It seems as if border crossing is too complex to fit into one journal. Moving beyond other author’s borders, I must realize my own. It is true that I have crossed the border into Italy, but everything literal deserves a metaphor.
Once here, I found a border that my Visa alone couldn’t get me through – myself. I have crafted many a border in the past twenty years, and none stronger than that of perception. I feel like I can see home, its quirks and failings, but I was quite blind to Rome. I have found that the hardest border I crossed was that of perception, the line drawn between taking on another’s eyes and using my own.
My first sight in Rome was the Coliseum, and it was not love. Actually, the only love I saw was proclaimed in graffiti etched into the ruin. I felt like I should be awe, like the Coliseum should inspire in me what I thought it inspired in others. I wasn’t overwhelmed, it all didn’t feel surreal - it just didn’t feel like anything. I was just like the commuters on their Vespas, speeding through, not even glancing at the ancient architecture on my left. The American in me told me I needed to whip out my camera, take pictures for Facebook and then head to a booth to pick up a t-shirt. I had to prove I had been here, not that it meant anything to me. So, I took my requisite pictures, followed our tour guide and left with my memories, but without a clear conscious. I was defective, my perceptions didn’t line up with expectations. I felt like the bricks that fit perfectly to construct the border of perception were crumbling, leaving my mind to look like the ruins of the Coliseum I just left.
Another Roman landmark that would have gotten a check in the “no” box if it sent me a note asking, “Do you like me?” would be the Pantheon. Half of the building was covered in scaffolding, a view much different than the guidebooks show. I walked into the Pantheon, still wielding my camera, took a few pictures and then put it away to take in the sensations. This temple to the gods has been conquered by Christianity, crucifixes replaced statues and altars filled the apses. This time I felt something, disgust. I took a quick loop around the interior and then exited. I could not stomach the heavy handed helping of religious icons inside this pagan shrine. Unlike the Coliseum, I did not feel like my perceptions were wrong, they were just mine, not anyone else’s.
I saw the Pantheon almost a month after the Coliseum, and within this time I had crossed the border of perception. Although my passport does not bear its stamp, my mind does. I am naturally inclined to shirk suggestion. If I am told what I should do, I write it off, not because I don’t value other’s thoughts, but … I like my own ideas better. By defying suggestions, I force myself to be creative. I knew this about myself, but forgot it at home, along with my flip flops and sweatpants.
I had little time to prepare for Rome. Ok, I had a whole year, but I allotted myself less than a month. With only a few weeks before departure, I did not have the time to manufacture my own ideas about Rome, so I turned to others. They told me, “Oh, you’re a Theology major, you will love all the churches”, and “Alissa, you will just fall in love with the city.” So on, and so forth. I packed these expectations into my carry on and set off for two months abroad.
Once here, I had to unpack. Expectations could not be easily folded and placed in my dresser. I had no choice but to carry them with me. They were cumbersome and left the control of my trip in some unknown other. I wanted the control, damnit. So I seized control the only way I knew how, with a pen. With each word I broke down the mental bricks, tossing them to the side, creating a bridge to my own sight. Now, I can meander between other’s sight and my own without the weight of expectations.
Wow. Your point builds to the final crescendo, and then gives "seeing myself" as the answer to the border question. Very well said. Do you imagine that you have much more to go in this area?
ReplyDelete-Maria