February 3, 2022 – Day 3
Love always finds a way back to you

I first went to Italy as an “adult” (read: teenager in college) in 1997. I fell in love with it, and in particular, Florence. I bought some Italian language CASSETTE TAPES specific for travelers so that I could avoid being that obnoxious American who would arrogantly expect others to speak English even though I was a guest in their country. I was surprised at how quickly and naturally Italian came to me. I loved Italian and I loved Italy. Yet, even then I knew I wouldn’t be allowed to pursue anything Italian.

Being the firstborn daughter of a Chinese-American family, I was expected to uphold the family honor – go to a prestigious university, have a respectable (and stable) job, marry well, and have children. My dad wanted his children to learn German and French because he felt they were more practical languages – by his definition because he used to do a lot of business in both countries, so he wanted translators he didn’t have to pay. HAHAHA! I was assigned German, my sister assigned French. My sister excelled in French because she loved it. I learned to appreciate German, but I always found it a struggle.

I never realized how much I had hidden my love for Italy until my friend once asked me where I would want to retire, and without hesitation I said “Florence, Italy.” My sister, who was there with me at the time, expressed shock. I always longed to go back to Italy, and did a few times. But, I think I closed off my heart to it a bit, knowing I could never find a justification to delve further in that my parents could approve of.

Lo and behold, I’m (still) finishing my PhD and I find out (rather circuitously, I might add) that a lot of good scholarship I will eventually need is in Italian. I finally had a reason, a legitimate reason to study Italian that my parents couldn’t object to. Not only that, but coincidentally I decided to try a dating app on a whim one night because I was bored and experiencing writer’s block on my PhD thesis. I was matched with a postdoctoral researcher, who just happens to be Italian. We only dated for a month. But, he had kissed me on our second date, and somehow it pierced my heart – not necessarily for him, but it penetrated the barriers I had put up against loving Italy too much. And suddenly, I just couldn’t deny wanting to learn Italian and learning about Italy any longer. It was as if that kiss was the crack that broke the dam.

Italian kisses are dangerous – in case you were wondering.

I poured over Italian grammar books, scoured YouTube videos for lessons, audited an Italian class not attached to my university, participated in Duolingo death matches to practice my Italian. It brings me a lot of joy – joy that I haven’t really experienced much of in my life.

Part of my grieves because had I pursued Italian like I wanted to when I was 19, I would have been fluent by now. Who knows? But, the other part of me is so happy in the midst of this – because something I thought I would never be able to love, I could love finally.

Delayed, yes – but not denied. Something I loved came back to me.

P.S. I have to admit today is a bit bittersweet for me. It is my Italian postdoc’s birthday today, and for reasons I won’t go into, I can’t really wish him a “buon compleanno”, but I’ll say it in my heart with a wish for him to be well, and pray that it will find its way to him.