Monthly Archives: January 2011
And If You Read Italian,
Man It Was Cold!
As I was checking my email on my yahoo account on Monday, a news headline popped up, like this one, that said there had been a bombing Moscow’s Domodedevo airport. Of course, all bombings have a chilling effect, but for me this one was more personal. I have been fortunate enough to have never been near a bombing, but this particular one caught my attention as I had flown through Moscow twice last year. What were the chances that I had been there?
Our second quarterfinal game for the LEN cup was being played in Khanty-Mansiysk. The first round was at home, so for the second game we travelled to the home of our competition: Siberia, Russia. This is crazy enough in itself. How many people go to Siberia willingly? And more importantly, how many Americans go to Siberia? Not only was I getting the chance to travel to a such a foreign and inhospitable place, one that few American ever have the chance to experience, it was going to be in the dead of winter. To play water polo. In a pool.
Warcraft or Il Videogioco
In the Fall of 2008, I took an Italian class in which I had to write a short story (in Italian) in some sort of surrealist manner. This is the story that I wrote in English before I revised/translated it into Italian.
The school year started out normal enough. I moved into my dorm room and met my new roommate, who seemed friendly in an average sort of way. You know, not too nice that she seemed fake, but at least willing to start on good terms. We exchanged pleasantries, helped each other unpack our too-much junk for our too-small dorm room, compared DVD choices, admired each other’s posters, and lamented about the fact that we got stuck with the least desirable building. “At least we are closer to the supermarket than all the other people on campus,” she said.
“Yeah,” I replied, “but that’s only better since we are the farthest away from the dining hall.”
“Don’t remind me. I’m already sick of that food and we just got back to campus!”
The problem with having two homes is that you are always leaving something behind. The worst is close to the time of departure, when all that fills your head is what you are losing. Even when you know you are going to a good place and even when you know you are coming back.
San Diego has always been my home and always will be. I don’t think a move to any other place can be called ‘permanent.’ I don’t expect to live any one place in particular for the rest of my life. Because I don’t want things to always be the same. I want to grow and have new experiences. For now there is no one place that will keep its hold on me.
However, I keep my link to San Diego because I have so few constants in my life. But in San Diego I have some semblance of a family and a place I am always welcome and safe. I can go out into the world knowing I have a haven to return to. Its like what your mom is supposed to be when you are a toddler. The house that can store my stuff and my dad will be there and I can always go to water polo because I am always welcome there to be and to play.
There is one link that has been lost however, and that is my link to Maestro. He was a most unusual and extraordinary cat mostly because he didn’t act as a cat would. He wasn’t interested in playing, or in being cuddled, and his favorite place to hang out was right in the thick of things.