The Little Things #1

Yesterday was going nicely. I woke up to the sound of heavy rain, then snoozed for a few more hours in the knowledge that I (once again) had nothing to get up for.

I had a lazy breakfast and a long shower, and decided my aim for the day was to buy a duvet. Sounds weird, but just having blankets is starting to prove a little too cold now, even for a tough English ‘un like me.

However the rain just kept pouring so I decided to just stay in and relax for a few hours. I made a big bowl of pesto spaghetti with some tomatoes and salami. That was nice.

I remembered my extremely vivid recurring anxiety dream about losing my teeth. (Whenever I’m slightly subconsciously worried about something, this dream returns, in which my jaw locks so my teeth are pushing against each other and the more I try to change it, the more the pressure builds, until finally, I lose a tooth. Fun, ey?)

Anyway, having remembered this was just a dream (at the time it felt more real than ever) I carried on with my day, which consisted of relaxing, tidying, reading etc. (I’m so wild – it was raining, ok?)

I started to feel a bit under the weather but thought ‘well, if I’m going to be ill at least I’m not busy’. All in all, it was a gloomy weathered but very chilled day.

My mum had earlier challenged me to try and find a local and have a conversation. I convinced her that this was too difficult for a few reasons. 1. I can’t speak enough for a conversation unless it’s someone I know who can switch to English if I need to work something out 2. I would come across really weird and 3. It’s raining.

I left the house to go to choir, feeling quite optimistic and content. I then bumped into the old man who lives next door, who was downstairs near the front door of the building, looking busy. We said our greetings as normal, and he then said something to me, quite fast in Italian. I said ‘scusa?’ and he said it again, just as fast. There was a particular phrase he kept saying, that I’d never heard before. I repeated it back to him with a question-like tone, as if to say, ‘could you say that a bit slower? Or try and demonstrate it?’

However he then just started to say ‘You still don’t understand Italian? You still know nothing?’ I definitely heard the word ‘niente’ a lot. Instead of calmly explaining that I was trying and asking if he could speak slower (which I’ve tried before) I just panicked, I’m not sure what I said. I ended up understanding what he was saying, which was actually pretty pointless. He was just saying the hallway smelt of something and could I leave the door open. But by this point I was outside of the door, so no wonder I didn’t understand the relevance. Sigh.

I walked away feeling really defeated and stupid. My daily life isn’t full of much at the moment, so when something like that catches me out it seems bigger than it really is. Like this post is titled; it’s the little things. (At least I completed my mum's challenge though.)

But it made me think maybe he was right? Maybe it’s stupid of me to have been here for weeks and still not understand him. (Although may I point out the phrase he was saying was SO weird, I think I would’ve struggled if I was nearly fluent).

My walk to choir was then made much better by two ‘catcalls’ and a few up-and-down looks. Definitely boosted my confidence and made me feel safe to walk the streets of a small Italian city! Thanks Italian men, you’re really helping your own rep.

However, as much as these little things dampened my day (haha and it was raining, get it? Dampened... haha…ok no), I made sure I would cheer myself up with little things too. I went to a shop and bought the duvet I was after. I came home, ate ice cream and had a glass of wine, watched Love Actually, put up my fairy lights and lit my candles. And, because I am a (relatively) functioning human being, these things obviously cheered me up.

Yes, this post is essentially just a rambling diary entry about my day yesterday, but it made me realise how much the ‘little things’ affect me these days. My life is so slow-paced that every tiny thing is noticeable.

I guess this is a good thing; although the negative bits may get me down a bit more, I appreciate the positive bits more too. Like waking up with the rain, or getting a croissant from the shop a few doors down, or understanding some Italian, or getting an unexpected message from my boyfriend. I guess it’s all just swings and roundabouts. It’s just that in Italy, they swing and go round a lot slower…