Sì, vivo ancora / Yes I'm still alive

And I'm at a new location: http://velvet-star.com/blog/

So come on over!

Tiff chattered @ 11:23 PM 0 left a comment

Happy Birthday Mom! Tanti Auguri!

Mom, this letter won't get to you on time, but I'm going to post it here in hopes that you can read it here instead.

Dear Mom,
It's hard to express the wealth of love between us. It's not your everyday run-of-the-mill love. Instead it comes from understanding what we've been through, seeing the hurdles we've crossed and knowing that we'll always be there for each other.

Mom, I love you so much and I owe you for all the sacrifices I've seen you make and those I haven't. You've taught me so much: to have fortitude in the face of hardship, perserverance in the face of failure and pride in the face of a good job. It's the lessons we take from life that shape us. Mom, without a doubt, I have you to thank.

I don't know how I can repay you for all you've given me, or even if I'll be able to, but I wanted to let you know that I love you. Not just today, because it's your birthday, but everday. I don't say it enough. I love you Mom. Happy birthday to you.

A daughter who loves you,
Tiff

Tiff chattered @ 1:00 AM 7 left a comment

A Good Daughter

Well, I promised to define everything on the list and this is the last one, thus far.

A good daughter... well you won't find my picture beside the word in the dictionary.

It's my Mom's birthday on Monday and I've had her birthday letter for ages without even putting it in an envelope because I wanted to keep it out and be sure I didn't think of something better to write along the way. See, my Mom is very special to me. Without getting into history, let's just say our relationship hasn't always been easy, but that's why I cherish it all the more. I'm very worried about it being perfect especially since she read my father's birthday letter and teased me that she fully expected me to best myself when her birthday letter came around.

Anyway, as you may know, I had jury duty last week and then worked late at work on Thursday and Friday to make up some stuff that absolutely had to be done. Well, guess what? Bad daughter I am, I forgot to mail her birthday letter!

::Sigh:: I know she going to think I forgot, but that's not true! Anyway, I put her letter in the mail this morning, after getting desperate last night and calling Fedex to see if "same day" delivery was possible on Monday. Of course it is, they answered, for a tidy sum beginning at 173 dollars. At that price, my letter should get its own airline seat. Needless to say, I didn't do it.

Being so worried that the letter wasn't perfect, I interrupted My Italian last night just before I sealed the envelope and asked him to listen to me read the letter to him. I wish I had taken a picture. Or better yet, video. His face dropped at my request. I mean, literally, just dropped.

Me: "What's wrong? You don't want to hear it?"
Him: "No, it's not that. Ok, let me hear it."

I am immediately stone-faced. You have to understand he frequently asks me to read things he writes because he is insecure about his English. I ask him to read one thing and he looks put out.

Me: "No, forget it."
Him: "No really, I want to hear it."
Me: "Then what's with the look of dread?"
Him: "It's just going to be so... cheesy. You know cheesy letters. They make me want to..."

He feigns heaving and then throwing up.

Me: "Ok fine don't read it.
Him: "No really, I want to..."

Pause as I huff and reread my letter, not looking at him. How could he want to when he had just feigned violently losing his lunch?

Him: "No, read it to me. It's just that... A few years ago my Mom found a letter that my Dad had written to her while they were still dating. We were all in the room and she was readng it to us. My Dad was turning red and of course my sister was just sighing and sighing, saying bella. I had to leave the room. I still wanted to be able to look at my Dad with some respect. But I still want to hear your letter."

That was the last straw and I walked out of the room. He's trying to convince me that he wants to read it while telling me this story? By implying his respect for me is at stake? Is he out of his mind?! He must be because there are many things I can deny him and he would not be a happy camper, if you know what I mean.

Unfortunately, I cannot stay mad at him for long. He came running over to me, with puppy dog eyes, biting his lower lip and pulled me into a tight embrace. Honestly, he looked confused as to my anger. When I finally relaxed enough to shake his shoulders and explain my anger to him, we had a good laugh because he swears he did not know how he sounded, but I still think he was temporarily insane.

Men. Now their picture is beside "clueless".

Tiff chattered @ 10:36 AM 0 left a comment

Conclusion: Jury Duty

The key virtue to doing jury duty is patience. I've heard expats talk about how inconvenient it is to do anything dealing with the government in Italy. My first run-in with jury duty and this leads me to believe the US government is no different. But they did apologize. Over the loud speaker.

