My Voice

Feb 2013
6:03 AM CEST

A Mid-Life Crisis

"The first and greatest victory is to conquer yourself; to be conquered by yourself is of all things most shameful and vile." – Plato
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I suppose one of the reasons why so many people take a year abroad is to “find themselves”. We like to pretend that it is for academic reasons, but we’re not fooling anyone. Whether that be exposing your inner party Erasmus self, or finding an enlightened traveller of the world within you, there’s a lot to be accounted for in what, in proportion to our entire life, is such a small period of time.

One of the hardest things I had to accept when changing countries was that I would lose friends, and make new ones. That’s not to say that I didn’t want to make new friends; I just didn’t want to leave the old ones behind. Part of my Year Abroad will soon be a distant memory, yet I would have to revisit many of the hardships I faced at the beginning of the entire journey.

This feeling may well be recognisable for many people staying in one country, or even those at home. People come; people go. Those friends that can only stay for a term must take their next step, and so we all find ourselves in a position of isolation and friendlessness. So here we go again: getting to know a new city, understanding the language, making friends, finding a routine in life. I did it before, and I can do it again. Yet this time, I don’t want to.

It is my inner self who is telling me that “I don’t want to do this again”. That’s probably because it really is “effort”. But I cannot let my instinctive emotions control my thoughts. I may not want to make friends now, or study, but I cannot and will not be conquered by myself. My thoughts and being are separate: my thoughts can change, but I can never change who I am. It takes discipline and understanding of yourself to know that you will enjoy your new life and that you are capable of changing your own thoughts. After all, life is what you make it.

During my first two weeks in Zaragoza, I did not stay in the house. I did not go onto Skype every minute of the day, nor did I reject the thought of making new friends. I did not stay awake at night, wrestling with thoughts that I could not control. I accepted that my life has changed and I have moved on. Those moments of weakness, where I missed home and friends, I accepted that. It’s normal to feel alone. There have been times where I have wanted to go out and buy new clothing, eat a mountain of chocolate and feel sick and sad inside. I will not give into these insecurities.

In those moments when I feel capable of controlling my emotions, I feel very proud of myself. It takes a lot of discipline, but it builds character. One thing my Dad said to me was that good and bad things come in threes. But then, when you think about it, all good and bad is subjected to your own thoughts. The more we can control our thoughts, the more we can conquer ourselves.

Sick stuff, Plato.

I know. I’m way too cheesy to be writing a blog.�

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1 comment(s) - 10:02 PM - 01/02/2014

Nov 2012
5:23 PM CEST

Reflections on my Year Abroad.

"Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one's courage." - Anais Nin

Life can get overwhelming, especially when living in a foreign country. It is amazing the amount of courage�you need to truly "go it alone". �It is often the case that there is at least another poor English schmuck going through the same experience, if not a worse one. However, I have not met another native English speaker where I live to date. In my life, I am the foreigner. I am that schmuck.

Despite my apparent “schmuckness”, I wasn’t going to let being a foreigner ruin my chances of making friends. I mean, how hard is it to make friends? Right? Well, in this little village, it seems that if you didn’t go to school, or already have a connection of acquaintances, it becomes pretty hard to join the social ladder. I’m not at University or in a job with “young” people. The majority of teachers have families to go home to. So instead, I decided to join a Latin Dance School.

I realise that I may have lost a lot of your attention after reading those last three words.

If you know me well, you will know that I love to dance. It was only natural that I should join a dance school, because it is probably the only sport I am moderately capable of doing.

Whilst reflecting upon my dancing progress over the last few months, I realised that I have been quite lucky:

I joined a beginner dance class.
I (tried) to speak to Italian people
I moved up to intermediate
I moved up to advanced
I became I staff member
I danced.
And danced some more.

Sounds good, right? Well, I still managed to feel unsatisfied. After such a successful rise in the dancing ladder, I realised that I would never be “one of them”. Was I even on the social ladder? I was not directly invited out to join in with their social events; it was all very much a closed discussion among the selected few. Despite being a member of staff, I was never asked to teach in the dance class, because I wasn’t able to explain the steps as well as all the other native Italian staff in the class. My attempt at making friends failed, because no one was interested in being the “foreigner’s friend”. I mean, it might mean talking to her in English. Don’t be ridiculous.

This is where courage expands life: I invited myself to social events. You’re never really going to be invited to events if you don’t spend time with people. There are moments where you just have to feel socially bold, and go for it. If you don’t, you’re settling for a life. Not striving for a better one.

Nowadays, I feel comforted by the fact that the invitation to go out of an evening is extended to me.

GET IN THERE. � � � ��

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Nov 2012
12:26 PM CEST

An [Add Caption Here] Entry.

Sometimes, writing just isn't good enough. It just doesn't successfully convey the "Year Abroad" experience. That's why we take photos, make videos and visit our friends abroad. We want others to understand the unique experience we've had, but one of the most frustrating truths that we must accept is that it is impossible to do so.�

However, I never give up that easily.

I bestow upon you, good friends and family, a pictorial entry of my new hometown, in the hope that many you may better understand my exciting cultural experience. I live in a town called Monza, east of Milan, which many of you will recognise as the home of F1 racing in Italy.�

The track was the first place I visited, located inside the gorgeous Parco di Monza, which formerly made part of the grounds of the Villa Reale. What that means is that this lovely building (as shown below) was the summer house of the Royal Family in Italy. Nice.

