So it’s time to blog again. Sigh. That means forming paragraphs; I hate paragraphs. I don’t understand why I have to find a connection from one paragraph to the next, and make sure all the sentences in one paragraph have one main point. And a paragraph has to be three sentences, that is stupid. All for the sake of having a story (or blog, in this case) that “flows.” Why can’t we all just use bullets, they’re so much more to the point. You know, I would probably blog more if I could just write random thoughts (with bullets, not paragraphs.) So, all of you that have told me to write more, you now know why I don’t.
Okay. Well, now I should probably talk about Italy since, if you’re reading this, that’s probably what you want to hear about. I should really just rename this blog “Annie babbles in English, because she really misses babbling in English.” It would be a more appropriate title, because a lot of this is just going to be various events or thoughts I feel I should talk about.
So the first big thing that’s happened since the last time I blogged is THE INTERCULTURA SURVIVAL CAMP!!! So. Much. Fun. Four days, fifty students, one hotel. You can imagine the madness. There is so much to say about these four days, I don’t even know where to begin. It took up 11 pages in my journal, and I didn’t even write down everything, it was just the highlights. Obviously, I can’t type all of it out here, so if you have any questions just ask me on facebook or something. We went to big group meetings everyday, where we participated in activities like writing down the things we found the difficult to adjust to, skits about Italian school (Allora!), and writing country stereotypes on these big sheets of paper (I presented the one for the USA. You guys, we really need to work on our reputation because there were like two good things on the whole piece of paper.)
The best part though, was the free time. We could do pretty much anything we wanted as long as we didn’t leave hotel property and disturb other guests. There were two pools, one outside and one inside. (aka one warm, one freezing.) Like an idiot, I got in both. :P
I made so many friends in those four days. I feel like I closer to some of the friends I made there, than people I’ve known for years. Everyone was so easy to talk to; I feel like even the people I didn’t talk to, are still my friends. I guess, it’s because we all understand each other, we know there’s someone out there who gets how difficult this really is, when no one else does. We all want to be here for one reason or another, even if I had met someone who was my polar opposite we still had that to go off of. I really hated saying goodbye to everyone. Ughhh…it sucks just thinking about it. I can’t wait to see everyone in June! Even though I don’t want June to come fast, because I leave in July. It’s confusing…nevermind.
Even though I was really sad to leave, I missed my host family. I’m really starting to feel like this is my home, which is good because I have eight and half months left here. Every time, I get to a Sunday I think “Oh my God. I’ve been here for –insert number here- weeks! That’s crazy!” but at the same time I’m like “I’ve been here for –insert number here- weeks and STILL don’t know Italian!” It’s very frustrating, because I want to get to know people and laugh with them and just have a normal conversation, but I don’t feel like I can.
School. Love/hate relationship. I like school because my class is awesome; they’re all super cool, I wish I could speak fluent Italian with them. I honestly can’t wait to actually be one of the people yelling across the room to someone. The reason I don’t like school is because it is a constant reminder that I have a long way to go with Italian. It’s funny, sometimes I’ll have these moments where I just remember where I am. I’ll be walking up the stairs to get to class, and all of a sudden I think “I’m walking up the Italian stairs in my Italian school, that are taking me to my Italian classroom where my Italian friends are. When I get to my Italian classroom I’m going to sit down in an Italian chair at an Italian desk and pull my Italian school books out of my American backpack, but I’m going to pretend my American backpack is an Italian backpack, because if I don’t then my story is ruined. ”
For those of you who don’t know how an Italian school works it’s pretty much like this. You’re in one classroom all day (Yup, six hours in one room. How does miss A.D.D. stand it?), and every hour the teachers switch classes. Which means no lockers. I kind of like this, because I don’t have to dig through my messy locker to find my books every hour, but if I leave one of my books at home then I’m without that book for the day. The strangest part to me though, is no cafeteria. Because Italians eat later in the day, you get out of school earlier and you go home for lunch. I still don’t get home until 2:45 because I ride the bus, but it’s all good. The food is amazing at home.
This past Monday I went to Matera with centro locale Irsina. (Represent!) Before we left I was like, what’s in Matera? I know it’s a bigger city, but is there anything special about it? Uhhhh, YEAH. We went to see these really old buildings called the Sassi. They are so gorgeous! The city was built up around them, so they’re below the level of the rest of the city. A few decades ago the Sassi were a great shame for the city. If you lived in the Sassi, you were considered poor and looked down upon. Now you have to have a lot of money to live there, because the city set new requirements for the condition of the houses, so you have to be able to afford to fix them up. Google them. Trust me.
Now for my least favorite paragraph of all: the closing paragraph. The purpose of this is to find a nice way to finish things up. Honestly, I just find them awkward. I spend more time trying to figure out how to write the final paragraph than the rest of whatever I’m writing. Seriously. I’ve been sitting here for about ten minutes thinking of what to write, and all I’ve come up with is this. Okay, I’m officially tired of sitting here. Ciao.
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