28 December 2014

On to the Next

The end of November marked the first week of Advent. The change in liturgical season welcomed the spirit of preparation, as the streets of Rome were lined with delicate lights, big festive trees were put up in the city center, and the evenings were met with the hustle and bustle of Christmas shoppers and seasonal tourists.




In accordance with the essence of the changing moment, I took residence in a new apartment. My three month lease at the petite apartment of Via di Santa Maria Maggiore was up the first week of December. The invitation arose, thanks to cousin Mario, to move in to an apartment owned by a cousin (on Mario's maternal side, not the Calabrese side) from Cersosimo, the mother land of my family. A few weeks back, I made a visit with my cousin Vincenzo to see the apartment and meet Mario's aunt, uncle, and cousins. Though I wasn't initially planning to move, this new invitation seemed to have all the right marks.

*Perhaps at this point I should illustrate a diagram of my family tree, or maybe one of the population of Cersosimo, which for the sake of ease I will claim as entirely family.

So here I am, now, in a lovely apartment in the zone of another great basilica, the Cathedral of Rome, San Giovanni in Laterano. This zone is a perfect balance of residential and commercial. Unlike the previous zone, which was very touristy, this area prefers locals. To my convenience, I am near to the San Giovanni metro stop (of Line A, the main one I use) and to a multitude of bus options for my route to school and other parts of town. Additionally, I am a short walk away from the tram that takes me to the residence of one of the private lessons I give.
My street is calm and well-secure since it is off one of the main streets. Our building is set back a bit, behind the front building of the complex. Since we are on the sixth floor, the window views are rather lovely. The surrounding buildings present an array of colors, which are complemented by the blue skyline that greets the straight lines of the edifice tops.



There are many benefits to the change, which include a significant drop in rent cost and the opportunity to acquaint myself with a new zone of localities to stumble upon in my new routes. And as the most significant feature of the move, I am now living with two other women, one a "cousin" (Mario's cousin on his mom's side) originally from Cersosimo, and the other a student from the same southern region, Basilicata. Speaking Italian at home is advantageous, of course, for my language acquisition. Though I enjoyed living alone, I consider this change to be multifold in its benefit. It feels like living with family, as we are very comfortable with one another. It is especially comforting to talk about Cersosimo and laugh about the dialectal words, which are familiar to me from home and are native to Mariana. She and her brother Saverio (another relative to add to the list) had a good laugh when we reviewed the various terms with which I was familiar. They were quite surprised to hear the old language of Cersosimo coming from Los Angeles.
Saverio and I have agreed to a language exchange, Italian for English. Saverio is in his thirties, and his study of English is limited to his high school years. I will leave it at that. On occasion, while gathered around the dinner table, we have a "lesson." It may be more fitting to call it a comedy session, as it usually results in laughter.
Anyway, it all makes for a healthy living space.

My room here is very spacious, about the same size as the entire apartment of SMM. I have a wide bed to myself, lots of natural light from the tall window, sufficient storage space, a bookshelf with plenty of availability, and open space for proper airflow, something that was lacking in my previous residence.

As for transportation, I am now two metro stops closer to where I teach. This allows me also the option of walking, necessary during the frequent occasion when the transportation company is on strike.
What was a ten minute walk to arrive at the Angelicum is now a twenty-five minute bus ride. Though the convenience of the prior path was nice, I am enjoying seeing the city a bit before beginning my day at school. And, as long as I manage to get up in time for an early arrival at the university, in time for morning Mass, I am able to beat the morning hour bus traffic. Otherwise, it can make for an anxious start to the day. One would think three doors on a bus would allow for smooth exiting from the vehicle. In reality, however, when people are packed like sardines within the narrow channel of the bus interior, getting off is quite the endeavor. Morning dialogue with the fellow bus-rider is typically limited and goes a bit like this:

"Scende?" ("Are you (formal) getting down?").
And the next person replies either, "Sì," which implies, "get out of the way."
Or one replies, "No, la prossima," which means, "No, the next one." In other words, "be prepared to move soon."

So it goes, September 8: the Feast of the Nativity of Our Lady, marked my departure for Rome. And December 8: the Solemnity of the Immaculate Conception of Our Lady, designated my beginning anew in this home. Anointed occasions, as I see them.




The Chronicles Continue


More than a month has passed since my last posting. I feel as if a book would be more fitting in recounting the tales of life here.

I'll begin where I left off in the previous post, with a meditative spirit of gratitude and a heavy winter coat.

November fortified the weather's chill and welcomed in the holiday season. This year's Thanksgiving made its way to new soil, sans Dutch pilgrims and Native Americans. Instead, the participants were Italian. The Sunday before the Thursday holiday, I prepared the historical meal for my family and friends of Rome. Mario and Anna special ordered a turkey, and with a trip to the Castroni international market, I managed to scrounge up the makings of the Thanksgiving meal.


Mario took on the task of preparing the turkey, with a few minor suggestions of mine. And, with a bunch of Italian helping hands, our feast was full: stuffing from scratch, cranberry sauce (5 euro jar of Ocean Spray's original), cornbread, sautéed green beans, mashed potatoes, soup, and of course the beloved pumpkin pie with homemade dough (frozen-ready doesn't exist in this land).

