Nodding. Smiling. Hoping for the best.

About ten days after I arrived in Trieste, I found myself sitting in a bathroom, with my head on my knees, trying not to pass out.
Long inhale through the nose. Exhale through the mouth. Repeat.

When I Had to Speak

They had just asked me to organize a training for brokers, which in theory sounds completely fine — as long as you speak the language in which that training is supposed to happen. My Italian at that time was slightly better than ordering ice cream.

A reasonable person would probably wait, give themselves some time, maybe say this is not the right moment.
I didn’t.

Sitting there on the toilet, I didn’t even have the strength to get up and splash cold water on my face — makeup was more important than the fact that I was on the edge of a nervous breakdown.

Perfectionism. Ego. Madness.
Call it whatever you want, in any case you will be at least partially right.

After a few minutes I pulled myself together and went back to the office. I had a couple of days to prepare and that had to be enough.

On the day D, I was sitting with a colleague in front of the screen, waiting for the first group of brokers.
Even today, when I think about that moment, I’m not sure how I even managed to start speaking.

But I did.

And somehow Italian started coming out of me — broken, clumsy, twisted, far from correct.

Even today I sometimes like to pretend they understood me, that they really understood what I wanted to say.

But today I know — they were just being polite, and they didn’t want to fare la brutta figura.

Okay, probably something still got through.
Even a blind chicken finds a grain sometimes.

When I Thought I Knew

A few years later, I’m sitting at Università Cattolica del Sacro Cuore in Milan.
One of the best universities in Italy, with a really rich history — and it deserves a story on its own.

And so I sit there with my colleagues, waiting for the professor, thinking to myself how lucky I actually am.

And now I know Italian, and I will try to be the best student.

And then the lecture on Solvency II starts.

First five minutes I nod my head like I understand.
After ten minutes I’m not even sure about that anymore.

Eleven minutes later I start asking myself:
my God, what language is this?

In the end it turned out fine. I struggled, I read, I cried out of frustration when despite all the effort I still didn’t understand, I begged my Italian husband to explain.

And then I would end up arguing with him, because he — writer and lawyer — would start explaining from before Christ, and I had neither the time nor the nerves for a historical introduction.

In the end, somehow — with a lot of struggle and with a promise that this is enough, this is the last time — I learned both.

Even Solvency II.

Not even a year passed.
I spend my (our) last money on a new master.

This time it will be easier.

It will be in English.

MN: Lunch Without Google Translate

Somewhere on the timeline between these two stories, there is another one — how I met the wonderful parents of my husband.

They invited me for lunch with Enrico.
And there I go. I go happy because they invited me. I go happy because I am important enough for him to take me to lunch with his parents. I go really happy.

But people, this is not just meeting your boyfriend’s parents.

This is meeting your boyfriend’s parents in a foreign language, which means stress level max pro.

And there is no Google Translate at the table.

Before that we only saw each other briefly, after one concert, and at that time my:
“Buonasera, piacere di conoscervi, io sono Martina” — went great.

Okay, by then I was already handling the language somehow, and with a few misunderstandings and despite my stress, it all actually went well.

Truth be told — one glass of wine, two — were more than helpful to loosen my tongue a bit.

But somehow we understood each other.

Today we see each other regularly and they are really, really wonderful people.
His mother is even learning Croatian.

And me — I still sometimes search for words.

But now at least I sit at the table without panic.

If you’ve ever nodded and hoped for the best — you can stay.

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