Ciao, Bella!

by Jacelyn Keys

Everyone back home, consider this your notice.  I want to be greeted each morning with a cheery, “Ciao, Bella!”  and double kissed on the cheeks as we part in the evening with the same “Ciao, Bella!”  A girl gets used to being called beautiful on a daily basis pretty darn quick – at least this gal has. 

Between the older men who sit on the wall and seem to enjoy the challenge of making me blush by the traditional double kiss on the cheeks to the older ladies I have befriended, my cheeks get kissed and patted on a daily basis.  Americans tend to have a pretty significant personal space bubble.  I have an even larger bubble than your average American.  Once I get to know people, I’m relatively huggy and cuddly, but if I don’t know you, I like at least one and a half arm lengths betwixt us.

That was before Italy. 

In Italy, the general sentiment seems to be  - snuggle up close to each other and get to know people sooner.  I blushed five hot shades of red the first time one of the men from the wall walked over to introduce himself and did the double kiss greeting.  Once the other men saw the blush, it became a fun game for them.  And a challenge for me to let go of my need for personal space upon meeting people.  I got there.  Now, the men pat my cheeks affectionately when I don’t blush and laugh with me, remembering my initial discomfort just a few days ago…or was it a lifetime ago?

While in America being treated like this may seem condescending, in Italy it is warm and comforting.  Having Romano (and older Cagliese gentleman who has taken most of the American students under his wing) tell me I look very elegant and beautiful no longer seems weird and awkward.  It seems normal and gracious.  As he tells me this, he takes my hand so he has a physical connection to me and looks me directly in the eye.   This moment is important.  And he doesn’t let go of my hand anytime soon; I stay in that moment with him and feel his sincerity.

Italians seem much freer with compliments than Americans – at least in my experiences both here and back home.  But they never seem to sound or be insincere.  I’m sure there are dishonorable people and insincere people, as exist in any culture, but I’ve yet to meet them.     

Italians are also pretty comfortable asking personal questions a few minutes after meeting a person.  If I’ve been asked once, I’ve been asked ten times in the last four days how I am still single.  “Is there a shortage of men in American?”  If I have a translator present or the people who speak French or English, I manage to tell them I am waiting for the kind of man any daughters I have can look up to and say, ‘I want to marry a man just like my dad.’  A man any sons I may have can say, ‘I want to grow up, find the person God has for me, and treat that person just the way Dad treated Mom.’

If the person inquiring as to my marital status doesn’t speak English or French, then I just borrow a phrase from Ashley (a fellow student) and say that I’m picky.  It may not cast me in the best light, but it’s not untrue and for people who don’t understand a great deal of English, it works. 

It further confuses locals because I wear a ring on my left ring finger.  Little things like this – stepping outside known cultural norms and expectations – causes its own kind of dissonance.  I have a personal space bubble; I tend to assume the rest of the world has the same bubble I have.  They don’t.  It is a cultural norm that American women wear wedding rings on their left hand; because I wear a ring but am not married it has caused some misunderstandings. None of these things are insurmountable, but if these tiny little differences can cause such consternation, how much more so can the larger differences between cultures cause anxiety?  Keeping the lines of communication open, being intentional about listening to others, and asking questions while reserving judgment are all key to resolving the small and large differences we experience.