Question

It has been a little over a month; the culture shock has worn down as well as my heart. It feels a little better now, the pieces are coming together. Perhaps some things are never meant to work out, or even last forever. What in life really lasts a life time anyway? At least it doesn’t exist with my wondering heart, and perhaps eyes. Feeling like I am, in fact, where I am supposed to be and my decision is the right choice. I guess a woman always knows, no matter what she may say, she always feels it in her heart from the very beginning if it is going to be lasting love or just Right now.

I can’t help but feel at constant struggle, may be it will never change with me. And what is it that I really want? A friend after over a year without seeing each other she asks a loaded question, “Why did you come back?” Was it love? Was it boredom? Well, the answer was many factors. Perhaps the biggest is the fact that I was working and living illegally in a country for over two years. Now, that is a pretty big whooper, and quite and good reason. Being an American and not having an EU passport can create some problems if you want to travel within Europe, or say even go home. I went home via Amsterdam air thinking it was a good choice, they aren’t so rigid. Really, the best choices are Italy and Spain, perhaps Greece. But, I could not find a flight that was a good price flying out of Italy. When I got off the plane and went to passport control, naturally, I opted for the line with the most handsome man. So, I batted my blues and when he asked me how long I have been traveling in Europe, I lied through my bleached teeth. When he asked me why I didn’t have a stamp on my passport, I continued my white lie and said I arrived in Sicily and it was late at night and no one was at the airport. Which is what happened the first year I lived in Italy. He asked me if I but a spell and bewitched the other passport control officers like I am doing to him, I told him I had no idea, but it could be a possibility, gave a smile and he let me go, passing along his number in my passport. However, if he was not male and I did not flirt perhaps I would be in some jail or deported. Who knows? Coulda, shoulda, woulda.  So, this is one reason I moved back.
But now I am wondering if it is the right choice for me. Leaving Italy was the right choice, for reasons stated above and I am ready to spread my wings again and fly. I went to Italy to heal and find love in my lost soul. I did and now I am found; half of my heart will always remain on that Southern coast with cold blue hues, six women that became my sisters and an adopted family.
 I left and circled the world, looking for some thing or searching for myself only to finish exactly where I had started, like a board game that brings you back to START. So, over two years later I am sitting near the same man that helped me learn to live again before heading off for another Italian adventure, a romance that never completed fizzled out and hopefully it never will.
 So, the question is “How do you know what you want, if you have a wondering heart?” I have dreams about riding on a horse in the Arabian Desert and salsa dancing in South America. I had the same dreams before I went to Italy, I dreamt in Sienna orange, villas, smooth musical sounds of Italian and the Mediterranean Sea. It came true, I lived it. I struggle with conforming into what my culture says a woman should do and what my adventurous soul craves. When I look at my friends from the past, they have children and a husband. A latest accessory attached at the hip, and I am not speaking of a Chanel bag. Yikes. Is my first reaction, it is some what like a response to poison ivy. Slightly itchy and irritating. But then again, they are really cute, and I sometimes get a longing of my own. However, the pull to be riding a horse in the Desert with an Arabian prince is a lot stronger. Will I ever be finished and ready to settle? And how do you fight with two hearts?
A wise siren said “A man can never fulfill the adventure my heart craves." Perhaps true for some of us.

"Reserve delivacy of sentiment for friendship; accept love for what it is...
The more dignity you give it,
the more dangerous you make it."

- Ninon de Lenclos

Peace

Peace on earth
I come in peace, I walk in peace, I love in peace
With a war outside my door but can not see
I can only feel within my heart
I no not the truth, I no not your feelings and pain
I know we are all the same
In our differences behind skin color
Lies the truth
My hearth beats like yours
I have two eyes that see
And can feel the sting of a bee
We are the same
We want the best for our children
And love our families
So why let religion and skin color differentiate
The sameness
If you respect me, and I respect you
If you see me for who I am and not my exterior colors
If I see you for who you are and not your outer walls
If you are you and I am me
Why can’t we all see?
That we are just the same
Beneath the easel of palate
I walk with two feet touching the ground
You walk and swing two arms, like me
I come in peace
I come with love in my heart
We must carry love, let go of the hate
We only have one chance
One planet that fits both you and me
Love is the answer, respect is the key
We are the same, you are you and I am me
By: Krysta Golden Moore

