La storia. (story)

Once upon a time, there lived a family. Notice how I didn't mention any descriptive details about them, because nothing about this Italian family stood out. Until they decided to move to America, that is. From the hopeful Papá -- a young father wanting a more prosperous life for his children after having grown up in a nation ravaged by war -- all the way down to the whip-smart little girl, they ripped out their roots. One suitcase for each, and they could forget about anything else. Essentials only: hopes, dreams, clothes, aspirations, money. 

I soldi. (money)

What a  distant yet suddenly overwhelmingly significant concept. They didn't even speak English, let alone have any knowledge of the customs and cultures and way of the nation. The hardscape of America was a far cry from the lush Italian countryside. They had nothing. They were just one more hopeful immigrant family, wide-eyed and stripped bare, thrusting themselves into the blazing cold of the foggy unknown whilst reaching towards the light.

La luce. (light)

The luminescent flame of freedom's torch reflected in four cautiously optimistic pairs of eyes as they landed in America and rolled their suitcases out into the screaming dark. From there, it was a disconcerting ride over to a cramped three-bedroom house (already occupied with four relatives). And, of course, the lone bathroom of the home.

La casa. (home)

For them, an ever-shifting warmth, though never without pasta and sauce and meatballs and love. For their future, a chaotic variable of the blinding unknown.

Lo sconosciuto. (unknown)

My courageous family danced with it in a maddening frenzy, and I now outstretch myself to face it head-on. That whip-smart little girl in the story is my mom, the first woman in our family to graduate college -- in the shining nation of America, no less. I wish to carry on her trailblazing tradition. She, after all, planted the seeds of bibliophilia in my soul and watered them with nightly bedtime stories. My mom tended to my budding curiosity with regular storytimes, trips to museums, and exposure to the majesty of nature -- whether we found ourselves on a wooded trail or marveling at the night sky. Before long, my thirst for knowledge budded. Soon after my fourteenth birthday, she encouraged me to take on the page position at our local library. It was a natural fit for me.  

Io. (me)

Like my Nonno before me, I launch myself into the foggy unknown to grasp ever higher. My suitcase contains the essentials, yes, as well as a burning thirst for knowledge. Curiously, the petals of my journey are now beginning to unfurl. My mother has handed me the spade. It is time. Who knows what awaits, especially in this day and age, roiling out there in the nebulous unknown? No one, truly, but the only way to find out is to have the courage to grow.