Say My Name

I'm going to Italy.

That statement still hasn't fully sunk in yet.  It's still this far off concept; me, living in Rome for five months.  Yes, the flight has been booked, yes, I have my Visa (finally getting it is a story unto itself), it's all happening, but it's still abstract.  And then every once in a while it hits me THAT I'M GOING TO LIVE IN ITALY.

The title of this blog is possibly the most accurate thing I've ever written in my life.  My entire life, starting from the moment my parents gave me this crazy name, has been building up to this.  Last semester, when I was but a young sophomore, it got into my head that I should study abroad in any place but Italy.  Poland, England, Spain, any place but Italy.  Maybe I felt like spiting my parents one more time, maybe because I thought it was exactly what was expected of me, but I did not want to go.  And then my Dad gave me some of the best unwanted advice of all time.  He said "Why would you go anywhere else?"  He talked about the family he has back in Alba and Churrina and the Morizios I've never met who live in Abruzzo.  He talked about how I should get to know them better so that, in five or ten years time, I can go back and visit them and stay connected to the land where my ancestors toiled in the sloping countryside and drank good wine and lived their lives.

Which brings me back to my name.

My name and I have always had a tumultuous relationship.  Sure, it's gotten me a few hot dates, but I also received a childhood marred by mispronunciation and computers that always auto-correct my last name into something decidedly not Morizio, but mostly, it gave me something that ties me to the land my Father's family lived and love in.  No matter what life throws at me, I always have had that heritage to fall back on.  Being an Italian American, with all the baggage that comes with it, is who I am.  That sounds cheesy (because it is), but it's true.  The Polish and Czech part got lost in the loudness of the Morizio clan (sorry Mom, but you knew what you were getting into.).

When I really thought about it, Italy is the place I need to go.  I need to understand where I came from so I can know where I want to go.  I'm on the brink of the rest of my life and currently my compass is pointing every which way but north.  I want to walk the streets and feel the sun and eat the food that my family has walked on and felt and eaten for centuries.  Being 20 is a weird age.  In the US you're almost to the second to last most important age (the last important age related milestone being turning 65) of your life, you're almost done with college, it's time to pick a career that will consume your energy for the bulk of your life.  The choices I make now begin to really matter.  Which is absolutely terrifying.

I'm hoping Italy will help me with all of this.  Even if I don't figure out my life in the next six months, I'll at least eat good food and drink good wine while I ponder.  And if I don't figure it all out then, I suppose I'll just have to go back.


I love that Wilde sonnet.  Read The Picture of Dorian Gray.  In fact, read everything Wilde had ever written (Except maybe Salome.  Unless you're into John the Baptise era feminism.  Because, surprise!  It can't exist.)  I'm currently reading some of Dante's Vita Nuova because I miss the Commedia so much and I needed few more descriptions of Beatrice's smile to really feel that our relationship is over.