Bread crumbs

How do we ever know when something is right? A wise 17 year old said “I couldn’t make a decision because both choices were wrong for me." A clever young girl, who possibly has it right. If both choices are wrong, of course we can not make a decision, or if both decisions are right then there is no regret to be made. Does regret exist? Or is it something that we create in our minds? And can we ever go back on a decision that we have made? We are taught as children that all things are either right or wrong but when it comes to making decisions is there a right or a wrong? It is getting closer to the time in which I need to decide what I will do for the following year.
I am no closer to reaching a decision. I have searched high, low and with-in to find the right answer. Perhaps both choices are right, or perhaps neither is the right choice. I know that I want to publish my book, go back to university in a master program and find a job where I am stable and happy. I know that I want to travel but may not want to live in those places for years; I can finally say that stability sounds nice. I don’t necessarily feel the same excitement that I felt when thinking of unknown places. Of course it will never go away, the feeling of adrenalin running wild through my body, standing still to face the great unknown, but I think I am closer to the closing where stability and material objects are appealing. However, I can not help having a sad and contrary feeling, thinking to myself “is that all?” And “Do I want to see more?” Along the course of healing from a past love and almost marriage, I find myself in love again with a different man. One that when I think of leaving him my heartbreaks, and tears flow from my eyes. It is unlike any other relationship of my past, this is the most healthy, loving and respectful relationship I have ever known. Does that come often? He ticks many boxes on my long list of strengths and abilities. But is that enough? How do we know when Mr. Right Now becomes Mr. Right? A friend once told me that it is okay to question him and our relationship; it is in my nature to question everything real and intangible. I stand in the supermarket with two loafs of bread because I can not decide on one, which one is right for me this week, which one will last longer, be better for my health,versatility, can I make use of it’s staleness and change it into something new,something better, say, bread crumbs. As I question my whole grain baguette, of course I am going to question my life partner. Is he my whole grain or just another run of the mill wonder bread? How do we know what is right for us? I do think that he is right, in many ways; I know that I would be fully happy with him, for years and years to come but is that enough? Does happiness overcome other battles, such as a career. I would have to give up living near my family, and having a career because in the South of Italy while economy is crying out is not the best plan, can I leave my country forever? I would have to work, we would have to work, to fight to share a common land. Is love worth the battle?

 

Unknown

23.05.2012

Your head rest on my pillow as you dream the unknown, in colors in red. I am just grateful that you are near. You sleep while I write; my mind fills with questions for you. I have a million things to tell you, secrets to share. But I can only give you what I am right now. Who is to say what this will become, let’s not think of the future but dream now. No need for language, no need for a voice or a script. Just let me be who I am. Loving you is simple and predictable; it is everything that my life is not. I am nothing of simplicity; nothing about my being is simple. But you give it to me, you breathe in my chaos as you exhale a simple tune. I know what each day holds, and each day is more beautiful than the last, but there are times you surprise me with your passion and love. It makes me want to know you more, tell me your tale. You dream, I write. I only have words to offer you, I can give you every word I know. I can not promise you a future with me, nor can I offer stability, that would be a lie. You and I both know that one day I will go, and you will stay. We will go our separate ways and hope one day, another life they will cross again. I offer you philosophy and you lend me your ear. You feed me incite to your life, you give me pieces of you. We lead lives, but we come together to offer a fresh idea. We are unique, oceans and seas separate our mentalities, I offer you mine and I will take yours. Your distinctive, you stand out in my mind in a sea full of identical rivers that run in the south. One flow of thinking in the depths of the country you offer me a little more. You are the cool lake that I want to swim in on a hot day, merging our ideas uniting our souls. Differences pull us closer together now, linking the differences in our worlds. What happens next?

Don't look at the poo

Sometimes, in life you must know when to look up and see life for the best. Here in Bari the sun is shining the birds are singing and for the first time in what seemed to have been a long cold rainy winter the air is warm, you can taste the sea and the salt on your lips, some would even say that is hot. I am sitting on my terrace with light sunscreen covering my overly pale skin, the smell of Waterbabies sun cream reminds me of my childhood, I am smiling to myself.  Life is just beautiful; these are the reasons that I am here, simple and easy.