Oh what a delight it was to be in the kitchen and to share the authentic American tradition with my dear ones. It marked the "firsts" of a few occasions. My cousins witnessed the versatility of the key ingredient: butter, and they embraced the foreign concept of sweet and savory.

As we sat down at the festively-set table, eleven of us in total, I began with a few Italian words. I shared that Thanksgiving, most importantly, marks a celebration of life's blessings. After I gave thanks for the opportunity to be in Italy and share the tradition with all of them present and Anna shared her thoughts, the feast commenced. We filled the bowls with soup with pastina (a Calabrese Thanksgiving dish that reconciles Italian with American). From there, we continued to the main courses. It was quite entertaining to see the reluctance of the others to put portions from all of the dishes on one plate. They went along with it, nonetheless. I explained how the cranberry sauce complements the turkey quite well, and so the experimenting carried on.

Now for any of you who haven't yet enjoyed a meal Italian-style, I should explain to you the stark contrast between our two continents. First of all, the Italian dinner is in no way rushed. First are some appetizers. Then, once everyone is seated, comes pasta. After clearing the pasta bowls, then arrives the meat and vegetables, and perhaps salad. Each serving platter typically has enough for each person to have a generous portion and is therefore left empty, as the prepared amount is precise to the number of people eating. After the dinner plates are cleared away, the fruit is brought out. Following a pause, caffe is made and the dessert is welcomed to the table.

So, you can imagine the oddity it was to eat the turkey with everything else. And even more strange was the fact that there were tons of leftovers. This is where the American fashion peaks in, inviting you to keep picking and eating, without a designated end in sight. My cousin Anna remarked on this precisely, pointing out how one could potentially eat incessantly.

It was at that point that the consequence of Thanksgiving set in... food-coma. We cleared the dishes, with much to package away for the coming days. Next we moved on to the pumpkin pies. I was especially proud of these sweet treats, as it was the first time I made them from scratch (thanks to the help of cousin Francesco the night before and a great amount of metric conversion).

Instead of American football as background noise, we were entertained with the Derby della Madonnina (Italian title for the rivalry soccer match of Inter vs. Milan), a reminder that despite the transformative setting of our meal, we were still in Italy.

All and all, everyone enjoyed the meal and greatly appreciated experiencing the well-known American tradition first-hand.

A cheerful video chat to America closed the evening, allowing Mom and Nanna to share a greeting with the cousins and see the transported American tradition shared with the extended family here in Rome, a beautiful reality of the transcontinental connection we have.









17 November 2014

Autunno

It certainly feels of autumn here in Rome, in the weather, the smells, the fallen leaves, the fashion, and the routine of life. About a month back (clearly it's been a while since I've posted) there was a significant shift in temperature. It dropped nearly 5 degrees C (10 degrees F) in a matter of a couple of days. It has been consistently in the high teens to low 20s C (60s F).

For the first time in my life, I find myself wearing a winter coat and scarf regularly. I never imagined I would run short of sweaters and long sleeves. The leg warmers that were once purchased for 80s costume purposes are now serving their practical purpose. Fall being my favorite season, I am quite content with the autumn chill.

Europe had their time change the last weekend of October, a week earlier than the USA, so the autumnal season has become even more recognizable. The cool, dark evenings prompt a sensation to be inside with a warm beverage (or perhaps a glass or two of wine), cozy socks, and a good book. The time change and the rainy weather doesn't stop anyone in this town. The routine continues, and the evening hours maintain their liveliness.

The beginning portion of this blog post was written a few weeks back when I intended to write at the onset of the chilly autumn weather. Now in revisiting my writing, I have weathered a bit more of life... pun intended.

Today finds me more seasoned in my routine. Rome is experiencing an abundance of precipitation. Oh how I wish I could push a few of these rainy clouds to the skies of California so the drought-ridden land could inherit the showers of these plentiful forms. I must admit that a part of me feels a sense of guilt when I share the news of daily rain with those who are enduring the drought conditions back in California.

Funny enough, I went over a month since arriving without an umbrella. I managed to escape the rain each time it came. That was until one morning a couple weeks back, when I awoke to the comforting sound of showers. In anticipation of my walk to school, I began to consider my options for cover. Fairly certain that one of those Houdini-like umbrella men would be in close proximity to my building door, I wondered if this early morning hour was one in which he was vending. To my relief, as I stepped outside my palazzo, I was greeted by the sight of Mr. Umbrella Man, a mere 30 meters away. I think he could see the desperation in my glance. That little umbrella is earning its price and is being used now on a nearly daily occasion.



The weeks pass quickly. The sense of balance of which I wrote in an earlier post seems to be continuing. Each area of life brings a particular sense of challenge and fulfillment. My studies and university community continue to fuel my passion for the existential questions of life and the methodology for seeking the truth. The group of students who constitute the philosophy first-years are a lovely bunch with whom I have the great pleasure of learning.

