….AND ALL IS WELL THAT ENDS WELL

So it is with my Italian course. It was fun from the beginning to the end, period.
If you think three months are too short to bring people together, to care and respect for each other, you’re dead wrong.
During the last three months, I’ve grown to love my classmates and teacher at the Italian Institute a lot—it is like having a family to share the two evenings in every week with, while mine is far away from Jakarta.

Of course, before we got to know each other better, it was a lil bit awkward. The professor even complained once about how serious we were, how not-smiley we were when trying to comprehend the grammar. And he commanded us to be more relaxed, to smile and laugh more, and just to enjoy ourselves.

And, since he walks what he talks, it didn’t take long before his sense of humor infected all of us, who later on became experts in giggling, snickering, and laughing, til he started calling our class a manicomio (lunatic asylum).

At first we were probably a little bit shocked (not too bad, though) with a teacher who often calls us brutta, matta, asina, bugiarda, vipera, zitella (ugly, crazy, stupid, liar, viper, spinster) and whose favorite sentences are vuoi sposarmi? (would you marry me?), and mi dai un bacio? (would you give me a kiss?), whose famous line in Indonesian is: Saya guru paling ganteng, paling manis, paling pintar di seluruh jagat raya! (I’m the handsomest, sweetest, best teacher in the whole universe!), and who loves to suggest his students to wear mini-gonna (mini-skirts). Even though we might’ve shaken our heads at his jokes, played the devil’s advocate every time he boasted about himself, and, more often than not, said no to his marriage proposal(s), none of us doubted that he is a superb teacher—a teacher to the core.

He made his own modules, and came to the classroom well-prepared. He knew how to explain the complicated grammatical rules in a way that is easy to be remembered and understood, and though at first he seemed to scare most of the students by yelling their names to answer some questions, we finally knew that it was part of his sense of humor, that he meant no harm, and that he knew what he was doing, shaping us to become smarter. He also knew how to balance the knowledge and fun, and made both get along well by a lot of fun intermezzos, like singing some songs together, recite a poem, reading a lot of jokes, and listening to his life story. Once, he even dragged a young Italian guy he found at the library to our class, to be grilled by our ‘shameless’ questions (are you married…would you marry me… would you give me a kiss…would you give me your heart--kind of thing), which that poor guy could fortunately dodge out of some (oh, I think it’s too premature… I can’t live without my heart…).
And oh, then I fully realized that we had become so much like our beloved teacher! (After all, it is just natural that we repeat what we have often heard, right?)

Maybe it is an evidence that we actually are fond of him (though of course, we would rather die than admitting it in front of him!), but we did show him how much we loved and respected him last night, when we celebrated his 55th birthday.

Even a week before the exam we had plotted to organize something special for him, and assigned certain persons to be in charge of the gift, wine, food, music, and invitees…(and, since most of the ladies are fashionable, we decided to wear cocktail dresses). The heavy rain killed our hope to hold a garden party after the class. Instead, we gathered in the lobby and partied there (no lesson at all!). Accompanied by the beautiful music from the harp, we sang the Happy Birthday song (in Italian version of course) together. What a night to remember, with lots of joy and laughter. I just hope that it would also be memorable for our professor, and would at least reduce his many ‘nightmares’ of living in Jakarta. I overheard one of the teachers teased him, “So after all this, can you still say you don’t like Indonesia?” and he just smiled. And I hope, that smile means, “No, I’ve changed my mind now.”

Above is the picture of our gift for him. More pictures will follow later, after I gather them from other classmates (who, apparently, have better cameras and were more diligent in taking pictures)

MY ONE REMAINING BIGGEST DREAM

It feels like yesterday, when I rushed to the Italian Institute to enroll myself in a language course (just like I’d always wanted to do, but never had a chance), and then waited impatiently until there were enough people to start a new class.

And I still remember those feelings I felt, while I was walking there to have my first lesson, that Thursday night, about three months ago. There were butterflies in my stomach, and tingling sensations which crept all over my bones, and to every tip of my fingers; the same feelings like I had when I touched my own violin for the first time (after wanting it so bad), or after a call from a publisher who told me that they liked my script and wanted to publish it (after waiting for that good news so long) -- feelings I often feels when I’m………. in love.

And I guess I am.

I’m in love with music, writing, and Italian language. Those are my three biggest dreams and desires. Funny how people often mistook it.
They teased me of having a crush with a male violinist when I stood amazed at the beautiful melody he played and told myself, “Someday I’ll be playing it too.”
They thought I was writing my own romance and experiences in my book, while I only imagined and made things up.
And having seen me so motivated in learning Italian over the years, toiling with those complicated grammatical rules by myself, they often suspected me of having an Italian boyfriend (while I’ve never had any).

Do people think it is really impossible to be so passionate about things just because the way they are?
Surely things cannot stand alone, they’re always interrelated and intertwined somehow, and one thing can lead to another, but when one thing is too dependent to the other, what happens when the other one is finally gone?

True passion survives the time test, and love is stronger than pains. It indeed is. My love for music strengthened me to practice diligently (until my nails were all cracked and dry, and my shoulders and hands were sore and rigid), my love for literature kept me writing for years (despite those rejection slips I got), and my love for Italy –oh can’t you believe it—has made me even willing to put aside those other two!

At first I was trying to be a super woman, juggling so many things at once (two jobs, a violin course, long writing hours every night, and Italian lesson twice a week) but then I realized that I’m merely a human being with normal energy that runs out easily—so I’ve got to be wise, I’ve got to make priorities.

God has been so good to me (He is all the time!). He graciously granted me a place in the student orchestra last year, several months after my book was out in the store. Those (among other things) had been in my prayers every night. Never mind the many wrong tunes I hit in the concert, never mind the not so good sale of my book, I still counted it as my two biggest dreams come true.

And so I’m still waiting for the third one to happen. I long for the day when I can finally be in Italy, to see, feel, taste, learn, and enjoy the language and culture which have inspired me a lot, in ways that are too broad and profound to be described by words only.

Now the course is about to finish after the final exam last Thursday, but that doesn’t mean that my learning process is over. The ending of something is always the beginning of something else. I’m still hungry and thirsty to learn more and more and more, until I can speak Italian fluently and effortless, not mixing up the verb conjugations, not stammering to find the right words, or being frustrated of not knowing how to express myself properly due to the lack in vocabulary.

They say, Tutte le strade portano a Roma (all roads lead to Rome), and I can only say, “Amen, amen, amen.”