The first thing I noticed about the citizens of Monza was that they all wear incredibly nice shoes. There is no such thing as being "over-dressed" in Italy; they really do take care in their appearance. The "Monza" fashion is (generally speaking) high boots with tight jeans, and puff jackets or trench coats for warmth. Of course, it is obligatory to “adapt” myself to every cultural aspect I face…

This "Monza" high fashion is most definitely justified, being part of the Province of Milan. Living in a fashion capital definitely has its upsides, such as Milan Fashion Week:

There are some "right old characters", all over the world.

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Milan is also home to many exciting and beautiful buildings. I spend a lot of my time (not money…I have none.) wandering the streets...

But, the best part of all is the FOOD. The first restaurant which I would like to share with you is called Luini.

Yep. That’s Luini alright. It makes the best toasted sandwich or “Panzerotto” EVER. Like, literally, in the world. This type of delicious lunch time snack is not made anywhere else in the world, and because of such there is always a big queue outside. It is, however, extremely worth it. I’m not sure I’ve tasted anything so deliciously cheesy in my life. Right, Rachel Argo?

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The other place which is so typically “Italian” is the Tramonto di Desio. This is a quaint pizzeria, but that hides it’s true identity.

The Father of family, was crowned “King” of the Pizza in Italy. He then passed his knowledge down to his son. The restaurant really works as a well-functioning family, with great care in every Pizza made.

(Yep - That’s the son tossing a MAHOOSIVE pizza…)

I am indeed a reliable witness to just how amazing these pizzas are. I realise just how lucky I am to be able to eat the best pizzas in Italy.

So, this is just a little taster of my life in Italy. I won’t tell you about other things, like my several journeys on a vespa, because my mum is probably reading this.

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� �Sorry mum. �
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Oct 2012
4:42 PM CEST

The Under-Cover Italian Speaker

"Poor thing. She doesn't understand a word we say."

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Not quite true.�

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When I was first assigned a teaching post by the British Council, I made the mistake of thinking that I would be a teacher. "You are not a teacher. You are our mediator. In this school, the teachers speak very poor English. You must not only improve the English of our students, but also of our teachers. Do not let anyone know you speak Italian."�

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Little did I realise how difficult my mission would be. I think the phrase "poor English" was a euphemism for "no English".�

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The English department held a meeting to introduce me to the team. With my true linguistic identity a secret, I presented myself in my best English, feeling confident that I would get a welcoming response.�

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The first question was, (even before a greeting me) "but, does she speak Italian?" The Head gave the rehearsed response: "No. She is the "madrelingua" that speaks no Italian." To my surprise, an outcry of self pity broke out. They started talking amongst themselves asking, "how on earth do we communicate with her?!?". �I guess they didn't think about using English to communicate. Go figure. This fear of speaking English turned into a whole week of avoiding English. They felt sorry for me but more for themselves. I only know this because i was happily eavesdropping instead.�

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So, what about the bambinos' English? Let's just say that the teacher had previously taught the class the command "lis-t-en" but pronouncing the "t" (Try it. It's shocking). I hope that my time teaching here will at least give the students and teachers a more anglicised future.�

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For the record, you do not pronounce the "t" in listen.�

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Sep 2012
4:41 PM CEST

The Very Beginning

In the last month, the mammoth task of moving to another country has been bestowed upon me. I am, in every sense, an English rose - abroad. For my own benefit, and for the benefit of you curious lot, I have decided to record publically my thoughts, reflections and adventures whilst living abroad.

Week 1

I was warned: "The first week will be tough". It's a shame that no one really paid attention during the four hour lecture on living abroad, given six months ago by the University. The Year Abroad was just too far away.

A "new" town.
This week was all about "settling in". It's quite difficult to pin point the exact moment in which this occurs, especially if your Year Abroad location is completely foreign to you. By complete fluke, I was very fortunate to have already visited my quaint Italian village during the summer through previous work. I still find it hard to believe that within the whole of Italy, my summer work placement and my totally different Year Abroad placement are neighbouring villages. Some things were just meant to be.

House hunting.
After seeing some apartments which truly scared me, (not so much the apartment as the people...) I found a beautiful apartment in Monza, in the busiest and most beautiful "paese" in Lombardia. I am glad to say that this apartment has now become a home to me, and it has contributed greatly to "settling in" here.

A week without work.
I decided to move to Italy one week before my work at Primary School started. However, I never imagined how dificult it would be to leave the comfort of my new, safe, apartment. Independence hit me. So, the fact that I was scared to leave the house, meant I had to leave the house. I made myself go out every day to see something new and to discover my new town. To this day it was one of the most difficult yet rewarding things I've done. I had to use my own common sense (for those of you who know me well, you're probably worrying) and my own bearings from memory (worrying turn to panic). Alas, within this torturous week, I "settled in". I learnt about my new town, and learnt that I am very capable of being truly independent.

That's not to say all my worries end there. Next week I have to start work....

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Amy Jean's Profile

Username: Amy Jean

Gender / Age: Female, 32

Location: United Kingdom