I am understanding better the comparison between the American university system and that of Europe. At this point, I would say that the American system does an excellent job in developing students' writing abilities and their production of essays and projects. Additionally, because I come from the quarter-system (11 week terms), I am accustomed to moving rapidly through material. Here, in the EU system, students attend lectures and read the listed texts. And for those who are ambitious, there are supplemental texts. I am finding this way quite enriching and significantly less stressful.

In initially deciding to enter the philosophy faculty (department), during my period of application, I had a small glimmer of doubt in my love for philosophy and its priority over studying theology. And now, as the history of philosophical thought is further unveiled and my own inquiries are surfacing, I am affirmed in my decision to pursue philosophy.

Just the other day, a peer of mine, a seminarian from England, and I were conversing about our incessant desire to discover philosophical answers to the modern moment and to our own uncovering. He and I have found that we share many of the same questions, at a level of specification that isn't necessarily sought by all of our peers, especially those who have a preference for theology. I shared with my fellow novice that I possess a persistent search for answers that follow the reasoning of philosophy and the path of logic. In my mind, I can't address the questions of theology and revelation until the foundation in reason is solid. Pursuing this in the environment of proper methodology and in light of Aquinas's works, which expand upon the foundations of Aristotle and eastern thought, contrasts the philosophical environment of the public university. It is ever-apparent how my course of study in philosophy is essentially the "day" to the "night" that was my UCSB experience. Perhaps I have retained some remnants of my secular studies. After all, my professor of Ethics did label a response of mine as very Kantian... uh oh. He also described another response that I gave (to the effect of ethics possessing a component of pragmatism) as very American.

To say that I am happy in my studies is the year's biggest understatement. My soul is enlivened here. For a while I have gone about learning philosophy in an amateur and unorganized way. And here I am, now, being guided along the path of systematically acquiring the enlightenment of philosophic tradition. The many interrogative promptings of my past are reappearing in the hope of being addressed in the fullness that is fitting. I can see that the interests of my being possess a cohesiveness that seem to be syncing themselves to this area of study. These topics of questioning provide substance for reflection, reflection that I can take before the Lord in prayer and ponder even more deeply. St. Thomas, the Angelic Doctor, who gifted the world with the richness of faith and reason in his works, rooted all of what became his intellectual fruits in prayer. If he wasn't writing or teaching, he was in prayer, seeking always the counsel of the Spirit. We, the students of life, have much to learn from this practice, the model of Aquinas.

This post seems to be that of the miscellaneous nature, the consequence of delaying this long.

On the other side of the balance scale, there is the complementary world of teaching. It's life-giving to be in the classroom, encountering expansively the teacher-student relationship, the practices of pedagogy, and the features of language acquisition. Seeing how my journey in education has unfolded fortifies further that synchronization of which I spoke earlier. From a distance these realms of studying philosophy and teaching English seem disparate. For my many acquaintances who are in either education, philosophy, or both, the complementation of the two is certain. A couple years back, if I had been asked exactly how these realms would collide in my own life, I would have struggled in trying to make such a projection. Now that I am here, though there remains still the mystery of life to come, I can revel in the insights I glean from these two devotions of mine. What could easily be witnessed as the professional versus the academic or the practical versus the passion, is really the collision of the juxtapositions. It's as if I have looked back at the map of my life and discovered that those detours were actually necessary roundabouts. In great gratitude, I hold firm to the blessing that God has directed me in the freedom of my passions and the inspirations of my environments. Each interest that has manifested in my life has been sought with intention.

Speaking of intention... I reflect upon a recent lecture topic: the four causes, according to Aristotle. I had a moment of great excitement in connecting a reality of life to an explanation presented in our Philosophy of Nature course. It was in discussing the final cause as the intentional cause. That is, the final cause or purpose of something prompts the intention. The intention, however, is not the efficient cause. That is to say, the act doesn't take place merely by the presence of the intention. My intent to clean my house doesn't cause the cleaning to take place. It is the will that causes the cleaning. The will is the approximate efficient cause. The cleaning occurs by choice of the will, and so it is not the intention that brings about the cleaning but the human will.

And so, this tiny molecule of the organism that is philosophical thought sparked a reflection for me on the reality of the human will becoming an impediment to the final cause. To what am I referring? Well, one example is the "lazy day", the day when I have ninety-seven different tasks I have the intention of completing of which zero actually get done. Because I am interested in psychology and the spirit, this minor designation presents a bridge for me. In the realm of the spirit, there is virtue (generally speaking) associated with obedience. I've often thought about what is "wrong" with the fact that sometimes I don't complete those things I intended to do. There isn't a moral judgement placed on failing to complete what I intended. And yet there seems to be some component of deficiency. What I mean is that I wouldn't include among my sins in Confession that I didn't do my laundry last weekend like I intended. There seems to be some link of following through with intention, a form of obedience, with virtue. In our rational form, we have free will. This freedom gives us the opportunity to choose either in accordance with our final cause or against it. I have yet to fully apprehend the complexity of the will, so for now I have these small pieces of wonderment to chew on.

Perhaps I should have designated each of these unrelated topics with a line or something.
On to the spectaculars of being a resident of Rome...

