Canadian Citizenship Test_The moment of truth

Unbelievable! It is actually happening. I got it. I received the letter inviting me to present myself for the Canadian citizenship test.
I didn't expect it any soon, and obviously it was kind of overwhelming to see a date, a time, an address where I was supposed to show up in three weeks.

When I arrived to Canada, "when can you apply for the citizenship?" was one of the most asked questions. You know you are going to apply when it's time for you to do so. However, that moment seems to be so far that you really don't pay attention to that.

We counted the days, the hours. We collected documents, we worked to build our personal story in a new welcoming country, and yet we didn't really think that moment was right behind the corner. At least, I didn't.

I should have, though! Probably, if I had thought carefully about that, I wouldn't have experienced that overwhelming feeling similar to one of those waves crashing onto the shores that, after pulling back, leave a wet shade on the sand. It's a moment, an instant of awkward but pleasant pause. It's a sudden silent in your thought, prologue of an expectation, a wait for something to happen soon, but you really don't know what...

             wave                                           motion of                                        with your
                      and                        endless                the flow                in sync               heartbeat
Another                the apparently                                       starts being


I have already finished the book, and I will have time to re-read it again. After going beyond the feeling of fear, I actually appreciated the fact I am supposed to study the history, the geography, and the politics of the place I decided to live in. It makes sense to me. Perfect sense.

We take for granted many things especially when we were born in democratic countries but, if for only one second, we realize how many people fought to give us those rights, the perspective changes...

Will I pass the test? I will let you know...meanwhile, if you applied, study! You never know if, after pulling back, that wave is actually prelude of a Tsunami!




"Canada is a constitutional monarchy, a parliamentary democracy and a federal state" (Discover Canada)

It's a matter of fact!

If I believed in the theory of multiple lives (thing I am still debating about with myself), I would say I used to be part of Canada in one of my previous lives.

Not sure about the period, though!

When I was seven years old and I was in Italy I wrote a composition describing my ideal future life. Each single detail there seems to be a representation of the place I live in today.

Growing up, at university, I fell in love with The Bear by Marian Angel. I loved the description of that wilderness so much to propose a doctorate project on Canadian Literature produced by Canadian women.

Few years later, out of the blue, we decided to move to Canada...

In March I've been living here for four years. I remember when I arrived, many people were telling me that it was a matter of time.

- Wait a couple of winters and you'll tell me if you change your mind!

This winter apparently is one of the harshest in decades. I should have changed my mind a couple of times already. One day the snow was so high and the side-walk so slippery that I could barely walk to go to pick my kids at school.

 Big, huge, soft, tender snowflakes were coming down from a white sky. It was really cold, so cold that between Rudolph and me there was not so much difference. My imaginary friends, little gnomes who love singing and dancing, were actually jumping all around singing, "Claudia, the red nose reindeer has a very shining nose...

The wind was blowing pretty hard that day and snow dust whirls were all around. I liked to picture myself like one of those photos showing people from the arctic...even though everything was much easier and comfortable for me.

This morning, Valentine's Day, I fell in love again. Walking through the park, with the snow coming down, I found myself amazed with an accelerated heartbeat and that feeling one can experience when, after half an hour of noise, a sudden moment of quietness occurs.

It is not all poetry, I know. The best example that comes to my mind is that winter in Canada is like those grumpy children that can make you feel really frustrated. So frustrated that you pray you would never have one of those, but that suddenly fall asleep, you look at and you cannot see anything else other than Beauty!

Canada, it's not a matter of time, it's a matter of fact in my life, it is deep in my heart and stuck in my head...literally!

 

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J1IT9WqI7zA

Immigration & Technology_From Vulcania to Alitalia

My first memory of the word "immigration" takes me back in time, at the age of six and, in an awkward way, it is strictly connected to the word Cannella (Cinnamon).  I remember the smell of that spice trespassing a small crowd of people surrounding a big suitcase overflowing with candies and sparkling useless, but attractive things. My grandma had just arrived from her trip to a far Country called America, to  a place she named Broccolin (Brooklyn) where one of her brothers had moved a while before without telling anybody. A place where apparently it was already possible to buy some chewing gum with that lovely, spicy taste. It had been very hard for her to find him and I remember adults talking about specialised agencies helping people to find relatives all over the world. Internet, Google and Skype were just utopias even though I am not that old... those were immigrants of the late 50s, early 60s.
That generation came back to my life once again in 2008 when my husband's family,  and so I, had to bid  farewell to Nonna Titti. When a member of the family passes away  there is always a sad moment when other people's memories disclose into your hands trying to find a new place to live in. This is Heritage.

Handling those memories needs a special care because it is easy to be trapped in an odd perception that makes you feel guilty of profanation. Think about it. When we are alive some people think they know us very well (I am thinking of friends and families). So do we about them! To some other strangers or simply acquaintances we are just funny, odious, arrogant, happy and so on. Is that possible?
When we die, suddenly, our lives become like an open secret diary with the only exception that we cannot argue anymore and people cannot use our own words against us. Unless they are reading our will. :-)  Probably, this is the reason why I have a blog now, instead of a personal diary. I prefer to share my thoughts now even if some of them are not popular, amazing, conventional or just acceptable.
 Nonna Titti's farewell brought me to Canada. Among amazing yellowish pictures portraying a Palermo in black and white, there were some taken at the Harbour. A big ship in the background, Vulcania, a family picture, tears and handkerchief, love and pain for an island to leave and the uncertainty of a future that had to be better to give a sense to that farewell.
We spent nights watching those pictures and more than one time I was just crying overwhelmed with the utmost respect to those people I didn't know. There were both sorrow and pride in my heart.
In those pictures that Nonna Titti saved year after year, there was the story of an Immigration and page after page the growth of a family with wedding, new babies, their new lives, their dialect, their pride...

Finally, it was 2010. It was March 2010 and another family was taking some historical pictures. This time everything was happening at the airport. The Vulcania gave way to a plane and a mother with her 4 years old son and 14 month old daughter was being hugged by friends, crying brothers and sisters, fathers. I turned my back holding as much as I could Maia's stroller. Alessandro was waiting for us in Canada. I felt guilty for one long second. I was taking away my kids from the love of their family and the paradox was that I was doing that to guarantee them something more. It's hard to explain. Suddenly, I saw my mother's green eyes. Her strength, her discipline, her courage. Her words saying: "I am your mother and to let you go is one of the hardest thing I am asked to accept. If I were you, I would do exactly the same thing. You are doing the right thing! Remember, the RIGHT THING!"

Thank God, immigration is now different. We have Skype, What's up, Picasa, etc...Our parents travel. They come here to visit us and like a very Italian would do, they bring us food. I know it is not to feed us. That is Heritage, a treasure to pass to my kids without waiting for the last farewell, but taking advantage of what technology has donated to a 2010 Italian immigrant family to Canada.