Today is Nico’s birthday and St. Patrick’s Day, my grandfather’s favorite holiday, he would have liked Nico and wish they could have met. I spent all morning running around to different shops and markets to pick up his gifts, get food for Sunday breakfast and lunch and order a cake that cost an arm and a leg. I think I have gotten scammed, or in other words ripped off, not just for a cake that cost 40 Euros but also the ring I had engraved for him. It is one of the difficulties of being a foreigner in the South of Italy. At first I was like “What? “You are totally robbing my wallet”, I mean what else can I say? Hey, lady I know that you are taking the piss and I know you think I am a tourist on holiday but usually tourist don’t speak in your language, no? What can I say? When I picked up the Calvin Klein ring this morning I looked at the engraving and the “e” on “te” is slightly faulty and it looks like it has been doubled or the engraver hiccupped. I know that if I were Italian it would have been perfect or they would have offered me a discount, instead the girl just looked at me and shrugged “like what do you want me to do?” you American. Sometimes it is not worth a fight and you must accept what is. At first I was considerably disappointed and thinking I just spent all this money when things are not perfect and they are pulling me around asking for double the price. But, hey the sun is shining, I am a short walk from the sea and things aren’t that bad. When is life perfect? It is one of the natural challenges of living in a different county, if it were easy possibly I would never have wanted to have lived in so many places. In the South there are no rules, people play the way they want to play. When I left the jewelry shop the man told me to but the bag in my purse because I didn’t have a receipt, I left it in another purse and forgot I may have needed it in trying to run out the door at lightening speed. No rules just stuff it in your bag and look innocent. Well, that I can do, sir. So, I left the shop with no evidence of a perchance and my crocked “e” ring out of sight, in reality it is not that crooked and  the shop keepers are only taking a bit of my money.

So, I decided that life is exactly what it is; you must accept the things you have no power to change. Instead of thinking “ohh shoot I just spent a wad of cash”, I choose to think, won’t Nico be really happy.  Instead of thinking the people that work in the shop are thieves I am going to think they are just people trying to make ends meet. Everyone has the choice to interpret life as they choose, I choose simply to look at the brilliant sun, the accent buildings, the old ladies with huge shopping bags and gelato shops that have every pastel color known to nature, instead of looking down and noticing the large quantities of dog presents left behind from an owner that didn’t want to pick it up. It is best to look at the right instead of the wrong, the beautiful instead of the ugly, the easiness instead of the difficulties, the start of summer instead of cold winters end, a new beginning instead of an end and the people that I love instead of those that we have disagreed.

Does this mean I am fluent?

 Good relationships can be defined how many marks you have on your tongue from biting it at the right times. They are similar to finger prints no two are ever the same and can be delicate even at the best of times. When the “honeymoon” period fades and real life starts to peak through all of the sunsets you two have been blinding watching for the last six months, there comes a point where you may look at your partner and think “he may not be as perfect as I though”. And that is okay, who wants a perfect someone when you can have a perfect beautiful mess? Those are the words that I like to use when speaking about my own newish relationship, a pinch of misunderstanding a dash of miscommunication and a smidgen of patients, but which recipe is right for a lasting dish?

The thing with first fights is never expected, you are just relaxing in your honeymoon phase, listening to romantic music, sipping a drink with a little plastic umbrella and only seeing your new “love” until the handsome man that looks as if he has spent all of the 2000’s in the gym, you look up and see other options. Everything comes crashing back down to earth and you both wake up from a six month dream. I woke up thinking “what the hell was that?” you either solve problems well together or you don’t, listening and understanding and comprises are key ingredients. I knew it was going to happen sooner or later, that we would have our first squabble but I wasn’t sure how it was going to go down…

It went a little something like this, him running late and me being annoyed. To his defense he is not usually late, but going from single and free to spending every night with my new boyfriend and practically living together many small things where adding up like that of a Wal-Mart recipe. Again asking yourself what the hell happened? He uses his key to open the door, smiles and says “Krys, what’s up love, where are you?” “Here” I shout from the kitchen, immediately he sees my expression and says “what is the matter?” I just let him have it, I reamed him out in his language, foreign to my ears and using some naughty words my high school students taught me, it flowed out of mouth at the speed of lighting and just about as much electricity for about five minutes. He looked at me with a confused expression and then burst out laughing, “Where on earth did you learn those words?”