Ester and I have vowed to attend Mass at a different church each Sunday. In this adventure we have made our way to Santa Maria della Vittoria, where the Bernini statue of the Ecstasy of Saint Teresa resides. Oddly enough, this world-renowned statue sits in a rather quaint church.
Among the other visits we've made are: San Giovanni in Laterano (St. John Lateran, the Cathedral of Rome), San Pietro, and San Clemente delle Quattro Fontane.

My first visit to St. John Lateran was for the feast of the dedication, two Sundays ago. There was no way that I could miss Mass on the dedication feast day, at the basilica that stands a mere twenty minute walk from my apartment.

We went to Mass at St. Peter's yesterday. In the rainy weather, we made our way for evening Mass. As Ester and I were awaiting her Spanish friends, I stood in view of the giant pillars that surrounded us. I thought, "Here I am, standing here casually, outside this destination of pilgrims, the home of our Catholic family, awaiting evening Mass." Ester and I spoke of our recognition of such a blessing, and how there are many who go without ever encountering this grandiose monument.

So in case you are wondering if I have become just another body roaming these Roman streets in neglect of the story that surrounds me, I haven't. Though there is sometimes a delay in the reminder, it never escapes my consciousness. I do have to admit, though, that the other day I passed by the Trevi Fountain and nearly failed to notice its existence. To my defense, it is covered in construction materials as it is currently undergoing restoration. I passed quickly in route to the bank and in pursuit of escaping the loads of tourists that swarmed the area. That is the only time I haven't given a site its proper adoration.

These are a few captured encounters of the beauty and grandeur that is Rome:


  La Basilica di San Pietro in Vaticano






La Basilica di San Giovanni in Laterano, Cattedrale di Roma





Piazza Venezia, evening stroll around town




view of Piazza del Popolo





evening gaze, passing through Piazza di Montecitorio



ceiling of San Clemente delle Quattro Fontane 



panoramic view from Villa Medici

14 October 2014

A day in this life...

As I sit here at my table, sipping away at a chilled glass of Orvieto white wine, there sits with me a meditation in gratitude on the beautiful path that The Lord places before me.

At this point, as I am living in the ordinary sense, in the routine of my various facets of life, my reflection on life accepts not this seemingly ordinary way. Though I walk these streets of Rome with comfort and familiarity, I continue to be struck with the extraordinary unfolding of life with which I have been blessed.

It has worked out that life has developed here just has it has in the past, in my various encounters in starting anew. And, just as before, I begin again, desiring involvement with what surrounds me and groups to which I can devote myself. It certainly has not taken long to fill the hours of the week. And, in knowing myself and my patterns, I see once again how earnestly I await the next invitation.

It's a beautiful balance at the moment, one in which I trust that through prayer and openness, I can maintain. My life is filled with beautiful things, and is sufficiently free for the spontaneous invitations that arise.

This is roughly what a week looks like, in the life of Juliana, a student of life:

I have class Tuesday through Friday. Hours spent at the Angelicum are hours of what I consider paradise. I am surrounded by people of good will, who span the globe and who choose to live with joy and love. It's a reality to each day that cannot be ignored. And quite frankly, it makes for a life-giving environment. Seminarians, priests, sisters, monks, and lay alike, we each walk the university grounds in excitement for the atmosphere of study and prayer. Imagine this, you arrive to campus, perhaps you pass Father during your journey up the driveway, or you see Sister on the trek over, with Rosary in hand. And you know that they, too, are journeying to the same place as you, awaiting the proposition of their next lecture.

This morning, for example, as I steadily made my way up the driveway, there was a priest also making his way. I passed him with a "Buongiorno." He jokingly mentioned how people often pass him going up the hill. We shared where each of us was headed, I to Psychology and he to teach a Canon Law course. And off each of us went, after wishing one another a good day.

And so the day goes, filled with encounters very much alike to this one. There is no such thing as ignoring the other student who is sitting in the lecture hall before class or perched nearby, under a tree in the garden for lunch. And, each new person you encounter, you have a friend, someone you see in passing, or perhaps you pray alongside in the chapel.

There is a group of us, first years, cycle one, in the faculty (department) of philosophy, who share nearly the same schedule. This means, we attend the same classes. Our core group includes some Indian religious sisters, brothers, and priests, a group of seminarians from the Colleges of England, Ireland and Scotland, a couple of lay gentlemen from English-speaking countries, and of course, the three of us lay females. Some will go on to study theology after two years of philosophy, and the rest of us will continue in philosophy. Perhaps at that point, my third year, I may be the only lay female in the group of philosophy students. We will see. And so, our group is like a family.

From lecture to taking a caffe at the bar and so on, we continue in this melodious fashion in the company of joyful souls.

On Tuesdays, I have classes until the evening. But the other days, I am finished by afternoon. And so, there is a bit of time for prayer, studying, lunch, etc. For me, I continue on to teaching in the evenings. Wednesday and Friday evenings, I teach at the English school, and Thursdays I do private teaching at people's residences. And amongst the hours of studying and lesson planning, there is of course availability for the occasional dinner invitation or break for a drink.

