Italia = amore o ossessione?

I have 236 pages of reading tonight to complete for my classes tomorrow and I have read maybe 97 pages or so. I am so easily distracted and I have one obsession driving me crazy right now: Italy.
Instead of doing the reading I was assigned as homework, I have spent the last couple of hours reading, looking, etc about Italy...more specifically Rome. Maybe it doesn't help that I am reading Renaissance literature this summer and am studying the Italian Futurists in my "Avant-Gardism" class. Maybe all this love of Italy is birthed from the fact that I cannot get away from it. She is everywhere but then again she is here by choice, she is not forced upon me. After all, I have chosen to double major in Italian.
Did the whole universe conspire to this love? Was that fateful day in which I left to what I thought to be "randomness" to learn a new language predestined?
I cannot say. All I can say that that July of 2009 when I pulled "Italian" from my plastic bag, I was somewhat relieved that I wasn't going to have to learn a whole new script for Arabic. I remember immediately going to Livemocha and beginning my Italian "courses." Arguably we could say that Italian is so similar to Spanish and this has greatly facilitated my learning of it but I was also rather obsessive in my learning. I used to listen to the radio constantly, watched movies, tried to read in Italian--I am still amazed now when I listen (much less frequently) and I understand. I can understand! Isn't that amazing? Furthermore, people understand me! I speak and they understand me! I am by no means fluent but I am still amazed. I am amazed that what was once undecipherable is now intelligible language. Is it this that made me fall in love? Have I replaced all sense of romantic love into a country? It is possible.
I often say I am glad I am not Italian and I am very serious when I say this because if I was I probably would not love Italy as I do. The beauty of Italy is that it is not my own but foreign. Even in all of its foreignness it is mine because she has it all: art, food, language, music, landscape. She is not mine by obligation, she is mine because I have chosen her to be my lover and she always welcomes me with open arms. She does not stifle me. She accepts me with all my virtues and faults. And I have proof she loves me back because even when I visited her in winter she provided me beautiful sunny days and only rained the day of my departure.
Le sigh.
Do not ask me why I love her because I cannot tell you why. I just feel it. You know that sensation, the one that gives you butterflies in your tummy, that makes your chest ache, that makes you smile immediately at the thought...Italy is this to me. I cannot help but think of Carrie Bradshaw (sorry for those who never saw Sex in the City) and how she describe New York City as her lover. I understand now fully what she meant. The idea of Italy is so powerful in my mind, the ideal portrait of the Old World still living. Granted all of Europe contains this element but in Italy it is different. Maybe her landscape often reminds me of California and there is some comfort in that. Maybe it is the fact that the art I have loved from my childhood is housed in the Uffizi in Florence. Maybe it is the incredible diverse amounts of cheese and wine. Maybe it is the people and their melodious language accompanied by hand gestures. Non so e non posso spiegarlo, solo so che l'ho nel cuore.

Caution: I come with a warning label

I caution you

run as fast as you can

because I am fire

a sharp tongued

dangerous

woman

Las dos Marianas

Las dos Fridas, 1939
Frida Kahlo

Since I was a little girl I can remember struggling with my own sense of identity. As the daughter of a Nicaraguan mother and a Guatemalan father born in California, I often wondered what my position within American society is. Am I American? Am I Latina? Do I speak English or Spanish better? It seems like I was never American or Latina enough. If behave a certain way and my mother will say, "¡Ay que Americana eres!" (Oh, you are so American!) or maybe I am with my American friends and I will hear, "Oh, you are so Latina!" I used to think this was some kind of struggle that would eventually end for me, that one day I will find my place within society but here I am twenty-nine years later still caught in some type of purgatory of cultural identity.

Las dos Fridas

I don't remember how I learned of this painting or even how old I was when I first saw it but what I do know is how profoundly this image affected me even without knowing who Frida Kahlo was. What I can tell you is how this image followed me like a silent ghost in the recesses of my unconsciousness until I was about sixteen years old and picked up a book at my high school library during lunch one day and experienced Gestalt's "aha" moment. There it was, this image that had embodied my experience of cultural identity on a page staring back at me like a reflection of some vague notion living within me.

