Living in Italy has been a surreal experience. I’m tempted to say it’s been a dream come true, but honestly, I’ve never allowed myself to dream of living here because I never thought it would be possible for me. It feels bittersweet knowing that after being here for three and a half months so far, my semester will be coming to an end soon in just a couple more weeks. Even after the initial challenges, I’d stay and live here permanently if I could!
Upon further reflection, I realize how easy it can be to romanticize the idea of living in such a beautiful, vibrant city such as Rome. The idea of living a ‘different and better life’ somewhere else, sometimes anywhere else, than where I currently live is almost irresistible. Looking around Rome, it’s clear that I’m not the only one who has had this same desire. There’s an entire neighborhood here, called Esquilino, that has become the melting pot of a diverse range of migrants from different cultures who moved to Rome in search of a better life.
Some migrants have been fortunate enough to seemingly find their place here. They’ve opened their own shops and stores, one of which is an ancient Chinese medicine shop I got to explore while on a guided Migrant Tour. Most migrants in Rome, however, must take what they can get and rely on working odd jobs to support themselves and their families, like working produce and clothing stands at street markets. Wherever I go, I can almost guarantee I’ll see migrants panhandling on street corners or in metro stations selling miscellaneous items to tourists, like selfie sticks, phone chargers, or roses. My heart goes out to them… because my family used to be just like them.
My grandmother migrated from Italy when she was still a child. When she grew up, she never graduated from high school, and neither did my parents, so job opportunities for them were sparse. Before my mom started her house cleaning business, my family and I had faced multiple evictions, requiring us to constantly relocate from one cheap motel to another until we ran out of money, and then had to spend nights sleeping in our car. Eventually one of my parents would catch a break and we could rent another apartment for a few months, but it was only a matter of time until that cycle would repeat itself.
Although my family’s living situation has improved and the trajectory of our lives has been significantly altered, I’m still reminded of those days daily. Each time I see a mother with her child begging for spare change my heart breaks – and I wonder if that child will get the chance to graduate from school when they’re older. I sympathize with the men who face rejection after rejection on the streets trying to sell items for money – and I wonder if they have anyone at home waiting for them, depending on those sales so they can put food on the table. I commend the men who wake up early every morning to set up their market stand in hopes people will stop and buy something- and I wonder if they get enough sleep, or food to eat, and if their bodies are tired and sore from all the heavy lifting. And each time I see a homeless person with a dog, sometimes multiple dogs, sleeping by their side – I pray, saying please, God, if they don’t eat today, at least keep them warm and safe for the night, and bless them with better luck tomorrow.
It is not an easy life. For anyone, really, but especially for those who are no stranger to having an empty belly, a cardboard sign, and a concrete bed, and who are far too familiar with being seen as less than.
Every time I am a witness to their struggle, my head and my heart go to war. Deep down, I wish I could help! I wish more people helped. I wish there was something that could be done, something to make it all easier, for everyone. But there is no perfect solution, and the truth is… I don’t always help. Sometimes I’m running late. Sometimes my wallet is out of reach. Sometimes I only have big bills. Then my mind tries to rationalize it all by saying, “What about me? I need money to live too. I can’t give them everything I have. Even if I did, even if I emptied my wallet right now, I certainly can’t be expected to do that again tomorrow. That’s absurd! I work for my money. If they want money, they should work for it too!”
It makes me feel like a monster, and I wonder how I could be so heartless. I was once in their shoes, unsure of where my next meal was coming from. I can still remember, clear as day, having to split a single Happy Meal with my two sisters because my parents couldn’t afford to buy us each our own, going to bed hungry, and thinking about how unfair it all felt. So how can I walk by, sometimes with a sympathetic smile but more often than not I try to avoid eye contact, and just let them continue to struggle?
I haven’t quite figured it out yet. How to feel… What to think…
They need help! But who is responsible for helping?
They need a safe place to live! But how does that affect our communities?
They need jobs! But what about all the other people who need jobs and live here legally?
The migrant tour was a reality check in that it reminded me that yes, Rome is a beautiful, enchanting city that does offer the possibility of a better life, but it’s also a city surrounded by ruins, of both architecture and the hearts of people who are struggling to survive, and those who feel powerless to do anything about it- I wonder if that will ever change.
My Art
This experience inspired me to create a torn paper collage. I think a collage is the perfect art form to represent migration as it brings seemingly different and unrelated images and materials together to form a new creation on a shared surface, much like the way people from different countries have come together and created the current version of Rome. I think the torn aspect of the paper adds a beautiful, robust quality to the piece. Although the pieces of paper have experienced adverse conditions, they still add charm and a sense of personalization.
I specifically chose to create a seagull since birds are synonymous with migration, and because seagulls can be spotted all over Rome as their population continues to increase, as well. A rose is depicted in the seagull’s mouth as a representation of one of the ways migrants work to earn a living- demonstrating resilience day after day, walking the streets of Rome selling roses to people passing by.