Writing Assignment #8

I interned at the primary school, Iqbal Masih. This school is very diverse in each classroom and is primarily immigrants. This school has two teachers for every classroom and these teachers follow the same students from kindergarten until the fifth grade. If the main teacher does not speak English and therefore is unable to teach it, there is an English specialist, Sumeneta that takes those classes and teaches them English. First grade has an hour, second has two hours and third, forth and fifth have three hours a week. In the classes they listen songs and stories and read along with them. They have a new story every week and come back to school act out the story in groups. They speak Italian mostly and then there are some students who speak two and three languages. It’s usually between French, Romanian and Spanish. The students also have an hour of religion class a week. The curriculum for this class varies within schools depending on if the school is traditional or not.

            Starting at this internship in the beginning of the program, I wasn’t sure what to expect. I’ve always enjoyed children, and teaching but the language barrier scared me a little. Throughout our time at the school, I was able to make relationships with some of the students. Two girls even mad a picture for me. Once when we were in the courtyard, a little girl told me “tu mota bella” and at the time I didn’t quite understand so when she asked Sumeneta and told me in English, “you are beautiful” as I smiled and attempted to repeat it Italian, she laughed and smiled. For the rest of their “break” which is like a recess, I tried helping some of them with English and they tried helping me with some Italian.

            As far as my frames of reference, interning at the school has opened my eyes to other cultures in a way a school in America could not have done. I don’t think I have seen that many different ethnicities in one classroom at once. It was amazing. As I observed them in their classes, they interacted as kids. I say that in that way because it was almost like I expected them to be any different than children in the states. Almost like being in another country changes the nature of a child, and it doesn’t.

            I would like to know what Iqbal Masih would do if the 30% rule is implemented because majority of the students in the school are not Italian and are at least second generation immigrants. What will it look like for them? Are they then willing to put the children in jeopardy and splitting up the classes who have been with their teacher for years? Will they have to make it so that the teachers don’t follow the students? I could ask the principal or any of the teachers any of assisted this quarter any of these questions.  I got the impression that we all made a cordial and substantial enough relationship with all of them just from interning there for a few weeks.

            Overall, I am so glad that I was able to experience the school and the children that I interacted with. Not only will it be able to help add to my final paper but also it has certainly broadened my perspective of life.

            To Manka and Julie, thank you so much for allowing us to have this opportunity. Being the genie pigs was an experience but it was worth it.

Multicultural Literature in Contemporary Italy Reading (pg. 77-204) Reflection:

Multicultural Literature in Contemporary Italy Reading (pg. 77-204) Reflection:

“Crossroads Identity”  (pg. 99- 107)

            This is a beautiful story that is most likely the story of many immigrants. Kuami, being born in Italy, he feels like Italy is his country and though Africa is his “home-land” all that he aspires to be and do, cannot be done or achieved in Africa.  The story line was compelling, for a child to speak to their parents the way Kuami started off talking to them was unheard of in my family. I was relieved when in the middle of the story we found out that he was actually just trying to find out how he would bring up such a conversation.  It makes me wonder how many second generation immigrant children feel more connected to the country that they have been in all of their lives more than the one that they “came from.” I find it really interesting because for a long time I considered myself to be from Mississippi but born and raised in Seattle. I would think of it that way because all of my morals and teachings were of the ones my mother learned in Mississippi as she was growing up. Not many people in Seattle answer with “yes ma’am and yes sir” and for that reason, I did not feel like I could “be” from a place that does not reflect the way that I act. Though a part of that is true, all that I have ever known is in Seattle and I now take pride and accept that I am simply different than what is usual.

            Identity is very thought provoking and captivating because it is always more than what you see and initially think. I’m sure there were many Italians who would look and see Kuami and automatically think that he was just another African. But it’s deeper than that. He considers himself to have two homes, his motherland is Africa but he is Italian. He mentions in the story that he doesn’t know how to maintain in Africa because technologies and functions of his world in Italy do not function in Africa. According to the thesaurus, synonyms for identity are the following: individuality, self, selfhood; personality, character, originality, distinctiveness, differentness, singularity, uniqueness. I find it Ironic because as people we always try to make identity about togetherness. We group people together to make “identities” so that we can “identify” who they really are. The dictionary definition is “the fact of being who or what a person or thing is” and my question to that is how do we make a feeling factual? The identity is up to the person and how they feel. That’s why I appreciate this story so much. It’s a sense of relief because it proves that no one has to be what or who they are expected to be. Ultimately, it is up to the people themselves.

