle.  For myself, I recognize the challenge in getting a work visa, but it is not impossible – It is merely difficult.  If, however, I simply threw my hands up in the air and said, “Oh, forget it!  The Italian government won’t give me a visa!” then my cause is already lost, because I have already made the decision for them, i.e. that I do not want the work visa.  This is not my way, however.  I am laying the best foundation that I can, so that my application will be accepted, and if plan A (self-employed work visa) does not work… Well, there is always plan B (being hired by an awesome company who will do the paperwork for me)… And plan C is in development! 😉

Finding my path…

Thus, I begin by reaching out to all who I have known, asking for guidance and open to all ideas, and welcoming new persons and concepts.   All in the hope that this will lead me to further wisdom regarding the path I am creating to achieve my goals… And my goals are far more complex than the desire to go to Rome…

There, and back again

warmth of Rome’s winter sun now

cold snow of Boston

-db

 

There… and back again…

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Villa Doria Pamphili, 2. 21.11

Toward the within

unguided steps and dimmed light –

Discovery waits

-db

Life sometimes can feel to me like a Choose Your Own Adventure story.  Perhaps you might remember these books?  They are the ones that were written in the second person and had the reader make choices as a part of the narrative.  Based upon the choices of the reader, the story could end suddenly (usually, badly or with a neutral conclusion) within a few pages, or could continue until the last page, if memory serves me well, with a positive ending.  So, why am I reflecting on this today?

Well, as I get ready to leave Rome, I realize that I am at a crossroads in my life.  So very much has happened in the last five months, it sometimes seems unfathomable.   From going through these experiences, however, I have learned that beginnings and endings are much the same: filled with anxiety and adventure, which are all due to the uncertainty that both beginnings and endings bring.  Thus, I find and have found myself a bit like Bilbo, the hobbit, finding comfort in what has always been familiar, but recognizing too that the “greatest adventure is what lies ahead.”

D in studio, Rome, Feb. 2011

Too often in my life, I have fixed my gaze upon my past, and then when I would look at my present, I could not see the possibilities of my future – Instead I relied upon the desires of others to effectively move me from point A to point B in my life.  I realize now that I have learned and can move on from my past experiences, focus on my present, and look and move towards my future based on my own desires.  Moreover, although my future may be unknown to me, I can look to it with a positivity that is based in the certainty of my own self-efficacy and assurance in my support system – Coming to Rome has taught me in a most profound way that I am loved as I am and also as I evolve.

Strange day finds me lost

Yet still much the same – Found and

Changed because I choose

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Back again…

Thus, the journey begins… with one decision made, one path chosen, one step forward… towards a future truly unknown.  So, I return there… to America, to Boston, to the comfort of what I have known…  However, I am coming back again… to Rome.

Trevi Fountain, Rome (2.19.11)

I do not need to toss a coin over my shoulder in the waters of the Trevi Fountain.

After all, is it not as they say, “All roads lead to Rome…” even if for a moment in one’s life… and how one defines the duration of a moment, well… who knows?

In the interim, I return to Boston to see those whom I love and to visit familiar places.  I am not one for missing people or places, but I am missing Boston as I am already missing Rome.  In both of these cities, I have found a sense of home and have made connections with people I hope always to have in my life.

Wondering how to

start. Rome is in its winter-

No frost on windows.

-db