Flow Through the High and Low

I plan my hours before getting Mia with some measure of precision. I will do my house chores, go to the Wednesday market, the tattoo shop to replace jewelry I've lost, then to the beach to practice with my hoop (an activity lacking lately) and read, then to have lunch, which will put me in the right place and time to get Mia from school without an unnecessary trip downtown. Perfectly planned and timed.
I finish my chores, get changed and head downstairs to find the sky has darkened considerably from the early morning sunshine, and suddenly the bathing suit beneath my clothes is silly and obsolete. In my hope and stubbornness, I leave it on anyway, and press forward with the itinerary.
The market stalls are being packed up early, people trying to avoid the pending rain, and I don't find what I need. Oh well. I head to the shop to get the piercings I've lost, in danger of having them heal on me, and find the windows dark. I  triple checked their hours before coming, but sometimes it's just not meant to be. Okay...hmm. The sky darkens more and let's out a grumble, a low chuckle at the small plans of humans. I concede that the beach is probably a silly venture, even to hoop, and head to a small cafe I found my first week here. At least the welcome is warm, even if the air is cool and sharp.
Greetings, order, and thanks in Italian. No pauses or guesses. I'm happy to be improving, even if it is as elementary as ordering food. I wish I had been able to find the language school I heard about in my first week, so I could have a better grasp, but c'est la vie.
I sit under the awning of the cafe and watch my bike get rained on, wondering how hard the rain has to be before it will be dangerous to ride with Mia on the back, the way we usually do to get home. It is sometimes difficult for me already, the wiggling of a small body something I'm not used to on two wheels. But I still have a bit of time and turn my attention away from future problems and watch instead the waning activity in the alleys of downtown. The approach of siesta and of rain driving people inside. The best laid plans of mice and men.

Yesterday was hard. I found myself ironing clothes for five hours and crying while doing it for half that time. I was overwhelmed with emotions I have not felt since leaving. I felt taken advantage of, and stressed, and found myself wondering what in the world I am doing here. I didn't come to Italy to spend my mornings being a maid and my afternoons being a babysitter. And yes, I have the weekends off (if I ask ahead of time to verify), but if I wanted to live a life in which I wait all week for the weekend, I could have stayed home and gotten an office job. The agreement was 5 hours a day with Mia, five days a week...essentially a part time job in exchange for food and accommodation. To me, this is fair. But yesterday alone I worked ten hours. This is not a fair exchange, in my opinion, and my frustration at the last two weeks finally spilled out.
Maurizia came home early and found me crying, but there was nothing to be said. She doesn't speak English well enough to have a conversation about what was going on, and I wouldn't have been able to explain anyway. I handed her the clothes I had finished so far and continued my work, tears fresh in my eyes.  I only have to make it through one more week.

At least Mia and I like each other! Haha

The Saturday before Mother's Day my mom had her annual Roots and Rhythms showcase at the MAC. This year's theme was transformation. I am sad to be missing the show and to not be involved this year, but somehow it seems appropriate. I may not be in the show, but I am connected none the less, as I am living her theme in my own life. Shedding layers I wasn't even aware I was wearing. Facing parts of an ego I didn't realize I had built. Dismissing opinions I had accepted as fact. And remembering that there is no way to know what we look like to anyone else, and it matters in no way. The only opinion on my person that matters is my own. And I think, maybe, if I can truly embed this into my being...this is where you find happiness. Because "I ain't nobodies problem but my own", and only I have to live with my thoughts and actions. I am thankful for the pressure these thoughts have begun to lift.

Last night was one of the most genuine and lovely experiences I've had thus far, and it was just dinner. Though my crying episode was only a few days ago, I feel the tides have turned, and my spirit is lifted once more.
Last Saturday Maya, Zorea, and myself (the American Girl Gang, Made in Italy - copyright 2018) met some local kids at a beach bar. We happily made fools of ourselves dancing in the sand and being silly, and one of the girls said her and her boyfriend wanted to make us dinner. She was wasted. Fun, but wasted, and while the gesture was sweet, we took it with a grain of salt as we exchanged WhatsApp numbers.
But she actually texted! With a date, time, and offer to pick us up and drop us off. And it was amazing. The group was diverse and friendly, consisting of three Italians, two Americans, one guy from Argentina, and one girl from India. The atmosphere was open, kind, and curious, with each person wanting to know about the others' culture and home (so much so that our host busted out a chalk board and lesson on Italy's regions and the power they hold or don't). No one fully spoke anyone else's language, but with a crude smashing together of English, Italian, and Spanish we achieved communication, and isn't that the point of language? To communicate. People get so caught up in the grammar.
Franceso had prepared a full five course meal, and between each round, we cheered for the chef and gave rowdy praise. My glass was never left empty, and my plate was always full (even when I protested, quickly becoming stuffed).
"Mangiare, mangiare!"
My stomach and my heart both were full last night, as I looked at our gracious hosts and their kind friends. Strangers who opened their home to us, to welcome us to their country and tradition, and provide immense amounts of hospitality. 

"In Italy, when someone travels a lot, like you, we say 'sono la figlia del mondo'."
They are a daughter of the world.
Yes, please. This is what I want to become.

I tell Maya I'm glad she was able to come tonight (Zorea couldn't join us unfortunately).
"Me too," she smiles. "Two Maya's are better than one."