            The best part of the story has to be the ending. I was nervous to see how his parents would react to the son’s feelings of not wanting to return to Africa. I’m unsure of where these quotes originated from, but the power in them are awesome. As they conversed and spoke their own piece, each had something wise to say to the other. Kuami said some very profound statements. Starting with “Can’t you see THIS is my country.” Putting emphasis on the “THIS” gave that statement so much power because he meant and even in reading, I could feel it. Then he later says to further explain his feelings, “It is true that an elderly man sitting sees farther than a young man who is standing, and that a child does not put his father on his shoulder to help him see the sky. However, it is true that the blacksmith of a village can be the apprentice of another.” In so many words, I comprehended all of that in him simply saying that his father cannot live and choose his life decisions. Also, that just what he is in Africa, he can be something greater in Italy.  The father once said to the son, “I know that traveling, one finds wisdom and that intelligence is the fruit that is gathered in the garden next door, but nevertheless, even hot water has to remember that is was once cold.” Then the father is trying to tell the son not to forget where he has come from. But I don’t think the son has forgotten at all, he respects Africa that is just not where his destiny is.

            This reminds me of a conversation that I had with one of my older cousins, no matter the closeness to family or anyone as a child. It comes a time when every man has to make a life for himself and do things that will ultimately benefit them and the family that they will build one day. And that is another thing that identity is about, being who you are because that is who you want to be. It’s a process and can also change over the course of time. The story could not have had a better title, because in the story he was definitely at a crossroad.

Multicultural Literature in Italy (pages 28-64) Reflections/ Responses:

“Return” –

I found this story really especially interesting because here you have a half Somali and half Vietnamese girl returning to her “home” which is Cambodia. I also found it interesting that I initially got the impression that she left Cambodia as a young girl when she was actually 21 years old. The narrator mentions on page 35 that her father would only like for his children to be somewhere under his personal protection. With that, he took them from Cambodia in 1970 to “protect their skins.” As any father would think to do, he did what he had to protect his family. Though their escape could be referred to as refugee status, Fatima was able to later return.

A critical incident in this story is a reoccurring one. I noticed in here writing that a certain emotion was apparent on a few occasions whiting her arrival. Though she is not “Cambodian” the Cambodian land is where she was raised and made quite an impactful moments of her life. Her feeling is almost unexplainable but the expression speaks for itself. On page 29 she says, “On foot we crossed the border and I mentally went and kissed the little sign in Cambodian Khmer land. My eyes filled with tears, I took a fistful of earth and I put it in my pocket, my earth.” For her, Cambodia is obviously more than just a place on a map; it’s on her heart. On the following page she says, “There was no longer the innocent serenity of carefree life, but rather melancholy in the eyes of the elderly, and resignation.” Though this can be interpreted as depressing, if one were to red between the disappointment of what Cambodia has turned into, they could imagine her reminiscing about what it used to be. Which once again gives her that sense of home and comfort. Ending her day and recapping thoughts she explains her current thoughts as she falls asleep, intoxicated by recollections deep in my memory, I finally fell sleep and slid into the night. Throughout all of these quotes, even if it has to be implied she is overwhelmed but emotion and overjoyed for her “return” home.

“Give Me Back my Coat” –

            I’m almost completely speechless. I’m unsure how I should respond to this story. I’m quite confused actually because at first there wasn’t much enthusiasm in committing suicide, it was actually depressing at first, as any death would be. The narrator speaking of all of the ways he thought to kill him made me believe that he would never actually bring himself to condoning his own suicide.

Then while he was walking to the café his tone changed. I could hear it being spoken sarcastically, maybe as though his happiness was only a trick to trick him into going through with it. He says, “I had taken a short cut and after 15 minutes I had arrived in the square. I felt uplifted who has just finished his performance and sits in a sweet peace to smoke a cigarette behind the scenes…The wind made me feel and the idea that on that very day I would kill myself.” Something about this statement seems unreal to me, like he shouldn’t be serious. However for the rest of the times he would only get happy at the thought of killing himself. Since his coat seemed to mean so much to him I thought that maybe that would make him even more excited to commit suicide. No, it was the opposite, as though he felt like he needed to say goodbye to hid coat as he went to the café to secretly say goodbye to friends. But if he truly wanted to rid himself from the world that badly, his coat would have done it anyway. Whoever stole his coat was like fate giving him another reason to hang in there.