Here's a (long) summary:
On Monday, after sitting around for a couple of hours, they finally called my "panel". A big group of us trooped up there and dutifully sat through a lengthy roll call of badly pronounced names. No hats, gum, books, writing implements, cellphones (and they had to be off), or other elecronic devices. This meant most of us spent our time twiddling our thumbs and picking invisible lint off our clothes. Then finally the judge came in and told everyone who did not have a language barrier or financial hardship to come back on Wednesday at 9am. Cue most of us leaving.

On Wednesday, I return, arriving five minutes before nine. You see, on Monday I had come in the afternoon and the line to get in and go through security was only about fifteen people long. This morning the line stretched out the door, into the courtyard and curved out far along the sidewalk. I swear, there were more people in this line than worked in my building at work. I'm going to be late, I know it and sure enough, I check into the jury duty room about a half an hour late. I'm very anxious because the judge had said 9am, but the woman at check-in barerly blinked and told me to take a seat.

So I did. For the next hour and a half or so. Finally, I hear my panel number and begin to get up. False alarm. It's the woman over the loudspeaker saying that the court apologizes for any inconvenience it may have caused us, but the won't be ready for us for at least another 30 minutes and we are free to wander til then. So I get up and wander around, return within 30 minutes and take my seat. I think you can see where this is going. Yes, it is another two hours before anything at all is said about my panel number.

Finally, the loudspeaker asks us to gather outside. We go and wait until one guy speaks up. I think he is a fellow civilian doing jury duty, but no, he introduces himself as the judge! And he says the sweetest words imaginable... "You're all free". Um, I mean "excused." But it sure as hell sounded like "free" to me!

I'm pretty sure whoever the defendant was, he/she pleaded guilty, as I saw the defense attorney coming out later, walking very fast. His face was unreadable though. Well, all in a day's work...

Tiff chattered @ 8:53 PM 3 left a comment

Jury Duty

Bad blogger. Haven't blogged in a week!

I have jury duty tomorrow and have summarily spent the last week looking for ways to get out of it. I have come across some hilarious stories, by the way, including a story about one woman who was being briefed on a homicide/"crime of passion" case where a wife had shot her husband when she found out he was cheating on her and was claiming temporary insanity. The woman got up in the middle of this briefing and said, "You mean to tell me I could have shot that bastard [her husband] instead of just divorcing him?!" She was quickly dismissed.

Lots of, "He looks guilty!" posts too and an interesting one about why lawyers don't want you to know about "jury nullification" and how if you ask about it, you will be dismissed. I'm not sure if this true, but let's cross our fingers shall we?

I also came across a nice post from a guy claiming to be a government worker who told everyone to just "throw the notices away if you don't want to serve, because the government has more important things to worry about than whether or not you respond to letters about jury duty. Since it is only sent by regular mail and not registered, you can always say you never recieved it. Believe me, no one will try to dig up records." I think he has a point, but being the good citizen I am (read "scared shitless of being caught and fined/imprisoned in case he isn't right"), I replied.

And yes, it does say in nice big print on my notification letter that if I do not reply, I can be fined and/or imprisoned. Does anyone think I could get off if when asked, "Does anyone think they cannot fairly judge this case?" I stand up and say, "Yes sir, because I do not want to do jury duty, and I will spend the entire trial thinking of ways to end it quickly at the expense of both the plaintiff and the defendent." No? I guess honesty doesn't work as well. Maybe I should stick with the, "He looks guilty!" line.

The potential jurors for that week are assigned numbers. Most people are put on "standby", meaning they only have to call in for status. The court "randomly" selects numbers to physically go in. Oh, thank my lucky stars, they picked me number! Why couldn't this have been the lotto?! I've been playing that for years and I never get picked! This is my first time on jury duty!

There are a lot of numbers and I theorize that there are so many numbers because most people aren't as foolish as me and they take the advice of that government worker. I see a correlation between the amount of numbers called for jury duty and taxes in Italy. Apparently, they just keep raising both in hope of a decent outcome.

On the other hand, I have one more reason to want to be an expat - so I can tell them I am living overseas...with all the benefits of citizenship and no jury duty. Ok, I'd skip that last part, but I'm certain you all know that it's exactly what I'd be thinking. Jury duty... one more obligation. Oddio! Thank God I can't be drafted.

Tiff chattered @ 10:43 PM 1 left a comment

Happy Halloween e Buona Festa dei Santi

Before I forget:

Happy Halloween to all you Americans. Not one trick-or-treater. I guess I'll have to eat the three pounds of candy still left in my house.

