I wrote a letter to my befriended family in Italy, in Florence. We knew each other only through written correspondence. They responded with enthusiasm and immediately I began to learn Italian, on the quiet, on my own, in secret, out of curiosity and the need of the spirit, because I always liked that language and was attracted to it. It’s so romantic, melodic, colorful, vibrant, sunny. It gave me a lot of joy and pleasure, when I was poring over a handbook. Again, I felt like a student. Reading in Italian introduced me to another, more beautiful world. I was at that time the romantically sad widow. It was my escape from everyday life, from the problems, which increasingly proliferated in all aspects of my life. I think that the thought of leaving rescued me from a mental breakdown. Something inside me whispered – I have to go far, far away to start a new life, with the same suffering and love-struck heart. I rented my flat to other people for a certain period of time with a view to return. I didn’t quit my job completely. I didn’t want to lose contact with my school and friends. I just took a long-term holiday. I admit that I felt sorry to leave my teaching environment, I felt good among them, I was well-liked and respected. The job brought me a lot of satisfaction.
Step on the moon
Finally, the moment came to go to the warm countries. We were happy with my son as two young boys from the book „About The Two Who Stole the Moon” (the Polish title: „O dwóch takich, co ukradli księżyc”) – I do not remember the author. We also thought then that to get the moon is an easy thing …
I was full of hope for a better tomorrow, unaware of what might happen. Curiosity about the world completely overshadowed the fear of problems of acclimatization in the new environment. We went to Italy by plane, for the first time in my life. We flew across the sky to the south, where the sun shines warmer. I wanted very much the sun, the warmth, for the body and the soul. My heart, though painful, wanted to live and love for my son. True love never dies, lives forever, you have to just fight for it, act and climb toward higher goals, find new ways. My way led down the geographical map.
I remember my first step at the airport like the first step on the moon. It was July, very hot, 40 degrees, I could not take a breath, almost choking with the heat. I thought then it was too much – that longed-for warmth. I was in my dream world. The Italian family greeted us very warmly, in the Italian way, with kisses and hugs, loud laughs. Many words were said, but I could not immediately work out their meaning. I guessed intuitively what they said. At that moment I felt like a free bird, away from the memories and the Polish problems.
Italian time
The first days of our stay in the new environment were thrilling. Days were passing quickly and intensely as in the color film. Almost every day we went to a new city, to other places, we walked to the beach. Everything was interesting, exciting – quite a different rhythm of life, a different rhythm of meals, the mentality of the people, their spontaneity and the endless life energy. Italians have a beautiful, seducing, sincere smile, which generously bestow on everybody around. I’ll mention such a small detail – in the beginning we couldn’t get used to lunch at 1 o’clock, for us it was too early. Then there is the traditional after-lunch siesta, usually dedicated to rest, nap. We, me and my son Remigiusz, then walked around the deserted at that time town. We visited the history center, historic streets and we were the only living beings moving on that sleeping or extinct planet. African heat, and we didn’t bother, we walked and laughed at the Italians. But that was only for some time, because slowly, slowly we also got tired and started to rest. Oh, and these wonderful Italian dishes, tasty, fancy, quick to cook. In Poland I needed almost the whole forenoon to prepare dinner, here just 30 minutes and pronto – i.e. ready. Only comfort and luxury for a woman!
While the consumption of Italian lunch or dinner needs more time, spent much more pleasingly. This moment of the day is almost a sacred family duty. Thanks to that, you participate in the feasts twice a day, talking, arranging plans for the next days. Here you discuss and relish the food. Isn’t it wonderful? You feel that you really are alive, not run for the fatigue. I lived like in another era, the colorful, lively, sociable, laughing one. I was particularly enchanted with this particular directness and sincerity in the talks, even at first contact. In the beginning, when I observed the Italians how energetically they were discussing, I suspected they were squabbling. Then I realized that it was just spontaneous enthusiasm to clarify to each other issues, using voice and hands. They are masters of gestures. They could be great conductors of orchestras. How is it possible not to fall in love with these great little things?
Their politeness and hospitality is similar to the Polish and probably it’s why we Poles feel welcome here. I felt stunned by the immense richness of nature, art and Italian tradition. Also my health greatly improved. My constant bronchitis and colds disappeared. The dry, warm Italian climate was beneficial to our health. As it was the case with my husband, so now again I fell in love at first sight, history repeats itself, only with a different hero – sunny people in a sunny country, fond of laughing and forgetful of what is sad. The Italian sun warmed my heart and soul, filled me with hope that I would be the same person as I used to be – cheerful and optimistic. My romantic soul found the twin soul. It’s how the first year of our stay with the Italian family passed. We didn’t encounter any problems to adopt ourselves. The family loved and liked us. We stayed all in one villa (two brothers, their wives, almost adult children), not far away there was their textile factory. Despite their wealth, they were humble and willing to help others, very religious.