I shrug with a sly grin and ask “does this mean I am fluent?”

Missione Regalo Accomplished

The morning sun paints colors on the pavement, the tune of “It’s a beautiful morning” runs in my mind. Today was just what I needed. It started off with a trip to my favorite outdoor market, only a few streets from my house. It is filled with locals and older people bargaining and screaming at one another in dialect, once I asked a sweet little old lady how to cook the pasta she was selling which was hand made and portioned in small bags, she responded and I think I stared back at her cross eyed, frazzled and confused only to thank her and literally run away, until I realized she was speaking in dialect. I understand nothing; I can not help but smile every time I walk through. It is hustling and bustling with the famers screaming prices and funny phrases to get people to buy fruit, the stalls are full or fresh vegetables and fruit, only the seasons finest. Fish and meat are being cut and strung up from string, the eggs still have feathers from the morning and if you ask they are still warm. There is your foreigner selling earrings and jewelry, and a man with flowers always attempting a sale. I walk through and everyone from the homeless gypsy lady to the potato man says “good morning”, some of the locals look at me curiously perhaps wondering how I know everyone including the bright green eyed gypsy.

I stop and talk to my favorite fruit man, famous for his crazy hats and funny demeanor; one day he was wearing a straw hat with a huge brim like an American on vacation in Mexico, but he glued bananas, kiwis, apples and grapes to the top, he put Mrs. Chiquita banana to shame, or my all time favorite is the American flag beanie, when he saw me he pointed to his head “look it’s for you, Ammeerriccaaaa, number one.” Today he had a traditional round black fur cap from Russia without the ear flaps called a ushanka, how he got a ushanka in Bari is beyond me but it suits him. He screams “hello professor” and we have a little chat about the weather and I buy some apples, like promised always fresh and organic.  He tells me that the pears are not as good as the oranges, so I take his advice and get a kilo. He tells me two euro and 50 cents, I still have trouble with numbers and give him 5 cents instead, and he looks at me and says “okay it is the same, for my favorite client.”  When I leave to go to the next stand I hear “Hello professor” from hat man. I can’t help but laugh at the common mistake between hello and goodbye. If I get this point through to my young students it has been a good day, I love when they leave and say “goodbye teacher” instead of the common mistake such as hat man made, “hello teacher”.  

I had fresh eggs for my boyfriend’s cookies, bananas, oranges, apples and tomatoes for less than five euro, what beautiful morning and I wave to my favorite grandpa walking on the other side of the street. “Good morning beautiful” he shouts. I ask him if he needs any help with the heavy bag of fruit, stubbornly he says “no no I am strong, look at my muscles.” “Have you been going to the gym?” I asked and laugh. At least today he is not asking me “How old are you?” as he asks me this almost everyday. Each morning he has me guess his age, and day after day I say “You look 21” and he kisses me on the forehead in delight at my answer.  We have the same conversation; it is like a record is on repeat that I welcome. And my favorite thing is that on a daily basis he tells me he is a different age, last month 80, three days ago it was 77 and yesterday it was 76. Is he getting younger by the day or is it just me?

I go up to my apartment and put down my bags only to leave again for my latest mission for “bella figura”. As I walk down the street I get a feeling and turn the opposite direction from the center, I remember the beautiful shop near my home. I hope there is something in there, it is less crowded, I can speak to the woman and it is discrete compared to the commercial street with every person living in a 50 mile radius of Bari is trying to shop or park.

I walk into the shop near my home, it is gorgeous. The walls are made of stone and there are three large rooms with different types of candles and hundreds of displays. Candles with glass, candles that look like you can eat them, cake candles, cupcake candles, candles with glitter ,oh my, candles in animal shapes, candles arrangements for your table and candles fit for a king. “Okay”, I think to myself, “where to start, where to start?” I start browsing the tables and different Christmas tree decorations, the glass displays and porcelain figures that you, of course, can put a candle in. Yankee Candle Company you have nothing on this store, I would name it “Candle Castle” the inside is similar to a castle, the large stone walls and dome shaped high ceilings.  Candles hold a special place in my heart, as my mom and I spend hours decorating wine bottles with various colored candles and now a wine bottle used as a candle holder sits on my nightstand. As suspected not many people were in the store, leaving me a lot of time to speak to the hopefully patient shop owner. As I walk around a shop assistant came and asked me if I needed help, I declined politely telling her I may need help in a few minutes. I contained looking at the countless displays and wonder to myself about what is right.

