Her sister’s words rang through her that morning straight into the next day. Pregnant. So final and real. She always knew that it would happen. She just never prepared herself for that/this moment. It was here. It was happening. A baby.
It is not the first time she felt shone up by her little sister nor would it be the last. Her sister , despite exhausting problems, always received. It never failed. Fate was never for her but her sister. She wanted a family, a partner, children, to be in love instead she was dealing with her father’s lack of interest, poor choices and lack of options with boyfriends, and the curse that her granny told her; ” children love you thus you will never have your own”. Overall, the short end of the stick.
On many occasions she pushed forward and others she hid in her shell. She felt forgotten and undesirable. They say what you feel is what you call into your atmosphere. In truth despite of what you feel life makes you what you shall be. In her case, her current and continuous mood was hunger.
She hungered by the minute. She hungered to be in love , to be noticed, to be taken seriously, to have an easy day, to finally step out of level 1 and into level 2,3,4. She hungered to plant roots, have a dog or two, to be somewhere and know it’s her home.
It was an obsession, a fantasy with no reality….a constant letdown. At times she thought she made it only to be again on level one. Even her hair would tease her. She really wants big curly hair. She craves hair that could be wild and free yet tame-ish and elegant.
She wants to win.
Her career has finally shown potential yet there is a major hurdle preventing the moment of exhale. She thinks of how she would finally buy a house with this exhale. Get a dog, and shop with a truth. She thinks of how her life would improve at least financially. She hopes and is afraid. She feels sick often thinking of this.
She is getting older and worries about her eggs. Could she every make a child. Another being with ten finger and ten toes, a face that may resemble her own . She wonders if there would ever be love in her life. A partner of pleasure and friendship. A co-conspirator in this constant world wind called life. Would the fates ever allow. Would God ever have mercy on her? She wonders these things daily. They are an obsession.
I am really sorry but I don’t know how to date or cross paths with a decent guy. I have met a guy here that is adorable to me, he is tall, slightly funny and we like barely anything the same. We connected in a strange , social media way with our common love of parks here in Rome. I know it seems hard to believe with my magnificent wit and sarcastic charm that I prefer quiet solitary activities (and met a guy on social media). I function better with quiet moments. I have been flooded with social activities that at times I make up excuses just to be alone. Rome has nice parks and some that look like a dump yet there are parks everywhere.
Back to the guy; we met , we talked, actually he loves talking and talking and is heavily opinionated without considering the alternative of what others think or feel. He is religious and very critical of others, very Christ- like, I know. He sees life in black and white, HIS version of black and white. I see silver grey, fuchsia, teal and mahogany. We were not a match made in heaven, he was adorable though. Open dialog with him always ended with him running away every time I said something he felt was insensitive or disagreeable. It was not only me he acted like this with; no the whole world received this treatment. At times I wonder if he was bipolar. Anyway, he always came back. I would still be lost on what I said that was so wrong. I felt like the man and him the woman. He is older than me yet he was a bit like a newborn baby not childlike which I think we all have inside of us. No he was a big baby. The biggest problem with letting go of the big baby was me being new here still (my excuse).
Half a year had past and I was holding on to a big baby because making friends was a bit hard at first. As well, I was feeling homesick and down, he was beccoming familiar in a bad way. It’s barely mentioned when you relocate to another country and maybe even a new city, with 10,000 miles between you and what was home, fear and doubts devour a person especially at night. Thus the cry baby felt like nothing and I tolerated. Then one day , maybe by magic we faded out. I was still grasping my homesickness yet I survived. Every now and then big baby messages , wanting to fix our situation at times because he is adorable I start to think yes then I think and realize no is better.
I met another guy, he was a more accepting of my personality. It always works that way the guy I really want to be into disapprove of my personality or I down play my true self out of fear he will dislike the real me. Stupid! I know. Dove should do a campaign about that. Anyway, guy two saw the real me, liked it and took me to amazing places , concerts, met dignitaries, embassy parties, Hollywood people of Italy. He was a great friend, however, he hoped I would love him or want more than his friendship and I wanted to wait. He hated my answer and the outing continued. I was hoping that maybe I could feel what he felt , I felt bad that I didn’t have a chemical attraction to him. He is an awesome friend yet I never felt excited about him in that way, SHE never wanted him and so nothing. He thinks I am being too “American” and not letting myself go with nature. I never told him about the lack of chemical attraction just I treasure our friendship and I didn’t want it to end. I even said lets wait let time happen with us, but nope, he wanted us to be in love. We had a rough patch yet we are friends again, I think.
Now i just date. I am pretty clear that a friendship is my goal. The responses have varied from silence to feelings of outrage because of my friendship request. Few actually respect this. I want a man who is a friend on some level not just my boyfriend. On my dating adventurous, I have been kissed on the cheek by a strange guy at a party. He was like a lion in the Serengeti, he would pop up and kiss my face and disappear.
By his third try I caught him and punched him, then I was called “American” They think calling me American will make me upset. Go Figure.
I went out with the quiet professional guy , who is highly routine and attached to his mother, who he visits every weekend and calls three times a day. We went out three times, we had the same conversation three times.
Another professional guy, who only believes in labels and designers, took me out. Now I teach him English.
and now my dates are with girlfriends and group events. This works for now. I don’t have a romantic ending, I have no ending…..I just continue living my story. Ciao!