Re-emigration
We spent this year in an idyllic and carefree way. Remi began speaking beautiful Italian and talked for hours with the new uncles and aunts. He was adored, pampered with various toys and had all his whims fulfilled. Indeed, I felt like a queen with a small prince. My name is Regina and in Italian it means right the queen. I was funny and at the same time joyful when Italians addressed me the Queen, me, coming from a communist country. But at some point of time I started to feel like a bird in a golden cage. Economic dependence on them started to be a burden. I wouldn’t have been able to withstand that abeyance. I am used to working, which is a part of our life and shapes its rhythm. I lacked self-esteem and satisfaction with what I was doing. I needed a sense of fulfillment. Unfortunately, I was not allowed to work, because it would have been contrary to their level of social life.
I was supposed to be honorary una signora – i.e. a lady, not a worker. However, I come from a country where there is a rule that it is work that brings honor. It’s probably something we all have in the blood. Again, I decided for a change, to go to another city and start from scratch. The Italian family reacted to our news with a feeling of immense surprise. They were sorry for this reason, we were also sad. We got used to them, we loved them and their home, town, neighbors from the street. At the moment of saying goodbye I felt terrible. I knew that I would miss them but I was determined in my decision. We continued our pilgrimage. The human fate is supervening, or maybe it is a human being who is supervening? „When you have teeth then you don’t have anything to eat, when you have something to eat, you don’t have teeth.” Finding a job is a real challenge, especially for a single mother with a child. I wondered then about going back to Poland.
We went back to my mother because we had only her left in this world. I spent a few weeks with her, thinking about my current situation, about what I already knew, contemplating the past, planning my next step. I was happy like a little girl that I was at home, in the motherland, so much longed for. I missed the view of Polish people and the landscapes. I was going down my streets peering into the faces of friends as if to guess their Polish thoughts, which I was also hungry for. I breathed the Polish air, my eyes looked at Polish things, familiar, belonging to me, to the Pole. But it is precisely what the human nature is about, still longing for places which are far away. In Italy I longed for Poland, in Poland I longed for Italy.
How to calm the nasty and spoiled soul? As soon as I heard some Italian song on the radio, I immediately burst into tears. I struggled with my torn soul. At night I prayed for a decision which would be the right one for me. I tried to understand myself, what I wanted, what my options were. I decided: I will take a risk once again, if there is my promised land somewhere, sooner or later I’ll get to it. I was free and light, I wanted to fly far, higher and higher into the mountains of capabilities, as an eagle. I would say, like a Polish and Italian eagle. I decided to turn to friends in Italy for work. How good it is to have acquaintances, but you must also be able to keep in contact with them, grow them like flowers in a pot. With my epistolary passion I always had a good address at hand. In Poland, as a primary school teacher I earned a pittance, not enough to maintain the house, my son and myself. I intuited hard times coming. I could not count on any relief from the state by virtue of being a widow with a child, as it used to be in the communist era. Disadvantaged people had been then under the protection of the state. Now came the time for the entrepreneurial ones, for people with initiative, with „practical” fantasy, looking to the future, not the giving hands. Before leaving, I made several official formalities related to my house, my mother, also to the fact of being a widow. In some moments it seems that even the fate is inherited…
I have no siblings, so there was no great farewell. Another visit to the grave of my husband, intercessory prayer, tears of sorrow and hope. I went by bus, first to Florence, where friends were expecting me. My first job was caring for an old lady. We lived in the mountains, in San Godenzo near Florence. I felt with her very good, I was respected and liked by local residents. It was like a beautiful holiday combined with work. There were lighter and heavier days, it is known that melancholy often gripes abroad. I really missed my son, whom I left with my mom for the time when I was supposed to find an apartment in Italy. Still I was looking for a new place for a nest. I wanted to find a quiet city where I would find a job which would give me satisfaction. I treated care for the old woman as a transitional job. This job requires a lot of patience, sometimes to extremes.
Italy for the second time
I worked in different cities: Florence, Genoa, Torino. I treat this period as yet another life experience that taught me to assess people, situations. I learned deeper and deeper the psyche and mentality of this country. I met a lot of people, good and bad ones, I saw many situations that could pass for a Fellini’s film. I lived, worked, observed, enjoyed things, suffered and went forward like a soldier. I tried not to succumb to bad moods, disappointments, discouragement. I fought for the survival as if in the mission, for a good job, for a good reputation, because it is doubly important in exile. I fought with myself when black clouds gathered in my mind. Then the sharp needle of my rationality pierced them, I gave myself the time to have a good cry and finally I was reaching serenity. Often I talked in thought with myself, I ordered myself what to do, kept my spirits up, trying to convince myself that it’s not worth succumbing to human malice for their comfort. That’s how my spiritual steel hardened. You have to respect and love yourself, make it understood to others. You cannot show your weakness (even on the surface), because otherwise you become a victim. This rule does not apply to real friends. You need to be determined and sure of yourself and your decisions. To be accepted in the new environment, you need to be strong in life. Thanks to that Italian pilgrimage I got to know myself, my character, my strength and my resourcefulness.