Feeling slightly lost and the overwhelming feeling of yesterday came flooding back most likely filling my face with a look of confusion. As in that second another woman with a soft warm face and petite figure came over to me and asked me if I needed anything. I explained my story  of desperation for about the six time to a shop assistant, as she nodded and agreed that it was difficult but she was going to help me. “Do not worry, dear” she says. All of a sudden she starts speaking English to me, it was like she forgot that she could speak it and then a light bulb of an idea came over her, “you speak English, yes?”  She asked me “Where I was from”; as I replied that her English was very good I answered I was American, from around the Washington D.C area. I found that it is easier to say Washington D.C instead of Baltimore or Maryland because most people have no idea where that is. One time I said Baltimore and the man replied “Oh Boston, I just loovve Boston.” Umm okay, I don’t know what Boston has to do with me but I will take it. At least it is the same country. Instead, everyone knows “Obamaaa.” Stick with what is easy.

She starts crying, tears fill her eyes and she pulls up the sleeve to her black blazer to reveal goose bumps. I wasn’t sure what was happening, perhaps I offended this kind woman, and there goes my “bella figura” once again, wouldn’t be the first time this week. But, no. She takes me by the hands and we start dancing in the middle of the store, like a circle of joy, and candles. I was perplexed but when every the mood strikes to dance I am not going to be the one to stop her; I am going to join in on the fun. Wiping her tears and slowing down, in a dizzy spell she explains that she lived in a city near Washington D.C for three years, with her children and her husband. She tells me it was the best three years of her life, and she was sad to leave. I ask her a million questions at once, “Why did you leave?”, “Where in D.C?”, Why were you there?” She explained everything, her husband was working and the contract was for three years, they lived in Maryland, about 30 minutes from the house I grew up in. We started laughing as she called the others over to continue in the fun. Since she was opening up to me, it was only fair that I tell her everything about me, I told her that it was my first Christmas away from home, and that I am spending it with my boyfriends family which I have never met. She asked me about him, and asked if he was a nice man, because apparently this woman thought that I deserved a wonderful man in my life. Secrets from both of our past poured out as smooth as wax, easy and freely we stood in the middle of the store sharing stories, we told each other personal details and became fast friends.

She took me by the hand and led me to a table, luckily this table had no cigars, shot glasses or spinning wine glass but, a beautiful house that you put a candle in and it glows magnificently spilling golden light out of the windows and doors. It was off white and made of tin, and the typical American house she adds. “I have two in my house, I use them for Christmas and then in summer on the balcony” she says. Well that settles that, I am not sure why, but I trusted this petite woman that has the sweet face of a good mom, I will take it, I exclaim.

She takes me into a back room as she puts white stones on the floor of the house as well as a few tea lights. We chat effortlessly as she wraps clear paper around the house and then ties it with many bows. The entire staff is in the room with us as we chat and they ask me questions about my life and “this boy” I am spending Christmas with. I assure them that he is a very good man, and not to worry. “How could they not love you, she sang, you are beautiful and blonde, look at that hair, and American, just smile dear” says one of the ladies.  "Well", says Roberta which is the woman’s name “I want you to come to my house for Christmas, yes you and your boyfriend must come”. "And guess what, she says excitedly as her eyes light up, my family from Texas are coming tomorrow, oh please do come, I would love nothing more than for you to spend the holiday with us.” Flattered and honored that a stranger would open their home to me, I told her maybe we would come later but we already had plans, I can’t burn the candle at both ends, I think. “Well come for dinner some time then, New Years?” "Okay", I said laughing. We live right here, she points up and then at stone stairs that lead upstairs. “Come any time, it would be a pleasure for me” We talked for about two hours and exchanged numbers when I finally left the entire staff lined up at the door and hugged me, telling me good luck and wishing me a happy holiday. Filled with joy and happiness at the love and compassion from strangers that became friends, and how two hours can change your life forever. Life is good I think, it is sweet and full of surprises if you open your heart. A few hours later I had a text message from my new friend “I am so happy that I met you, and you made my day good”, I look at the bagage she wrapped for me, and was just thinking the same exact thing.