On the surface it is obvious that the image is of self-conflict, Frida Kahlo finds herself torn between two identities. On the lefthand side is the European influenced Frida. She is dressed in a white dress of European influence with little flowers located on the bottom border. In her righthand she holds a pair of scissors attempting to stop blood from dripping onto her dress from a vein. There is an open cavity in her chest where we see her visible heart that is cross-sectioned and is connected to the vein dripping onto her dress to the Frida to her left. The Frida on the righthand side is the Mexican Frida, she is wearing the traditional indigenous garment of Mexico (specifically Mexico City area). Her chest cavity is also opened but unlike the Frida on the left, her heart is complete and in her lefthand she is holding a tiny photo of her husband Diego Rivera. At the very epicenter of the painting both Fridas are joined by the hands reinforcing Fridas double penetrating stares onto the viewer. While analyzing this image not only are the two Fridas a direct reference to her internal conflict of identity but it also speaks in symbolism. The gray cloudy background only adds to the sense of confusion and uncertainty.

I guess it shouldn't come as a surprise that this image spoke to "little" Mariana, my rebel and turmoiled Mariana, and now adult Mariana. There is something in me that has not changed even after all these years. I am still lost in my sense of cultural identity. I do not feel a citizen of any country or part of any culture. Although I do identify with certain parts, I am not faithful to any. I will never be Latina enough. I will never be American enough. Case closed.

So where do I go from here? Lately, I have been having some guilt about my studies. I am starting to feel a traitor to my Latina side. After all, I am so involved with the study of European art and as if this were not enough, I have become somewhat obsessed with European life. I can speak fluent Spanish, advanced Italian, moderate level of French and more obviously, I speak fluent English. My whole life is a representation of the colonization and domination of European culture, to only be reinforced by American imperialism. Sitting in my classes, I feel so departed from my Latina identity. Who have I become? What is the importance of identity?


Las dos Fridas has been on my mind lately. These are some of the questions that this painting deals with, Frida Kahlo is asking herself about her position in society, her identity as a woman, and artist. She was a socialist, an advocate of the indigenous groups, she dealt with the conflict of her unfaithful husband--she was struggling with a multifaceted struggle of her identities. Her figure is parted into two physical parts but these two selves contain other smaller parts of identity. I don't want to go too deep into further analysis of these smaller parts which depart from my purpose but they are certainly worth exploring at some point.

I conclude this thought with this: I want to do my honors thesis on Frida Kahlo. I am not sure what I want to do or what the goal of this thesis will be but I feel a moral obligation to write about her. I know a part of this exploration is personal but the personal often times transcends to a greater population. I know that my confusion of cultural identity is a commonplace occurrence of 1st generation born Latinos. We struggle with our sense of identity, with the duality of the cultural components that formulate Latin American identity itself and because art is a reflection of the human experience, it is this that has inspired my desire to further explore Frida Kahlo and her cultural significance in the history of art.

Chemtrails

I have been photographing chemtrails from my iphone a lot lately. I see them everywhere so I decided why not start photographing them. Granted, I am always on the move and I rarely carry my DSLR for practical reasons so I have been making cell photography my main medium these days. My friend Naomi was so kind to send me the info on an app to download called Instagram. Although I try to avoid social networks because I am paranoid and I think they are tracking systems, I do love the idea! Anyway, I am obsessed with this app now. I love it! Not only can you share photos but it has a handy editing tool. Anyway, here is a screenshot of the program and some chemtrail photos I have taken and then used Instagram to edit.

Taken in Elk Grove - 17-Mar-2011

Taken near UC Davis - 10-Mar-2011

Taken near CCAS - 13-Feb-2011

Taken northbound on Highway 99 - 02-Feb-2011

I want to make movies...