In Poland, at the time of my marriage, I was wrapped tightly against the evil winds of life. I didn’t see many things, I didn’t realize many things. I was like a little girl in an enchanted garden. Here in Italy, that world was completely disenchanted, unveiling the naked truth about life, like a curtain in the theater. There is also hypocrisy, lack of compassion, cruelty. But in each garden grow not only weeds but also beautiful flowers in the colors of feelings of love and the smell of hope. You only had to distinguish ones from the others. So I collected the good experiences, I collected good friendships with hope for a better tomorrow. This way I met as flowers beautiful, wonderful people, who helped me, understood me, and loved me. Finally, there came the time to bring my son to Italy. What a festa – celebration it was! We were in seventh heaven, perhaps in eighth. Again we would have the same sun above us.
My son started going to Italian school, where he was accepted immediately. He was assigned an Italian tutor to help him with homework. The Italian state returns me the costs for textbooks, school canteen, school trips. In this way he could visit his second homeland. Would I be treated like that in Poland? Here, the state helps single mothers. Today, my son, not a little son any more, is taller than me, is 18 years old, is almost a man, a Pole and Italian at the same time. Outside the house we speak Italian, while at home only Polish. Remi speaks Italian better, but I’m better at Polish. When we have a language problem, then we exchange advice. I remember one day when watching a movie in the Polish TVP Polonia he didn’t understand one sentence. It was a Polish word meaning „stream”, so I explained the meaning in Italian. Then we laugh at ourselves. He attends the institute of tourism and in the next year he’s going to sit his Italian matriculation examinations. He plays passionately the bass. And often performs with his friends at a variety of musical events in our city and in other towns. Over time, he resembles more and more his father. Indeed, only now I can see what his father looked like in his youth, because I met him in his middle age. The more time has passed since the death of my husband, the more I love him, I think of him without suffering, I remember, but in a calm, not dramatic way.
Mountains and fulfillment
In the meantime, I sold our apartment in Szczecin and I bought one in Italy, with beautiful views to the mountains and the city. I think it was divine providence that we managed to get it paying with Italian liras. Today’s euro increased the price twice. We settled in the Marche, a beautiful, scenic area, strewn with hills, and on the top of each hill there are built towns with medieval walls. Looking out from the windows of our house, we see far away other historic towns in the hills, as in a fairy tale. At night, these towns are so beautifully lit, that it has the feeling of all year round (not just New Year’s) Christmas crib. We nested here for good and bad, as in the marriage vows of fidelity. I attended a number of professional courses financed by the European Union, among others, computer courses, English language courses, courses of cultural mediation, all very useful for us foreigners. My new job in the hotel industry gives me a lot of joy and satisfaction. I have met and still meet many wonderful people.
My job requires from me to be always smiling and cheerful, which I can do without coercion. I try to give my modest contribution to the cultural life of the region. I translated from Polish two books – one about the liberation of Ancona (the capital of Marche) by Polish soldiers of Anders, and another one about military operations of II Polish Corps in the Adriatic sector. I cooperate with local radio „Nuova Macerata” in a program entitled „Cari amici” – „Dear Friends” as well as „Senti chi parla” – „Listen to who is talking.” I present in them everything what is in my heart and soul and what interests me – the history, the culture of Poland, Polish traditions, poetry, books, music. I present features common for the Polish and the Italian, our mutual historic interweaving. I air Polish songs. Contact with the audience gives me great joy, residents often call the radio to express their thanks. I am involved in the activities of Polish community in Marche and Loreto.
My Italian friends became for us as a new family. We visit and help each other. Twice I was at hospital, underwent serious surgeries of blood transfusion. Everyone came to visit me day and night. I was never alone. Doctors and nurses were amazed at such frequent visits that I – straniera – a foreigner know so many good people. During my stay at hospital Remi was always invited to the Italian houses to sleep and eat. He got along in an instant.
As a widow with a child I have many exemptions in housing and medical fees. Here you get love and respect of people with the same things, answering for love with love. Love of my husband was revived in requited love of new people and the second homeland.
Lifetime longing
We must never lose faith in people and in God, especially abroad. Very often I miss my first homeland. It is a disease I will never cure. I try to live in harmony with it. I watch every day Polish satellite programs, read newspapers and Polish books on the Internet. I willingly return to the Polish classics, Mickiewicz, Słowacki, Sienkiewicz and many other Polish writers and poets. Today, the Internet is a real savior for such romantics abroad as me. Now, in retrospect, I ask myself: If I had predicted earlier what problems I would encounter, would I have left? Actually, probably I wouldn’t have dared to. But it is thanks to the unawareness and unfamiliarity of the future that the childish courage pins us the wings to fly, and then the risk becomes sweet as honey of dreams which can come true, if only we want it.
