Il 141 Aprire

In Napoli my host was a Med student, in his fifth year of how ever many he needs to do. In september he's going to Istanbul to study and learn Turkish; not because he needs to know how to be a doctor that speaks Turkish, in fact the classes are all in english anyways, but simply because he wants to speak Turkish. I've met a fair few people who have similar goals.

Like my host in Roma and how he was a tour guide simply because he wanted a job that had him speaking english. And his roommate, an american guy, who went to Italy nine months ago to visit and found a job teaching english; he stayed because he wanted to learn italian.

"I've already learned french, this was the next logical step" he said to me as we sat one night watching The Matrix in Italian.

There's my two roomates in Cork who came simply to learn english, that french guy who asked me one night why I would work and live in Ireland. "you speak english though" he said to which i had no reply.

After I've thought about it a bit I suppose my reasons for Ireland are simply because I wanted my animal house life to never end. Ireland is notorious for having a drunken environment and I wanted to have a taste of that fun.

Don't get me wrong. If I did it all again it would have been the same, but I know now that experiencing a countries culture is much more rewarding than the animal house life.

Because really, am I ever going to see a hilarious screen play come across my desk with an offer to star as my self in the motion picture?

... well Dan, will I?

chow mama

so, here we go. at this moment i am sat at the table with an esspresso, the house is settling after sending thomas, 7, to school and grayson is still snug in his cocoon below. little elliott, 5, has grown tired of convincing me that mom put the video game on the top shelf in the kitchen because she wanted [him] to play with it and has resorted to helping me scrivre home.

(i have now poured myself a tea because the esspresso lasted no longer than it took to write the word down)

mom, margaret, having spent the morning running her hand through her short hair in unconditionally frustrated love, is now out feeding her kashmire goats and chasing the chickens out of her garden. echo's of this morning's chaos slowly fade as the chores wear on.

where's your homework, thomas? she asks the bedroom.

it responds in italian.

no, it isn't. i packed your bag. what did you do with it.

elliott smirks at me and i smirk at him. 

"come si dicie hi mom, elloitt?" 

"chow mama." 

"gracia. come si scrivre?" 

"c-i-a-o  m-a-m-m-a"

(the word for write and for spell are the same. i don't know why, but i have a theory. i'll ask around and find out more before i share this theory lest i sound like a babbling idiot)