Embracing my immigrant story

For a long time since living in Italy, I was quick to correct people who assumed I was “just American.”

“Italo-americana,” I would tell them.

For me, it was a two-part defense. For one, I did not want to be seen as being different; I wanted to be seen as fitting in. I was ashamed about not being Italian “enough.” For most of my Italian journey, I have been working on “fitting in”: trying to dress the part, working on my language skills but also my accent, and trying to just blend in, to not stand out, to not be different.

On the other hand, as Americans will know, being an American is also a great deal about from where you came from, your cultural traditions and ancestral roots. For me to say I am “just American” is to negate my family’s journey from Sicily to America, to deny their struggles and their successes, and all the obstacles they overcame. Since I was a child, I have been proudly, more specifically, “Sicilian-American” and I wouldn’t feel complete without that identity, and all of my heritage, traditions, and memories that come along with it.

But back to fitting in.

I used to give a lot of energy, effort, and emotion to trying to fit in. I worked so hard on my language skills, only to become frustrated and so offended when people heard my accent, and immediately switched to English. Or if I got tripped up, or didn’t know how to say just one word in Italian, they would switch to English, even if we had been speaking fine for five minutes in Italian leading up to it. You know, sometimes I forget words in English, too. It doesn’t mean I don’t know the rest of them. (Actually, it seems this still does bother me, wink).

Something changed though, recently. I got tired of trying to fit in. I got tired of trying so hard to fit in somewhere that seemed determined to remind me that no matter how long I stay here, I will always be from somewhere else. And I realized that that is something to be proud of, too. Like my family, I have made a long journey: I have left my home to start over where I didn’t know the first thing about what I was doing. I have been brave, and courageous, and scared and lonely. I have encountered obstacles, and I have overcome them. Every experience, from registering my address to going to the dentist, is a new experience that comes with a learning curve and often a new vocabulary. I have made a life and a community for myself in a place that I love. Sicily means so much more to me than trying to impress anyone. I know my great-grandparents would be so proud to see me here, even if sometimes they have to send me a cosmic “told-you-so.” I also think that they would only want me to be myself, and not worry about trying to be like someone else.

So I’ve decided to embrace my immigrant story. Yes, I am Italian-American. There cannot be one without the other. My great-grandparents immigrated to the US from Sicily, and built a beautiful life with their families there. Exactly what I am trying to do here now, in the place they had to leave behind. I am not here to redeem them, because I can’t know if they felt they needed it. But it’s still very poetic and special for me to be here, because this place is intrinsically a part of me. And now, I am here, and I have made myself a part of this place.

And that is certainly something to be proud of.

Note: The header image was taken at Piazza Magione, Palermo.