Rome via Brooklyn

1. the fashion designer

I met a cool guy at one of the cafes I visited in the first week of the trip. I made some rookie American tourist mistakes sitting at this cafe since I didn’t know the cultural norms yet, like bringing my plate up and not saying anything when I first walked in. This guy initially thought I was just chilling, apparently. I never gave chill girl. always passion, always see me, always fierce. Maybe that’s just how I feel internally, though. ANYWAY. I got the worst food of my life; it tasted so bad, but the coffee was amazing, so it was sort of fine. I honestly couldn’t even figure out what I was ordering because Translate was glitching and I was feeling too awkward to ask, so that’s sort of on me. After I ate a little, I started working on some music. He bridged a conversation, and we spoke about art, and he told me where he was from. I was so happy to find ANOTHER creative person while on the trip. His coworker is really nice and also makes music. He told me he was a fashion designer too. I thought that was really cool because I really want to learn to sew one day, not manually, but mechanically, for sure.

1. the retired art enthusiast

A few days ago, I met a lady who spoke very good English. I pieced together words she was saying contextually to help her learn words like retire, and she helped me with pronunciation with some of the words we came across. We started off talking about hair, which is pretty wild, but she had pretty short hair, and I loved the grey. She said she styled it herself. I loved how natural it looked. She did understand that my hair-cutting process is different, but there was mutual curiosity, which brought us closer in conversation. Surprisingly, we ended up speaking for almost two hours about many of the places she suggested visiting. She told me about her family in the US and when her family came to Rome. It was so wonderful for her to tell me about the power of the Romans in ancient Rome and some cultural responses to emperors. She showed me so many fresco walls, and tiled art, and beaded pins that she said she got to view at a local art school. I didn’t get the exact name, though 😦

1. the librarian and photographer from boston

Oh gosh, this was one of my favorite interactions. I met a family from the States. They were so warm and welcoming that Mom pulled up a seat. I loved it. I heard their accent and said hi, then we spoke about some of the things we got along the market strip. One of the family members caught a Michael Jackson cassette for 4 EUROS. THATS wonderful. The dad (can’t remember his name–just gonna make one up haha) is a photographer and Amie, the mom, is a librarian. She was telling me about how she started working as one. I was telling her about how that job is super interesting to acquire, but she broke it down for me and it was nice to learn about how a job that is tied to so many resources across the globe functions behind the scenes. Librarians are always special to me as an English major. I love reading and writing, and even Sebastian from the Academy of Rome is a librarian who senses, too, how creative and artistic many librarians can be. I think at the core, there is love for people because those jobs are not highly funded. This book our missing hearts by Celeste Ng, delves into the world and power of the library with a fresh lens. Bird’s father was a linguist and shelved books in the library. Bird’s mother is a Chinese American poet whose books were essentially banned due to seeming unpatriotic. I love that the story incorporates the underground network of librarians, almost turns it into a secret society that pushes greater society to evolve from the root. Here is a poem about how authenticity is its own secret society.

AUTHENTICITY IS ITS OWN SECRET SOCIETY

i could pretend to be mysterious

there is nothing mysterious about joy

nothing quiet about the laugh that blossoms

in the soil of honest expression

where the voice that rings loud is often

the same voice that spent years quiet

waiting for an invitation to life

I feel the invitation never arrives because the miracle

lies on the other side of spontaneity

different will always be awkward

fear will always be the door, that serves

not a single one of us

by shamiqua wilson