“Light Bear and Peanuts” –

As we have talked about continuously, identity is the main point of this story. Truth is based off of her parent’s perspectives, she does not know who she is. As many “mixed girls” have complexes, in her case it was her parents that were making it worse on her by degrading her natural beauty that made things harder than they had to be. I found that she went through two breaking points throughout the story. The first one is when she admits to herself that she just wants to be accepted by everyone and not to be stared or judged but either Italians or Indians. On page 477 she says, “I wanted a whole population to accept me and put aside its traditions, its dogmas, and its castes. I wanted it to put itself away in order to reach out to me: for how I am. I wanted an entire population to accept me: to compensate for the refusal of one single man.” Being able to group her father into the same category as strangers. Even with her coming to this point of articulating her feelings I can only imagine the feeling its like she’s exiled for existing. Her second breaking point is more towards the end of the story when she’s fed up, for just getting by without understanding why it’s so important to fit in so badly. On page 52 she says, “Now, I don’t really it: why is it okay to have a black husband but not a black daughter? If you get pregnant by an Indian man do you think that the result can be pink, so it goes well with the bathroom too?” Here she questions whom she has allowed to shape her views of herself as well as of India and Italy as countries. With that she began to liberate herself of expectations and the built her own identity to be what she felt she should be.

“The B-Line” –

This captures every emotion anyone from any ethnicity or place embodies when they are suddenly in a place where a language barrier no longer is just a barrier between communication with more than one person, but also a barrier between oneself and comfort. Any man who has allowed himself to push the boundaries of comfort and contentment can relate to what many teenagers would call an “awkward turtle moment” there he is on the B-Line without the ability to understand and be understood. The feeling of his incompetence is indescribable. I love the analogy that he starts the story with, “I have buried all of them. And now I have a graveyard of words inside of myself. The words I use to use at work, on the metro, in encounters on the street, these words are all void of memories, I speak with people, without touching the words inside.” The story doesn’t give much background but I am assuming that this is an immigrant who does not speak the language of the country that he is now. It is not that he does not know words; his brain just doesn’t currently hold the capacity to hold a conversation in that particular language. Even with that opening statement, he is a bit uneasy. The tone seems to be one of shame and discouragement yet with a bit of frustration. But who wouldn’t be frustrated under those kinds of circumstances. It’s things like that, which make me wonder how lives for immigrants who don’t initially have a network are. Also, how is his life once he gets off the B-Line? I almost wish that there was more to the story, I feel like I’ve been left to hang to dry.

“The Beggar” –

I found this story intriguing because a lot is left out in the beginning. I was unaware that he was a blind man and even that he was begging for words. It wasn’t until in the middle of page 58 when the narrator announced that he is a poet did I know that he was indeed a poet. I found it interesting that he would read the words with his hands, making the shapes out by sharpness of the edges. I was reminded of Helen Keller because she too was blind and read with her hands. It is a bit different being that she would read Braille, but the power and sensitivity of their touch is amazing.

I loved this story actually. I’m not sure if it is because I too consider myself to be a poet, but the entire story seemed like a poem. The metaphors and figurative language when talking about the different words was almost overwhelming. When it says, “He would have to wring our MERCY for it was drenched,” I thought of the mercy of God and how much he gives to people. So that could be why it was so drenched, because it soaks so much up. And when the young man gave him the word ABSENCE and it took up more space than UNCONSTITUTIONALLY, I would say that is because absence takes the form of a void and though the word it’s self shorter, the impact it has is greater. I almost feel like the poet was the narrator because the story was poetic. I still don’t quite understand how the poet found his way around and knew what he was looking at if he was blind. Either way, poetry is left up to interpretation, and unlike the other stories this one is like a poem, left up to interpretation.

Artist Statement.