I heart U too

I love coffee. Every morning I make my latte with a lot of joy and tenderness. It is a labor of love and an art if you ask me. After all, coffee as savory as it can be, it can also be quite disgusting if it isn't done just right. I love my espresso maker so much that the day I bought it last April, I took a picture of myself with it (see below). I prepare 3 shots of espresso as I warm up a cup of vanilla soy milk on the stove. First, I pour the espresso into my favorite glass, then add the soy milk and my final touch of agave syrup. It may not the most authentic Italian coffee but I love it all the same. What is the best part of making a latte? Making a design with the milk. But this morning...

to be honest, I was running late this morning and I was not able to prepare my coffee. So I proceeded with the next best thing, to go to Temple Coffee and ordered a soy latte. Granted, I think it is a peccato to pay over $4 for a latte when I make a delicious one myself or when I know I can get away paying 0,80€ in Italy but at least Temple has good coffee and my coffee expresses the same affection for me as I do to it even if not prepared by my own hands. 

Tis the night before my birthday...

On the eve of my twenty-nineth birthday I cannot help but to reflect on my life, about the things I have done and the future that awaits me. Sure, there are plenty of things in my life that I could have done without or that I could have done better but all-in-all, I have very little to complain about and as for my future, although it is more uncertain than say that of a Pre-Med major, I am lucky to have the opportunity to learn.

Every morning during my commute to Davis, I listen to NPR. I listen to the news and as of recent, the news is dominated by the revolutions in the Middle East. I am proud that there are revolutions occurring...people standing up for what they believe in. Yet, that is easy to say from my privileged position. I hate hearing about the current violence, the suffering of innocent people. I hate knowing that for some right now, a peaceful sleep does not exist and turmoil dominates daily life. I hate there is nothing that I can do to change it. Today it is Libya dominating the media, but it would be naive of me to ignore the fact that there there is pain and suffering happening around the globe--injustice and exploitation of people to help maintain and perpetuate my way of life. It is easy to complain about simple things when there is little to complain about.

For those that know me, and know me well (or maybe those that have caught me in my rants), know my political opinions about our form of government and the downfalls of our capitalist society but yet, I have to admit that I l am fortunate. I am thankful for the opportunity to receive a higher education...the opportunity to talk!

Today after my "Great Cities" class, I had an insightful and satisfying conversation with my professor. As I walked away in the downpour to my car parked about 1.5 miles (2,4 km) away, I kept thinking how amazing it is to discuss ideas! Furthermore, to have someone knowledgable on the subject to give me input. This is not an opportunity given to everyone and I recognize this. I could not find the room to complain despite being cold and being soaked from head to toe. I could not find the capacity to complain that I had to put my last $20 into my car tank as I drove soaking wet to the gas station. Even know as I write this, I cannot find the words to complain that I have to study for my Italian exam tomorrow. Passato Remoto is nothing compared to the thought of having a war breakout just outside my door.

There is a point in this blog...I swear!

So ok, I hate...no loathe that I am turning another year older. I don't like that I am going to have to collect some change from around the house to fill up my car with gas again here soon. I don't like that my favorite pair (and second to only pair of jeans) are about to have a hole in them. There are plenty of things that I don't like about my life and I am unsatisfied about but I have very little room to complain. I have a roof over my head. I have food on the table. I have clothes to wear. I have the chance to get an education. So what if I have an Italian exam tomorrow and I am not adequately prepared? There are people dying out in the world, don't have a place to sleep, don't have food, etc.
Everyday I want to wake up and feel fortunate, I want to feel empathy, I want to live and learn, I want to love, and I want peace.

I am not saying the status quo is ok, there are plenty of things that can be changed right here but I am fortunate and from my position of privilege, I cannot complain! Things could be much harder. I could be in Iraq, the Congo, in the slums of India, let's not to go so far, the slums of Guatemala. I am thankful. I repeat one hundred times: I am thankful.
What will I do with this marvelous opportunity in my life? What will I do with the privilege given to me? I must be the best I can be. To make other's sacrifice's worthwhile. I cannot change the world but I will do everything in my power to make the world a better place, beginning with me.
Here is to another year...Happy Birthday me.

Addition at 19.55:
Yasmin was curious as to what I was writing and asked me to read it to her (occasionally she likes me to read my term papers to her too, hahaha). Afterwards she said that it was really moving and yes, she actually used the word "moving." She said that she also wishes there was less violence in the world and said, "We need peace not war so everyone can be happy." And there it is: Se lo capisce una bambina, il mondo completo devi capirlo. :)
Ok, now I must really study for this exam tomorrow. Arrivederci!