Tag: Language

Posted on

Scorso

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.

Posted on

Ripetete

This entry is part 14 of 17 in the series Guiding Hands

I was required to study two languages, non-credit, as “research tools.” With my interest in vocal music, Italian and German became natural choices. I signed up for undergraduate beginning Italian course. Dr. Giovanna Jackson was our teacher.

On the first day of class, she walked in; greeted us in Italian and gestured for us to return the greetings. She avoided using English as much as possible. Whenever we were leaning new words or phrases, she would demonstrate and say, “Ripetete.”

Other than teaching Italian, Dr. Jackson was also the Director of International Student Affairs at Kent State. She taught a few other music students before me. So, she already knew me and my work prior to having me in her class. I was the odd duck in that class—Asian and a decade older than the other students. Having a supportive teacher was comforting, to say the least.

After one semester of group instructions, I began independent study with Dr. Jackson. We worked on translations of operas: Barber of Seville and La traviata. I remember her explaining the meaning of the word traviata to me. The word is the past-participle of “traviare,” in feminine form. It comes from tra, meaning “in between,” “across,” “beyond,” and via, “road,” “way” and “path.” Hence, traviare means “to stray from the path.” La traviata is a woman who’s lost her way. She would read the verses with me, showing me the flow of the sound—the built-in rhythm of the Italian language in sync with word stresses.

She was extremely encouraging and helpful in my planning to study in Perugia. Later, she joined my dissertation committee. Before my final defense, Dr. Shindle struck up a conversation with her, realizing that she was the fellow student at Indiana University who helped him with Italian texts in his dissertation. Life goes in circles.

Dr. Jackson came to the States at an early age. Because of her experiences adjusting to new environment and cultures, she understood the challenges of international students. She assisted students in immigration matters and their needs while studying at Kent. She held cross-cultural events involving local community. For some reasons, I always ran into unexpected immigration issues. She was with me every step of the way.

In her heart, Dr. Jackson was through-and-through Italian. She cared for her two boys as well as her students like an Italian mamma. She cooked delicious Italian dishes. She never stopped educating people about Italian language, films and music. From her, I saw the possibility of establishing a life in the States while maintaining my cultural identity. Sadly, she passed away twelve years ago. I treasured the time that we spent together.