All of my life, all I have ever know are expectations. They come full force no matter from who or for what. The reality of expectations is the possibility of being disappointed and even when it’s unfortunate for someone else, there is no way that one person can please themselves as well as everyone else. The most pressure comes from Faith, family, love and religion. Faith and religion are separated because even with someone considering themselves to be a specific “religion” it is quite common that they lean and have their own faith. Furthermore, what someone can perceive as someone else’s religion can be different than where their faith stands. In the midst of both of these regarding a higher power, there are always things that are expected of you, but there is always a gap between those expectations and reality. And that is the point of my graffiti poster. All these things that are depicted in such ways, really aren’t all that they seem to be. Love is written in purple for loyalty, family in pink for perfection, reality in yellow for transparency, faith in blue for the correspondence of the blue sky and heaven, doubt in green for the sake of insecurities and looking down, last but not least, expectations is in black. I wrote that word in black so that it would stand out the most and cause the most attention because expectations are seen as the mountain to every valley, but it is often hidden that there will be times in reality that will not be as expected because some people have to climb up that mountain and hit some rough patches. In less words, my statement is that there is a huge gap between expectations and reality, no matter what is being expected, and who is expecting it.

“Introduction” (11-27) & “Salvation” (65-75) Reflections/ Response:

I enjoyed reading through the Introduction because it pretty much gave a summary of each story and explained the key points. It gave me a sense of security. When I go to read the short stories for myself, there is a chance that I will need to reference the introduction for context or understanding. I noticed an overall theme of subversion, irony and humor. It seemed to come up in almost every, if not all of the story summaries. If it was not the protagonist, then it was another character that would choose to assimilate to the new culture of where they immigrated. And even when it was self-deprecating, humor made it’s way into the literature. There seemed to be a lot of mockery and imitation of integration as well as the paradox of identity and what it means to be defined by what you once were and who may be trying to become. Pages 25 and 26 were my favorite because they concluded it well, reminding us, the readers of the goal and purpose of these narratives. In the first paragraph on page 25, there is a quote that says, “Man is the lord of the word he stores in his belly, but he is slave to the words that he lets out of his mouth WHAT AM I? I am a heap of words that speaks and always keeps some truth in silence.” This makes me think of the control that we have over our abilities and ourselves. One can only go as far as they want and allow themselves to go. Even with telling the truth and saying what needs to be said, sometimes maturing and knowing what you want and how to get it means to know what to say, when to say and when to be silent. There is so much power in that quote alone. Then throughout the last two paragraphs of the Introduction it says what this anthology is and how it is about how “new writers confront the issues of otherness, difference, marginality and integration.” Then it furthers to say whom it is for and how it is “an invitation for scholars of Italian and migration studies to explore the complex shifts occurring in contemporary Italy. This anthology highlights the testimonies that migrants make visible and therefore they add their voices to the political sphere that devotes so much space to debates on who and what migrants are.” Though we have spoken in class or even individually about what this book can do for us and what we will find in it, the fact that it is laid out clearly in the introduction means a lot to me and I appreciate how well written and thoughtful the Introduction was. 

            The short story “Salvation” was really interesting to me because though he mentioned his salvation, I looked at him as the savior. People were counting on him to be able to make it to their dreams, and up until the end, he had the heart to do so. He helped his cousin for an amount of time until he was deported and in a way, that was “salvation” for his cousin because he was rescued of whatever circumstances he left in his host country. I suspect that he is from India because I know that he is Muslim, but I do not recall a specific reference to a place in the text. However he did not assimilate himself completely to Italian culture. He mentioned not knowing how to make a certain ethnic food but that doesn’t necessarily mean that he had intentionally forgotten or didn’t care to know. I found it interesting that he was against cell phones and the new time of depending on technology. That was enough proof to me that he has not forgotten where has come from, because even with something as prevalent as technology, he has his own opinions on them. The story was a nice and easy read overall.