Buona festa a tutti in Italia! Non c'è una festa qui. Devo lavorare domani. Sarà una bella giornata per me.

Tiff chattered @ 10:07 PM 2 left a comment

Italy: Travel Destination

It's dawned on me. For the United States of America, Italy is a travel destination... period. How do I know? Just look at all the resources available here to help you learn Italian.

Barron's Learn Italian: The Fast and Fun Way (Book)

I bought this for myself before I started Italian class. Didn't want to go in with nothing! It boasts that "The activity kit makes learning a language quick and easy!" These are the things I learned:

• How to check-in at the airport
  
• How to conjugate -are, -ere, and -ire verbs
  
• The different rooms of a house and its furnishings
  
• Articles
  
• How to book a hotel room
  
• How to ask and interpret directions
  
• The names for staple buildings like the supermarket, the store, the movie theater and the drugstore
  
• Various modes of transportation and how to buy tickets for them/hail/hire them: Buses, taxis, trains, etc.
  
• Examples of common irregular verbs
  
• How to ask the time
  
• Pronouns
  
• How to rent a car
  
• Imperative
  
• How to camp
  
• How to comment on the weather

Instant Immersion: Italian Deluxe (CD set)

My Italian bought me this as a present because I told him I wasn't getting enough Italian input. It comes with things like Speech Recognition and goes all the way up to the "Advanced Level".

• How to introduce myself to strangers
  
• How to ask for things in the hotel
  
• How to rent a villa (for the summer!)
  
• How to order food and all about antipasto, i primi, il secondo, i dolci...
  
• How to formulate questions and understand directions
  
• Dinner Parties
  
• Airports

I'll stop here - this was the advanced level of the software. I can only imagine what the beginning stages were like if this was "Advanced".

I've stopped buying the conventional resources they sell here that claim to teach you the language. I'm not sure how it is with other languages, but all these resources are obviously geared towards the tourist - and firmly so. Gives great insight into what it means to "learn another language" in the US of A.

From these resources, this is what I can say:
Ciao. Mi chiamo Tiff. Vengo dagli Stati Uniti. Mi può dare una camera per la notte? Non ho una prenotazione. Il mio volo è stato molto lungo. Sono stanca e ho molta fame. Può consigliarmi un ristorante? Domani voglio andare al museo. Può darmi delle direzioni? Penso di prendere il treno. Non ho voglia di noleggiare una macchina. E dov'è la stazione così che posso comprare un biglietto? È una bella notte, non è vero?

And I'm giving them too much credit since not one of these things ever talked about any tense but il presente.

Translation:
Hi. My name is Tiff. I am from the United States. Can you give me a room for the night? I don't have a reservation. My flight was very long. I am tired and hungry. Can you recommend a restuarant? Tomorrow I want to go to the museum. Can you give me directions? I think I'll take the train. I don't want to rent a car. And where is the train station so I can buy a ticket? It's a beautiful night, isn't it?

Tiff chattered @ 8:47 PM 2 left a comment

Always the Straniera, Always the "Other"

Often, My Italian and I go to Barnes and Noble on the weekend. We spend great swatches of time there. I'm drawn particularly by the ambience and I'm not ashamed to say that just about every Barnes and Noble I've ever been to, I've liked. And I've been to a lot. I've been to many other bookstores too, big and small, chain and novel, but never with quite the same feel for me. Maybe it's the cafe... but then I don't even drink coffee. I love bookstores in general though. I was always one of those quintessentially bookish children - a breed that seems to be dying out, at least in America.

On with the story. This particular Saturday, I was in search of a book called, The Bilingual Family, that came highly recommended by swissmiss. Alas, they did not have it, but as I was wandering around, I came across a section that I had never noticed before. It was called "Culture", and being located in the good ole' USA, most books were on just that.

The book that immediately jumped out at me was one I had read long ago and had almost forgotten. Yell-Oh Girls!: Emerging Voices Explore Culture, Identity, and Growing Up Asian American (cover pictured at right). As I opened the cover, memories came rushing back.

I was not always the self-assured woman you see here (If you are questioning this, so am I). I actually had what I consider to be a huge identity crisis in my teens (which wasn't so long ago if I think clearly). You see, I am an Asian-American of Chinese descent (Yes, I know you are not blind and can see my picture full well) with little bits of other stuff that amounts to 25% roughly. I grew up in a place with very little exposure to Asian people. Therefore to the residents in my little slice of paradise, any Asian who lived in the same vicinity was related to me. This was hard to dispel as some of them were actually related to me (I have several aunts and uncles that live in the same neighborhood).