The work week is balanced out by the weekend. Saturdays I teach two classes, one three-hour morning course followed by a two-hour afternoon lesson. Then, I am free for the evening. Work is often rewarded with Saturday dinner parties with friends or family. And Sunday is a restful day to do some chores at home and relax. It is another free day to venture around town and perhaps visit a new parish for Mass. No Sunday thus far has mirrored the next. Then Monday arrives, giving me an occasion for grocery shopping, laundry, and miscellaneous to-dos.

My awe in gratitude persists as I recognize further how blessed my current place of perspective is. I am here, as a new resident, who hasn't yet been trampled by the monotony of Roman life. Further, I get to experience an academic environment filled with people in like-circumstance, and yet with such vastly contrastive perspectives and backgrounds.

There's an openness that surfaces in a place of newness, an openness that is precisely what broadens horizons and illuminates life. It's a necessary condition to be displaced in some sense, that is, repositioned in a setting that provokes wonderment and curiosity.

In accordance with some wise advice of a spiritual director, my hope is that I might be open to the invitations that present themselves, or more accurately speaking, God presents, those of which appear to be good for me.

It is with trust that I continue, as The Lord has offered only affirmation to continue with His security. It is in this fashion that the Spirit is alive and works through us.

The mystery of life is evident in many ways. My explanation, for example, for why I prompted conversation with my friend Ester after Mass some weeks ago, lacks sound logic. A mere sense of excitement for encountering a Spanish person gave thought to offering a greeting. And now, she and I are journeying in these Roman adventures as close friends. There would be no reason for our paths to cross, aside from our rare encounter after Mass at the Basilica di Santa Maria Maggiore. Such invitations are not mere occurrences of luck or good fortune, they are living encounters along God's path.















07 October 2014

An Anointed Occasion

Today, the Feast of Our Lady of the Rosary and my dear brother Matthew's birthday, marks the realization of a dream come true.

I awoke in agreement with the early alarm, in great excitement for the day ahead. I had an early cappuccino, packed my bag, and headed out the door.

Daily at the Angelicum, the Dominicans offer their morning prayer in the university choir chapel. That's followed by Mass in Italian. I arrived in time to celebrate the Eucharist. Today's feast day is especially revered by the Dominicans, as it was to St. Dominic that Our Lady of the Rosary appeared.

Two Religious Sisters from India and I joined the twenty plus Dominican priests for Mass. It was beautiful to experience the Mass that way. After the Italian Mass there is a morning English Mass and later in the afternoon another English Mass. This, of course, is one of the many amazing traditions of the Angelicum. And quite uniquely, we are the only Pontifical University to have daily Adoration, morning to evening. This is a tradition that was begun by a student nearly twelve years ago. The university community signs up to be guardians of the Blessed Sacrament and offer prayer through the day.

After morning Mass, I made my way to our first lecture, Psychology, where my fellow first years and I awaited anxiously the first class of our careers at the Angelicum. Sadly, the professor missed the lecture for reasons unknown even to the Dean. So, we took a caffe and awaited the next course.

Many of the same students gathered once again in another room for History of Ancient Philosophy, where we were introduced to the birth of philosophy and the Greek context that we will study more deeply. This professor will also be teaching us Greek syntax and terminology, as well as Logic. This should make for a cohesive study of Greek tradition and philosophy.

After that, I had an extended break for lunch. At this time most students make use of the very inexpensive bar and caffe and enjoy the break in the university gardens. I joined my friend Hannah, a lovely young woman from Sweden. She and I ate our lunches and relaxed in conversation.
Hannah and I have all of the first year courses together. We made acquaintanceship during orientation and have hit it off beautifully. She converted to the Catholic faith last year, coming from her secular Lutheran, Swedish background. She has a peaceful spirit and expresses her self gracefully. We can be seen around campus laughing, as we share the same sense of humor. Hannah lives her life with great love and compassion. It's a blessing that God has placed her in my life that we might accompany one another as the path unfolds. I am certain we will grow together in this journey.

Ongoing through the day, we both found ourselves in awe of this place that the Lord has brought us. Each of us with a unique journey of arrival, feel immense joy, excitement, and gratitude to be in this setting. We laughed about how it feels like we are on retreat walking the halls of the Angelicum and how splendid it is to be in such pleasant company. It's like being in a different world. Amongst the hustle and bustle of Roman life lies this treasured haven.

I have been trying to accurately formulate what it feels like to be studying at the Angelicum. The best analogy that I can come up with is this: It's like the fulfillment of a dream for a studious American student who wants nothing more than to attend Harvard. And finally, one day, he finds himself among the population of those who he aspires to be like, professors and students.

Here I am, walking the grounds of this historical place, in the company of men and women, young and old, lay and religious, who are passionate about discovering and living in truth. I loved my experience at UCSB, the diversity of students and ideologies. And now, I have the joy of sitting among people who hope to serve the world in love and grow intellectually. It's incredible.

On just the first day, I was introduced to seminarians from all parts of the United Kingdom, priests and sisters from Latin America, India and Africa. Among our first year group are South Africans, people from New Zealand and all parts of Europe and Asia. We span the world, and here we are together in aspiration to grow in our understanding of our faith and the world in which we live.

Hannah and I admitted to being Catholic nerds, as we scanned the shelves of the bookstore, in excitement for the titles that await us.