I teach English to Italians, mostly children. Recently, I have been working at a summer camp. I was playing with a few of the kids when a little girl, was staring at me from a far; I waved at her. I smiled at her. I asked her if she wanted to play. I waved at her to come closer. She did. She took my hand and licked it. Then she said, ” You look like chocolate”.
Yes, I do look like chocolate and she was hoping I WAS chocolate. All I could do was smile. She was so amazed by my skin she lick it. Now she licks me all the time. I am her chocolate. It’s a living.
Here, I am called brown skin. Here,sun-worshippers ask to touch my skin. I was at first, a little weird about it but now it’s like brushing my teeth-a natural thing. It’s normal to be waiting for a bus, or to be shopping and a lady to compliment me for my skin tone; like it is gold. Tanning is a full-time occupation here , not a pass time. I am the CEO.
I live in Rome. I have been to Rome before on holiday usually only three days and then I would either head north or south (SUD) to stay with friends. I never had such a reaction to my skin before in any other region of Italy. Rome is something.
I naturally assumed that people would think I am African.It is the most logical thinking, I thought. Nope. I am asked on a regular which part of Brasil I am from. In many cases people start speaking Portuguese to me. It never fails. I have told them I am Jamaican; which they say (in the same order every time). JAMAICAN TOP FOUR/ FIVE 1) Bob Marley!
2) Beautiful Beaches
4) Where is Jamaica?
and for the bold ones…..
5) Is it true the men have big penises?
I am at times a celebrity because of my skin. I am not sure why they connect me with Brasil but they do. When I ask why , they say I look like Brasil. Go figure. So I look like Brasil ,except in this World Cup ( what was that; 7-1!!) When I don’t feel like going through the Jamaica top four/five , I just say I am American. They find me a little less interesting when I say this.
I have been told by a couple Italian males; “that you are pure chocolate, I just want to eat you up!” (Date ends and I go home-alone). Being dark makes me stand out. I have never stood out because of my skin. I am not sure if brown people of USA could handle it but to me it’s fine. It is an interesting approach to dark skin.
Working at a summer camp , I meet many children fascinated and curious about my skin. A few actually think I am chocolate, which is fine by me. Others ask how many hours in the sun I spend to be so dark. They touch me like I am fragile silk turned into a sheer gown. In many cases, I think I was the first brown person they have interacted with. I like this. It creates a good first impression about different people. Naturally children don’t fear the unknown yet conditioning creates barriers-I have broken barriers. 🙂
I know there is racial issues here. I see it. African, Indian, Asians are treated differently in certain places. Despite how well dressed they are, how fashionable they are and that they speak more than one language. I have an American friend of Korean descent. When she talks they are surprised she knows English despite the fact she was born and raised there. In many situation when she says she is from USA, they ask, ” No, where are you REALLY from?”. She takes this in strides and with great poise despite how wrong this is.
An exception I have seen is beauty. Beauty makes people forget stereotyping, sort of. It’s not only men that are amazed by foreign beauty but even women. I went to an interview at a school recently, the director came in, she shook my hand, sat down and stared at me for a minute and said “You are beautiful”. Did I get the job? No, but she thinks I am gorgeous. Score one for me!
Older women have no problem telling a girl she’s pretty. The younger girls just look you up and down and give you a quick connection with the eyes as they walk pass you. Thus you know she likes your outfit.She just can’t say it.
Men do.They do just about anything for a pretty face. For instance, there is a bakery in my building. I cannot help it, I must eat dolce. When I arrive in the morning for my morning sugar rush, the owner has something for me -gratis (free). Why, because he thinks I am pretty. Even if he is not there , I still get a special treat.It is worth the weight gain.
I was waiting for a bus to go from the center of Rome to a place across the river Tevere, a bus that was not in service stop, for me. Usually a non-service bus drives past you with no remorse even on a rainy day. At first, I didn’t know what to think. He opened the door and asked where did I need to go? I told him and he took me. We had a nice conversation in my bad Italian. When I asked why he did this for me, because I am Bella. I had my own private bus; scratch that off the bucket list.
I am pretty chocolate. For kids I am fine with it. With men ..I keep my distance; this is the one biggest drawback to being pretty chocolate…every guy wants a piece (except my baker, thank God). So don’t be stupid and let the talk game fool you. In general, the men here act like a National Geographic program entitled “When Italian Males Hunt Foreign Girls” all that is missing is Morgan Freeman’s voice.
I understand why the guys here like foreign girls, they can be easier. It’s true. As well, Italian girls are no saints, they just have a totally different way of getting their freak on; which can be more complicated for Italian males to conquer so they catch a foreign girl in the meantime as the crack the Italian girl code. Until the love bug bites the shit out of me this chocolate knows the game and has manipulated the play-by-play.
My lover is missing, for I cannot find him. Actually, I haven’t met him, yet. “Yet”is all I can say to keep hope alive. “Yet , yet, yet ” I hope this phase will finally end and my lover will be. My lover is what I want and need. Why is this concept so hard to achieve? My friends want husbands and boyfriends and I, my lover. My lover to share a warm bath with, to travel with, to read to, to kiss, touch, to love and share a bed every night.
My lover is missing.