I love breakfast. I mean, I really love breakfast.
Maybe it is because I oftentimes go to bed late at night with a growling stomach, but I love waking up in the morning and starting my day off right.
But the odd thing about me and my love of breakfast is the fact that I love it for its simplicity, not its extravagance. As an avid cereal lover, I look forward to pouring myself a bowl and washing it down with a cold glass of orange juice. Yes, that’s right, orange juice. Ever since I was little, I have refused to let milk touch my bowl of cereal. No matter whether eating Honey Bunches of Oats, Special K or Cheerios, the cereal is always enjoyed dry. Such choice led to many awkward confrontations with friends’ parents on the mornings after sleepovers…
It would be fitting that as I watched Woody Allen’s new film Midnight in Paris the only thing I could smell was butter.
Even if the butter was emanating from bags of popcorn, the scent of the fat made me think of all the wonderful French things made with the glorious churned milk. Crossiants, pain au chocolat, sole meunière, beurre blanc. Each of these heavenly items sparked memories of my few days in the capital of France. Continue reading
Ahh, the tolling of the bells from Healy Tower. Just one of the simple things reminding me how I missed being at Georgetown.
Being abroad for a semester and then away from campus for another month, it has been nearly half a year since I raced across Copley Lawn or ordered a chai latte at Uncommon Grounds or avidly avoided the stacks at Lauinger Library. Even though Florence certainly gave D.C. a run for its money on the list of my favorite cities, Georgetown will always have a place in my heart as my college town. Continue reading
I realized that Ernest Hemingway and I have a lot in common.
Not only did Hemingway make his living as writer, something I strive one day to do, but he also traveled the world and shared his global experiences with readers throughout the course of his brilliant career. As he once said, “Writing and travel broaden your ass if not your mind and I like to write standing up.” Continue reading
“Il miglior souvenir di viaggio è un biglietto tranviario che una mattina, rivestendo un vecchio abito, troviamo in fondo al taschino del gilet, dove l’avevamo messo mesi prima, in una lontana città e poi avevamo dimenticato la sua esistenza. All’improvvisa scoperta, balza il cuore, quel pezzetto di carta è una metafora concisa e straziante.”
In Roberto Benigni’s Oscar-winning film La Vita è Bella (Life is Beautiful), the main protagonist Guido always seems to know how to add excitement and comedy to life. Even when faced with tragedy, specifically in the context of the film’s setting during Holocaust, Guido never fails to put a smile on others’ faces and to remind those of life’s simplest pleasures.
A comedic-tragedy, as many critics like to call it, La Vita è Bella tells the story of a Jewish Italian named Guido Orefice and his hilarious attempts to win the heart of the upper-class Dora. This chase for love dominates the first half of the film before switching to a more serious, somber tone. After marrying Dora and starting a family, Guido is transported to a Nazi concentration camp along with his young, naïve son Giosuè. Amidst the horrors and the harsh realities of the camp, Guido remains as bubbly and optimistic as ever to keep his son’s spirits and hopes alive. Continue reading
Yesterday I witnessed one of the biggest sins a person can commit in Italy.
As I stood at a bar sipping my cappuccino, I watched as a group of students walked inside. Based on their appearance, I did not need to hear their voices to know that they were American. While I was spooning out what remained of the froth from my caffeine fix, I listened intently as a girl wearing a Penn State shirt approached the cassa, the register. Continue reading