From ancient philosophy, we made our way to Latin. As an introduction to the language and in honor of October being a month devoted to Our Lady, we began the class with praying the Sign of the Cross and Hail Mary in Latin. After putting my linguistic background to good use in learning case markings and declensions, we then made our way to Introduction to St. Thomas. There we were greeted by our professor, a German Dominican, who devotes his research to St. Thomas. In his brilliance, he reviewed with us the importance of knowing Thomas Aquinas as a person in light of studying his great works.

I won't limit the paradisal and perfect nature of Heaven, but I will say, I feel like I'm as close to heaven on earth as is possible.

Today I pray in a special way for the Rosary High School community and for my brother Matthew, who I love so much.

Beata Vergine Maria del Rosario, prega per noi.


06 October 2014

Fall Weather


Earlier this week, during my evening walk home from the metro, I was confronted by this amazing view. The rain drew in from the dense clouds. I've been very lucky each time it rains to make it indoors before it starts to pour. Eventually I'll have to buy an umbrella from one of the guys on the street. These vendors must have some sort of special weather forecasting abilities because they manage to appear on the street side, bags full of umbrellas, just in time for the clouds to gather.

Balance of Life

It's been a couple of weeks since I last posted, a sign of positive expansion of life.

This week marks one month of residency. And already, I feel that the busyness of life has found itself anew here in Rome. I anticipated that it wouldn't take long to reach this point, and yet there still exists a sense of surprise.

I've completed my first week of teaching, giving me a clear idea of how much time I'll be devoting to lesson planning and grading. Though my time in the classroom amounts to a mere nine hours, the addition of classroom preparation puts me closer to fifteen hours.

Additionally, I will be doing private English lessons for extra hours of work. These lessons will take me all around the city, providing me with an increasing knowledge of these Roman streets, and will supplement my hours of classroom teaching.

After this week, I will know better how I may best manage my time among my studies, teaching, and social life with both family and friends.

I am one that thrives with routine and structure in my work. I'm looking forward to establishing that soon. But, I'm also enjoying the spontaneity of living fully in this remarkable city.

If the coming weeks follow suit, it seems there will be a pleasant balance to work and play.

This past weekend was a lovely embrace of what life here has to offer. After a long day of teaching on Saturday, I was rewarded with an evening of Roman partying. My cousin hosted an evening gathering for his girlfriend's thirtieth birthday at a local club. The Italian word for such a place is "locale." Little did I know that this hidden gem was a mere five minutes from my apartment. This locale, Club OS, doesn't perfectly translate to the "club" idea we have in America. Club OS is basically a club setting where people make reservations for parties, spanning from graduations to bachelorette parties. Friends and families (pretty much Italians only, no tourists) gather for apperitivi e bevande (appetizers and drinks). This particular locale is a beautiful setting, closed in by trees and tall walls and situated amongst the neighboring structures. And, just down the road is the Colosseo.

When I arrived at the club, I gave my cousin's name, as one can only get in by reservation. I was welcomed through the gates and met my cousins at our group's table. The evening continued comfortably and in Italian fashion, which means you enjoy hours of eating, drinking, smoking, and visiting. After a few hours, it was time for cake and champagne. Let me tell you, Italians know how to make a party special. The waiters brought the cake with big sparkling candles. With that, they carried a big bowl of champagne and flutes on ice, also decorated with sparklers. So, Francesca blew out her candles and we saluted.

From there we made our way into the dance part of the club. We found a niche for our group, enjoyed some drinks served to the group on a platter, not individually, and we danced the morning away.

The next day began, or continued, I should say, with Mass and breakfast with Ester, my friend from Granada. Then, we met some more Spanish friends at the Colosseo. Sundays are free for entrance, which is an offer we seek as hungry students. This does mean, though, that the popular site is packed with tourists, more so than any other day.

We ventured around the ancient structure with the informative guidance of one friend who studies art history and architecture. This was my second time touring the amazing monument, and this time it was accentuated with the pleasant accompaniment of Spanish conversation.
From the Colosseum we walked around the Roman Forum, deciphering the path of the ancient city and the significance of various details.

One thing I have to keep in mind is that this city will always be full of tourists. Though I'm inclined to avoid the places swarmed with people, I refuse to miss out on the incredible sites that surround me.


After Friday's new student orientation at the university, I find myself even more overwhelmed by the reality that I am studying at this place of rich history. (I will soon post about what I learned of the buildings, art, church, and gardens during our tour.)

And so now, I'm excitedly awaiting the start of my courses. Tomorrow I will journey to the Angelicum, with a heart and mind open to the world of academia.

The adventure continues...


Francesca's 30th Birthday 

The Spaniards

 Beautiful day at the Colosseum

The Spaniards and the American

23 September 2014

A Prayer from Boston

For Longing 

by John O’Donohue

Blessed be the longing that brought you here
And quickens your soul with wonder.
May you have the courage to listen to the voice of desire
That disturbs you when you have settled for something safe.
May you have the wisdom to enter generously into your own unease
To discover the new direction your longing wants you to take.
May the forms of your belonging–in love, creativity, and friendship
Be equal to the grandeur and the call of your soul.
May the one you long for long for you.
May your dreams gradually reveal the destination of your desire.
May a secret Providence guide your thought and nurture your feeling.
May your mind inhabit your life with the sureness with which your body inhabits the world.
May your heart never be haunted by ghost-structures of old damage.
May you come to accept your longing as divine urgency.
May you know the urgency with which God longs for you.


