“Where are you from?” “How did you learn to speak Italian?” “What’s your story?” “So, are you American or Italian?!” These are some of the questions I’m faced with often here, but I honestly don’t mind answering them. My response usually goes something like this: Well, I was born in the Bronx, but my parents are both Italian immigrants. Most of my mother’s family emigrated to the States, but almost all of my father’s family is here. We came to Italy in the summers to visit my grandparents, and I also studied Italian for eight years. I’ve studied in Rome for four months, and also lived in Milano two years…

Air conditioners. Target. Attentive waiters. Space. Lots of it. These are just a few of the things I miss about home (my loved ones, of course, go without saying!). The more time I spend in Italy, though, the more accustomed I become to the lifestyle here. Sure, I can do without sweating in my sleep during the hot, summer months. I also wouldn’t mind going to a restaurant and not having to ask three times for a glass of water. However, as annoying as the little things are, they pale in comparison to the big ones–you know, the things that actually matter and give substance to our lives. One such example, which…

You are an immigrant. You pondered it for a while. You packed your life in a couple of suitcases. You kissed your loved ones goodbye. You left your homeland. Then, You arrived in the States by boat, plane or foot. You didn’t know the language. You didn’t know the laws. You were confused by the customs. You felt lost. Then, You were ridiculed. You were discriminated against. You were considered “less than”. Then, You found decent work. You learned some English. You made some friends. Soon, You became successful And, You raised a family And, You worked even harder But, You never forgot where you came from. You are the…

Growing up in the United States, the notion that ours is the greatest, most powerful country on earth has been ingrained into our impressionable, young minds since birth. As a child, I noticed nothing strange about pledging allegiance to a flag before classes every single morning. Or hearing my classmates boast about relatives who had either departed for or returned from some faraway war. Or learning that the U.S. had either influenced or played a major role in most conflicts in history. It was only until just a few years ago that I realized just how bizarre it all was–how the Pentagon allowed its infatuation with war and military might…

It’s been a little over a month since I arrived in Milano, and I still have so many mixed emotions. I promised I’d be candid about my experiences living abroad, so here they are… For as long as I can remember, I have looked forward to every trip to Italy, regardless of the length of stay. This time was so different, though. This time, I really didn’t want to go. I cried often in the weeks leading up to my departure; overwhelming sadness, guilt, frustration and confusion often consumed me. Having a past and present in one country, with a future in another across the ocean, is as exhausting as it…