Maya is going back to Cali for a few weeks, and though she'll return, I'll be long gone. We decide to break up American Girl Gang (Made in Italy) with a bang, and Zorea and I accompany her to Rome to have some fun before she leaves us.
We arrive Friday evening, and the 48 hours which follow are exciting, absurd, frustrating, beautiful, tiring, confusing, and picturesque.
We buy a bottle of tequila (because why not?) and set out to explore this gorgeous city in the night. It seems no matter how many turns we take, or how actively we try to get lost, the Colosseum always appears before us, at the end of one street or another. It becomes a joke as we spend over an hour circling the Colosseum and taking shots from the bottle, and finally we concede that it's probably the best place we could be anyway, and head toward the world famous landmark. On purpose this time.
There is a small plaza with young locals hanging out, and as I have been carrying my hoop, a jar of fuel, and a speaker around with me all day, Maya and Zorea give me a bit of a push, and eventually I agree to light up, although I'm feeling a bit self-conscious about it. It's unnecessary. Everyone there is interested and supportive and I get whoops and applause from the plaza.
My flames go out and I hear a young man call my name. Huh, weird, I think, my friends must have told him my name. He approaches me and I feel my defenses come up automatically. "Maia," he repeats, "your smile is beautiful. More beautiful than the Colosseum," he gestures behind me. "Have a great night." And before I say anything, he's gone. And I'm left slightly flushed - from the flames, the compliment, or the crowd, who knows - and wondering if it's the country, the culture, or me personally that's changed. Or maybe there are just great and shitty people no matter where you go and it's not fair to try to pin it on one factor. I want to be someone who can tell strangers they are beautiful when I feel it. I guess it's something you just do...

Listening to the obnoxiously loud Americans behind us and wondering what accent I can fake to not be associated.

We wander the rest of the night, returning eventually to the room around 3am, and by 5, Maya is gone to catch her flight. Zorea and I drag ourselves out of bed and in to the city a few hours later and do all the touristy things you're supposed to, everything going smooth and easy.
Until, that is, we decide to go home, and what is meant to be a four hour journey turns into a 27 hour nightmare of a joke. We buy tickets in the station to a train that is departing as we buy them (not sure why that's even possible), sprint to the last platform of the huge station, and miss our train. Okay, no big deal. Two and a half hours til the next one. We finally board only to be hassled and fined by the personnel.
He demands money and my passport, of which I have neither.
"No money, no passport. Now we have a problem for the police."
He turns to Zorea and demands she pay.
"I don't understand what we did wro-"
"No, you be quiet right now," he cuts me off. "You are going to the police."
It takes everything in my power to shut my mouth, he's so full of pompous authority. Zorea looks terrified, and I feel a flicker or guilt and sympathy for her, this being her first trip to Europe, but I'm too frustrated to be soothing.
"What's happening?" She asks me quietly
"We're getting fined for being tourists. You're okay, and at the next station he'll give me to the police."
"Do you want me to pay for you?" She offers immediately, eyes wide.
I say no at first, some part of me wanting to speak to the police about the ridiculousness of this situation. About how we couldn't possibly be trying to pull anything as we just bought the tickets a few hours ago and the date and time of purchase is stamped on them. I'm a fiery ball of frustration. But eventually I relent, the look of worry and confusion on her face tugging on my empathy and reason. It's not fair to drag her into this just because I'm mad.
She pays, the guy continuing to be an asshole all the way through, even as she addresses him as "sir" and says please and thank you. She behaves in the polite way your parents always tell you too, but that I can't even fathom it in my anger. I watch him put the money in his wallet, and feel in my gut that that's exactly where it will stay. Ass.
And this is the way things continue through the next 24 hours. Eventually each thing that goes wrong just draws disbelieving laughter from us and the shaking of heads, because at some point, you just stop being surprised or angry. You have to. I never thought I'd be so happy to be back in Fano, but when a four hour journey becomes 27, any place I can rest and call home, even for a minute, feels pretty nice.

Coolest statue ever...just saying.

"Goal!" Alex shouts, arms in the air, "9 - 4!" And Mia throws herself on the ground, the wails of the young and disappointed on her lips.
"Oh, come on Mia," Alex probes, laughing, "You're still winning. Get up and beat me!" But she begins to cry, disheartened by the advancement of her opponent.
"Mia," he gets slightly more serious, but remains good natured, "It's okay, you don't always win in life, but right now it's up to you whether you do or not. You definitely can't win if you won't even play."
And it really is that simple, isn't it? Whether you're 7, 35, 48, or 90 years old...you can't win if you won't even play.

I've just had my last dinner with Alex, Maurizia, and Mia, and while I'm ready to move on, I still found myself a bit sad. The beginning was rough, and I don't know if I'll do another family stay, but slowly we began to understand each other, and perhaps had I stayed longer we could have found that easy groove families can achieve sometimes. They told me I was one of the best nanny's they've had, and that I'm welcome to stop in and visit them whenever I like, should I come through the area again. Mia handed me a present, a t-shirt she had colored flames onto and printed my name on the back, inspired by the night I spun fire for her. They asked if I enjoyed my stay here, and I said it was lovely. The kindness of the whole evening piled guilt into my mind and heart. These are good people. They just aren't my people, for whatever reason, and that sucks. But I'm happy to be leaving on a good note, hopefully having had a positive effect on a child's life, and locking some new lessons away in my mind.
Tomorrow I head off to new adventures...no plan this time...no work waiting for me...just an open mind, heart, and schedule.
Excited to see what awaits me.