I love the Italian word “scorso.” It is often associated with time, e.g., “l’anno scorso” (last year), “il mese scorso” (last month), “l’estate scorsa” (last summer). It is the past participle of the verb “scorrere”—to run, to flow, to fly. . .. As a noun, it denotes an unintended mistake, most often a typo, made while one rushes through things. I love the word because its sense of fluidity, which is often lost in translation. I am thinking of the word as goldfish odyssey turns one.
My sister’s passing in spring of 2018 brought back lots of memories of my childhood. The images of yesteryears seemed livelier than ever; the colors more vibrant and the sounds sweeter. Dementia haunted my father decades ago. Now, it is gradually stealing away mom’s vivacious spirit. I wanted to preserve my memories of treasurable moments, of people that loved me, and of those who I held dearly while it was still possible.
During the summer months, while friends and colleagues left the city to escape heat and humidity, I began writing. I heard my own voice narrating in English, a language in which I had been thinking and dreaming for decades. I saw images from another place and time, through the eyes and mind of a tiny me—full of curiosity and hope. Gradually, I realized that those beautiful years were only the beginning of my cross-cultural journey. I felt obligated to link the culture that shaped me as a young person and the culture that fulfilled my dreams.
Since my graduate school days, I have kept up with technology sufficiently for my work. On the other hand, social media had (and, for the most part, still has) little to do with my life. The idea of setting up a blog made me uneasy at first. As I continued writing, I consulted with close friends before taking the final steps. I clicked the “publish” button for the first time on August 4, 2018 and never looked back.
Turning my thoughts into words has a calming effect on me. It feels very much like talking to a trusted friend. I am not concerned of who my readers might be. I write about things that are meaningful to me, hoping that it might have some effect on others. Sometimes, I had so much to say and didn’t know how best to start. Sometimes, my fingers moved on the keyboard effortlessly. Those were the moments that mistakes were made—scorsi!
I am very thankful to friends who continue to encourage me, give me advices and gently point out my mistakes. One year ago, I wrote in my introductory page: “. . . the journey has just begun.” Now I should say that the journey continues.