Writing Assignment #5

Not only with Naples, but with any new city I have an uncomfortable feeling. Even with the prep of the readings, you still don’t know what to fully expect. New places give me a sense of risk. I feel as though I am literally risking all that I have because I don’t know exactly what I’m getting myself into. Some can say that everyday living is that way, even places that you don’t know, anything can happen. But it’s a comfort issue. I give “the cold shoulder” to new places in general. It’s my way of having my guard up. My biggest fear was the thought of now being sure of what would happen, the possibilities of anything, but being in a new city. I had the same uncomfortable feeling when initially coming to Rome.  Not to mention not knowing anyone, it was never anything personal, I just question my surroundings a lot for the sake of feeling like I’m keeping myself safe. Another thing that made me nervous was the fact that he trip was with everyone. We have all made a few trips here and there but they were always in our divided “cliques” and I thought that when we would be forced to be together that there would be some tension. Fortunately, we all managed to get along and the trip actually made a lot of us more comfortable with one another. Before the trip we seemed to always be divided by houses and mixing up the rooms in Naples really did make a difference in the relationships we came back to in Rome.

            If anything my fear of Naples has done nothing but increased. Before it was a defense mechanism and now because of Jenny being mugged, I just don’t know how to feel about the place, personally. I understand that it can happen anywhere and I won’t say that I will never go again, but that entire situation freaked me out. Also, Alex blatantly talked to us about how often robbery happens and no one around you does anything about it. I know that this is not America but I feel like people in America would at least try to help. I’ve never been in that type of situation before, or even that close to being with someone who has experienced it so the thought alone makes me nervous. Don’t get me wrong, the program should continue to go to Naples and have Alex’s tour, just with more structure and warning. Though I feel as though I have seen a lot of Naples, I wasn’t there quite long enough to get that comfort of “home” or anything. It took me a couple of weeks to feel that way with Rome so I’m actually not surprised that Naples is just another city to me. The people seem different than the ones in Rome. Romans are a bit more up tight, or uppity for lack of a better word. If Italy was California, Naples would be Los Angeles and Rome would be Hollywood. Where we live in Rome is very elegant and charming, and the people of Rome know that to be true. Naples is just not up to the par of Rome. Though they both have great museums and nice places to visit, Naples needs to be cleaned up. That can go as far as the crime to the garbage on the streets; they both are ridiculous if you ask me. But as I said before, I know that it can happen anywhere and not every city cleans as often as Rome does. It must cost some money for the garbage men to come through everyday with their trucks and truck-brooms, but they make it happen and Rome looks ten times better than Naples.

            Aside from all of that, I love that we traveled there; I love to see new things and learn new things. Being in a different city always begins as refreshing; it just didn’t end as refreshing as it started. And life is not always what it is expected to be, it’s often about what and how you make it. So in spite of our situations, we made the best out of Naples that could have possibly become of it.

Assignment #4

Assignment #4

Open doors are like opportunities. The difference is that an opportunity is “a set of circumstances that makes it possible to do something” so often times an opportunity can be controlled, while the doors open to immigrants are out of their hands and they can only take what is given to them. Though a question on the prompt mentions that their also might be doors that are open but not recognized or acknowledged by those who don’t know how to access them, I would take that as though the doors do not exist in their life. Not taking away from what they have or will ever have, but some people are too pitiful to become motivated to actually find those doors. It takes knowing or getting to know the right people in order to get to where you need to go. It was said in a lecture that many immigrants go to their new country with other people and often times have some kind of network set up; for those who start completely from scratch will struggle a lot more than others because they won’t have a network.