So I've mentioned that I am not full Chinese. However, growing up where I did, I always thought I was. Yes, the kids at elementary school called me ching-chong. It was horrible, but I guess understandable as my maiden name was Chong. They grew out of the name-calling (sort of), but "race" was always clear.

Like any other girl, I grew up worshipping supermodels and fashion, watching commercials for maybelline and reading seventeen. It was hard looking nothing like any of those lovely women and my friends seemed infinitely more gorgeous to me. Like any other girl, I had crushes, but none of the boys ever seemed to like me. My friends suggested I go out with the only Asian-American boy in my year named Martin. We were two out of a total of six asians at my entire school. I was crushed. (Side story: I had finally convinced my friends that I wasn't related to every Asian person they saw, but he was actually my second cousin! I had just never told anybody about him since our families were not close.) People would comment on my beautiful almond-shaped eyes, my thick black hair, ask me if I ate rice with chopsticks and show me if they knew how to use them.

Now I know they said none of this to be mean, but as a budding teen who wanted nothing more than to fit in, my efforts to blend in seemed thwarted by every feature on my face and for a long time (through most of middle and high school), I honestly didn't like who I saw in the mirror. To try and change this, I suddenly embraced my Chinese heritage. I figured if I couldn't fit in here, maybe I could somewhere else.

No, I didn't pick China. I set my sights on Toronto. Yes, it doesn't sound Asian, but I think Toronto is one of the most diverse cities in the world. They had the thing I was craving - a huge population of Chinese and new immigrants streamed in everyday. So that year when we traveled to Toronto (I mentioned that I'm a Canadian citizen right? Well, I have lots of family in Toronto where my Canadian parent hails from), I made sure to immerse myself in the Chinese culture there. In Toronto, it's not actually that hard. I swear, every half a block there is a Chinese store and restuarant and every other half an block, it's a sushi place (a lot of Japanese too). I'm not sure they've been informed that Cantonese is not an official language as there are signs and directions plastered everywhere in Chinese only, no English provided. Chinese all-around, you literally feel like you are in China. Finally, I thought, here is where I was meant to be!

Wrong. I was "gweilo". For those who don't speak Cantonese, that's "foreigner". And they weren't talking about the fact that I was American. I was Canadian too, like they were. But it meant more than that. It meant that I was a foreigner to their culture. Not one of them. A stranger that was as familiar to them as Joe Schmo in Texas. I was, my parents were, my siblings were. We were spoken to only in English, despite the fact that Cantonese was all around us. We were always handed forks and knives by default. Did I have something tatooed on my forehead that I just couldn't see? Well, lo and behold, that 25% of something else seems to stick out in the darnedest of places. Apparently, I don't even look Chinese. Perhaps I should try the Phillipines as I got a lot of "Are you Filipino?" questions. I left Toronto with a heavy heart. Would I always be the "other"?

Many things have happened since then (like COLLEGE) and I think I've learned to accept my differences (most of them) and know that I am beautiful, even if I in no way, shape or form resemble Barbie. However, my undying devotion to Italy (yes, this does relate to my "wanting to be" list) sometimes makes me question that. You see, I know I'd definitely be the "other" in Italia, but it would be different. In Italy, I am supposed to be the foreigner, the expat. I don't even care that I might not be recognized as an American at all. I will go to Italy to be a foreigner. It will my choice. Here, I'm nothing more than a hyphenated American, if assumed to be American at all.

Perhaps I'm overly sensitive, but it really irked me when my Italian and I would go to the immigration office and it would be assumed that I was the one looking for a greencard. I even got greeted in Spanish once and as I looked at the officer blankly, he apologized saying that he had thought I was filipino. I should have answered him, because I actually can, but at 7:30 in the morning, I was barely comprehending English. Incidents like these happen all the time.

The point is: I never chose to be different here. I never wanted to be anything more than your average American. But I'm not and through no effort on my part, I never will be. Do you see what I'm getting at? Maybe it's a state of mind, but the choice makes all the difference to me.

Arg. No wonder he thinks I think too much.

PS - Straniera means foreigner in Italian.

Tiff chattered @ 9:39 PM 3 left a comment