Thank you, Amy, for sharing this with me.

Dear loved ones, may this prayer prompt in your hearts fruitful reflection and invitation.

22 September 2014

A Linguist's Paradise

On an average day, I have the opportunity to speak in three languages. Italian is that on which I'm most focused. In this period before beginning my studies, I use Italian most. There only a handful of people with whom I speak English. When I start school, I will be using English often, as it is the language of my courses and is spoken by most at the university. Then, there is Spanish.

The only native English speakers I've encountered are those with whom I teach. I've landed a position teaching English at a well-esteemed school for children ages one to seventeen. The school is run by a British headmistress, under whom are my fellow expatriates and me. My colleagues include two Americans, two Aussies, two Brits, and one Irish gent. Each of us with a different motivation for residing in Italy and all of us teachers of the desired English language.
Being in the company of fellow English mother tongues offers me the pleasure of speaking in a more preferred, sophisticated manner of speech, which contrasts the current basic ability in which I can express myself in Italian. And of course, my English continues to expand being in the company of the various English varieties. Being at the school is a time of reprieve, where I am free in my native language and well-understood, at least by the teachers.

One of my recent meetings was with a woman from Spain. She, too, is studying here in Rome, at the university Sapienza. She speaks and understands English very well, and her Italian is minimal at the moment. When she and I converse it's a festival of languages. We go from English to Italian to Spanish, depending on how strong our lexicon is on the topic of discussion.

I have made another friend who contributes to the diversity in my language encounters beautifully. He is an Italian resident from India. His native tongues are Punjabi and Hindi (the national language of India). He knows a bit of English from his studies in India. And now he speaks Italian fluently, having lived here nearly ten years. Mama mia, this makes for quite the variety.

I imagine that once I begin my studies, I will be in the company of people of every language. The philosophy professors represent the gamut of French, German, Italian, English, Spanish, Czech, and Polish.

My language repertoire will be further broadened (and likely confused) with the additions of Greek and Latin.

Somebody pinch me...

15 September 2014

Adaptations

With clear memory of what I learned the last time I dwelled in Italy, I expected to make some distinct changes in my life during this stay. These are necessary adjustments for a proper fit in this Roman environment. Here are a few:

1) No excessive smiling. Really, there is no need to smile unless you're in a state of spiritual ecstasy or you've experienced a Marian apparition. 
If used out of context the smile accomplishes two things, a) distinguishes you as a foreigner, and b) welcomes the pestilent attention of Italian men. 
No, grazie.

2) No dinner until 7PM, at the earliest. I've committed to acquiring the eating habits of Italy. This means no snacking. I take a piece of toast with jam or a yogurt to accompany a cappuccino in the morning. No cappuccini after 11AM. Then there's a light lunch or maybe just a caffe in the afternoon, and dinner around 8 o'clock. 

3) When arriving in a store or place of public service, don't assume that someone will greet you. The person working there could be of saintly character, but you will still have to speak up. Timidness will get you trampled on, ignored, or likely struck (physically) by an Italian man with red framed glasses, an Armani suit, and five o'clock shadow, riding on a vespa. 

4) All shoes should be made for walking. Oddly enough, in this place of shoe-making expertise, shoes serve most practically. Of course there are Italian women sporting stilettos, but I'm fairly certain those women ride a vespa or car to work, they don't walk. At this point I've ruled out any shoes in which I'm not willing to walk a mile on cobblestone.

Italians are minimalists. That's the best way to put it. 
I thrive in the simplicity of life here. This feature is what I adored most during my first stay in this Mediterranean country, and now I get to embrace it more fully. 

Space is limited so you can't have excess. Fridges are small, so you buy enough food for a couple of days. Streets are crowded and narrow, so you walk. In all, one will find that Italians live with a sense of balance. 

With restriction and liberty in their right places, life is healthy. 

Beata Vergine Maria Addolorata (Memorial of Our Lady of Sorrows)

La Basilica Santa Maria Maggiore has five Masses daily. There are three in the morning, beginning at 7 o'clock, one in the afternoon, and one in the evening.

This morning I planned to awake in time for the second morning Mass. I left a bit early for some time of quiet prayer.
Daily Mass is held in one of the side chapels. I knew this upon arriving, but to make sure I knew of which chapel, I asked a Sister standing next to me. She confirmed that Mass was to begin at 8 o'clock in the chapel further down. I saw that the closest chapel's gates were open and the alter was lit, so I thought, "I'll just come in here for some private prayer." Upon entering, I realized that there was a community of people gathered. So, I quietly kneeled down, expecting that I would head to the other chapel in fifteen minutes or so.

About five minutes into prayer, there stood two priests at the gates. They processed down the chapel aisle, carrying the consecrated hosts and took their places near the alter. Come to find out, I was celebrating Mass with a South African group on pilgrimage.