Education, while to some is considered to be a privilege, I would say that it is a right. No one should ever be in a position where they are prohibited to learn either by their own means or within a facility. Schooling in America has not always been what I would call fair but after Brown versus The Board of Education, both Blacks and Whites are now able to learn equally. Before, not only were they separated, but also even the quality of their books and teachers differed. Now in America, it is required that children go to school. If they do not, parents are held accountable and possibly convicted for their absence. Though everyone has the option to go to school, there are special circumstances in some people’s lives that cause them to struggle more than others. Too often, socioeconomic status keeps those at the bottom of the totem pole discouraged and unable to really apply themselves because of the lack of knowledge and resources. These ‘doors” that exist to better and higher education are often invisible or simply down a hallway that does not exist in one’s present life.  Opportunity is a set of possibilities formed by a circumstance, but when they are unfamiliar or even depicted in a way that is unappealing, it can be difficult for one to take advantage of them. I’ve heard many people say that going onto higher education is pointless because no one is guaranteed a job in their expected field. Well if there was someone for everyone who needed encouragement about going to school or even simply applying themselves to something greater, no one would be left behind. As great as education in America is depicted to be, there are so many children, so many adults who have been left by the waste side. These “doors” that allow people to be smart, and innovative are placed in certain areas of every city and it’s almost like you’re checked for a name tag or badge when trying to even approach a hallway. In other words, it’s set up to where people usually finsish they way that they started. The school system has been set up to where certain people are at the bottom because of what they learned previously, making it harder for them to get anywhere further than where they came from. Don’t get me wrong, people make it out sometimes, but it’s true when they say that it’s not always what you know, but whom you know. But then the question is how do you get to know someone who has the knowledge to get you somewhere you’ve never been or where no one in your family has been. In my case, I am a first generation student, which means that I am the first in my family to go to college. If I did not have the determination I did to branch out, take risks, build a network and make something more of myself, then I would have been perpetuating a cycle of uncomfortable contentment. Although that can be seen as an oxymoron because they contradict each other, it’s true. Though my family has gotten by and is content with where we are, what we have and where we have come from, financially and mentally it is uncomfortable to know that we could be and do better. Unfortunately, everyone does not have that drive, everyone does not have those resources, and if they are put in a position where they do not have them, where do they find them? In actuality, they probably don’t find them. I’ve watched teachers and mentors literally pick kids that need the help, just based off of what is seen and if they did not take the initiative, not much would have come of their future. America has so much to offer with its education but it is so limited and it is not teaching on one accord. Coasts have different curriculums and children are learning faster in certain areas and if they happen to go to college or even transfer before then, there is a chance that they will either be behind or too advanced. Either way this creates a divide in education and may even be helping some opportunities impossible for some people.

            In Italy, the school system seems to be a bit more effective, for their country. I know that some people come from other countries and are unable to be recognized for their degrees but Italy has a smooth transition of schooling within the country. Kids are in primary school for five years, middle school for three and high school for five. After high school they then take a test based off of their interest and then go to a college that is based off what they took the test on. Since they are subject driven and go where they know they are best, this makes school more effective in general. With the cost of education being expensive, there are many dropouts, not many people can afford to put themselves or children through college. Then there are immigrants who don’t put their children in school because they don’t find it beneficial or they have some other adversities that don’t allow them to do so. The average time to move out of their parent’s house is 35. When it comes to immigrants, they are at a complete disadvantage. They are integrated into schools that are taught in Italian and when they go home they speak their native language. Eventually some learn to speak Italian and they may do well later, but they could be missing something, simply through a barrier of language. In 1994 the Con Viserra   was a law passed that all children, no matter the ethnicity or language or documentation, held the right to be in school. And in 1998 the immigration law was that their language and culture be protected. As great as that is, why not go the extra mile and make sure that the children are able to learn. I intern at Iqbal Masih, and while there are children who are observant and can watch body language and pick up on different things, there are also the ones who can’t. A little girl who is of the Roma community is in one of my classes and she stares in silence for most of the day and is often yelled at because she doesn’t understand. I know that, that isn’t anyone’s fault and no one knows what language she speaks at home, but there has to be a way around that. Immigrants in Italy have these “doors” to education but who leads them to those doors? They say they are available but what happens to the Roma community who is being placed outside of all the neighborhoods with the schools in them? As it is in America, it’s about whom you know and what they know, not always about what you know yourself. But even then, a lot of immigrants don’t always have a network to go to and build resources to get where they want.  Not to mention the discrimination in general, for even coming from another country. Italy seems quite biased against people from other countries, or even those who are not “Italian.” Then we go into “What is Italian?” “What does it look like?” And often times those questions are answered with questions, what does it mean to be an Italian? When talking about his friend, Amedeo, Amara Lakhous said, “He’s like a poem by Omar Khayyam: you need a lifetime to understand its meaning, and only then will your heart open to the world and tears warm your cheeks,” and the same thing can be said about the school system and identity of Italians. It may take lifetime to understand or to establish what it means to be Italian, and it won’t be until then that a surface is scratched.

As far apart as Italy is from America, they both have pros and cons to their education systems and these “doors” of opportunities only get slimmer by the lack of advocacy. No one seems to listen or realize the real problem, which is that the people, who are progressing, leave those who aren’t. And the progression will end all together if people don’t take the time to give back.