As I continued in the celebration, I was filled with pure joy for many reasons. One reason of the humorous nature is that I was one of two fair skinned people in the congregation. So, there I was, not only a foreigner in Italy, but I was participating in the Eucharistic celebration with a bunch of South Africans. If that's not funny, I don't know what is. This comical reality brought forth a deeper and more substantive note- How amazing is the universality of the Church!
My heart was delighted in reflecting on the fact that I am part of a greater family that spans this earthly dwelling. And, I got to share in the celestial celebration with sisters and brothers of a distant land. Father (not sure his name) shared a beautiful homily about Christ's insurmountable love, love so great that He shared with us His mother that she might watch over us.

I was awed by the strength in voice of the hymns sung by the community. When we shared the sign of peace, not one person was skipped by another. I was embraced by the pilgrims with a love I will always remember.


Today my prayers are joined with those of the Santa Barbara family of Our Lady of Sorrows Church.

I am home.

Sadly, it wasn't until Saturday that I finally attended Mass here in the ancient city, four days after arriving.

Celebrating Mass marks my official welcome and the initial sense of being home.

Since arriving, I have been introduced to many new acquaintances, thanks to the social butterfly, my landlady, Luisa. Whether it's been the invitation from a phone call, doorbell ring, or prepared gathering, Luisa has graciously set out to broaden my circle of friends and expose me to an overload of Italian conversation. For this, I'm certainly grateful.

Among the many acquaintances are two Italian women, mature in age and wise in life. I had the great delight of accompanying Gisella and Virginia to my first Mass in town.

Virginia and I awaited our third companion to arrive at my building. When I saw Gisella making her way up the steep sidewalk to greet us, an immediate smile surfaced. She embodies the quintessential, old Italian woman. Dressed properly for Mass (dress, sweater, nylons, and nice shoes to suit), she greeted us with a refreshing "Buona sera". From there we walked the mere five minutes trek to the basilica doors. The path to arrive at the church includes one street crossing. It's located at a curve in the road, where there is a nearly constant flow of traffic (Italian traffic doesn't stop for pedestrians). As the three of us approached the street, Gisella gracefully yelled, "Fermi, fermi, fermi, passa la Nonna." This means, "Stop, grandma's crossing." I looked at her and chuckled.

Gisella and Virginia were so excited to introduce me to the Dominican priests who shepherd the basilica congregation. The two ladies escorted me to the sacristy where I met a couple of the priests. Then, we walked to the other side of the tourist-filled space to the confessionals. For the first time I saw the fashion in which big Roman basilica's sacramentally care for the international masses. There were five or six confessionals lining the length of the church, each one occupied by a priest available to hear confessions in a different language. German, Polish, Italian, Spanish, English, and likely some others that I didn't see.
Because Father Angelo was in the open confessional, I was introduced to him there. Gisella explained that I was an American who recently moved here. And I explained further that I was a student at the Angelicum. It was a joyous introduction.

At six o'clock, Mass began. It was beautiful to once again be part of the Italian celebration. I left with my heart full and my spirit enlivened.

Sono Arrivata

Out with the old wall paper and in with the new. The image of Florence's Ponte Vecchio that lined the background of this blog two years ago has been replaced by the site of my new home and the icon of yet a new journey.

I take residence in this writing space for the purpose of documenting my continuance of existential discovery. I hold writing to be a useful channel for processing life. And thus, I write in this cyber space to process my encounters further and, in turn, share a bit of what life is bringing here on this distant shore.

I've imaginatively proposed various ways that I might begin this revisitation to blogging... Though I start anew in this ancient city, there is an extended preface that has welcomed me to this present moment. Being here is a manifestation of surrender, trust, discernment, and mission, with love and grace being both the catalysts and products of such fruits.

I can't say that it's been explicitly patience that has accompanied me across the bridge of finishing my undergraduate degree and returning to this sacred land to continue my studies. I consider the period one of anticipation. With a spirit of waiting, I was continually comforted in the graduated propositions presented by God. And, in the great beauty of companionship with Christ, I was given a time of formation and preparation that aided my next step, the one on which I stand today. 

Two years ago, I spent the summer living and studying in Florence. After completing my stay, I returned to the States with a voiced openness to God's direction and a thirsting desire for an invitation to navigate me. My return landed me back in Santa Barbara with a position in education. My two years working at Bishop Garcia Diego High School and the surrounding love of my family and friends nurtured within me a recognition essential for my steps forward. My deep desire to continue academically was solidified and the call to grow in the truth of our faith became incomparably pronounced. After visiting the options of a couple programs within the States and one abroad, I was left at the doorstep of the study program I will soon begin.

I have to laugh a bit, as is fitting when recognizing the unveiling of God's plans, because the former motions that moved me to this doorstep resembled that of a labyrinth. It is not from my own capacity that I made my way to this long-awaited welcome mat, but rather, it is through the spiritual direction offered to me by God. He attuned my heart to the recommendation of friends and the presentation of fulfilled desires. And here I am, sitting at a desk, in an apartment of my own, on a street neighboring the Papal Basilica honoring Our Blessed Mother, in the land of pilgrims and saints, in gratitude and hopeful anticipation.