ONE: ABOUT DIFFERENCES

My name is Laura and I am Italian, more or less. I consider myself a bizarre kind of Italian, as I do not eat pasta or pizza, or as I am not what you would define "family-oriented". But Italian is what I am, at least on my passport, and when people make fun of me because I never order a pizza at restaurants I respond that this proves my point that being born in Italy does not make someone an Italian.

Or, more in general, that passports and stereotypes can be mischievous.

I am located in Istanbul, a ravishing, magnificent city, where I am finishing my Master degree in Turkish Studies as I am deeply interested in the Turkish culture,politics and language. Together with that, a lot of my affection goes to immigration and Second Generation immigrants identities, about which I do research, because everything lying in spaces of in-betweenness is where, whom I belong. 

In this blog I will oftentimes talk about  and praise differences.My aim is to open a window to critical thinking. My whole family and relatives got it soon enough that I believe in my life choice to be a cultural mediator and that any kind of conversation about it is either a constructive one, or there won't be any conversation at all, but in this town, albeit very little, we are not all cousins or distant relatives. Which is why every time I come back I go through the usual interrogations of neighbors and friends of friends,  asking me about life in Istanbul, Turkish people, protests, and so on and so forth. The very last one occurred yesterday, as I was waiting at a beauty salon: my torturer, this time a very attractive and very nice young girl, asked me some things about Turkey and Arabs (?!) and began a pretty racist monologue which ended with a "Well, they are not in the European Union, thank God!". I like talking to people, discussing with them, but under some circumstances I prefer listening to them, and again yesterday, like many other times, the interrogation left me alone with my old, abused, unanswered question: Why differences bother us so much? Why are we so suspicious of what we do not know? And, assuming that we are, why we don't try to know more, instead of judging with the little (and often inaccurate) information we have?

Living in Turkey has been to me a big lerning experience, specifically because in my new bubble I came to terms with the Other-- with many Others, actually, being "Other" defined as people whose cultural identities are profoundly different from mine. I went there specifically because of that: I wanted the Other to be me. I wanted to be the minority, the vulnerable one, the needy one, to know how it feels. I have been spending time wondering why meeting Others it is so unsettling at first. I don't believe we are scared of what we see as "different"-- most times we perceive it as an abstract entity, an idea, something that cannot physically harm us. What bothers us is not knowing that out of our bubble there are people with values different from ours, but the mere fact that getting to know the difference inevitably draws us out of our comfort zones and makes us reconsider our universal truths. IT IS uttermost distressing. Opening up to other possibilities and coming up with ideas conflicting to the ones of everyone around is scary. Rethinking the universal truths we were taught by our parents with the best of intentions since we were very little is painful. But it can also be fun, and it is always interesting. Considering other possibilities does not mean rejecting who we are nor making room for someone different implies reducing our own personal space. 

I will be more clear in my next posts, which will be a blend of research and storytelling.

The idea behind my posts will be that identity is a construction. In other words, our perspective of the world, what we like, what we find right or wrong is biased by the way we were brought up. Construction means I prefer to watch movies dubbed because subtitles bother me, it also means were I born somewhere else I would prefer to listen to the actors' real voices. It means my parents have pasta for lunch, but they might as well have chicken Byriani in another life. It means that lemon's scent reminds me of when my grandma made me tea and cookies, it might remind me of thousands of other things were I not who I am.

I always had tea and cookies in a bowl. When I went to England I found out that the only acceptable place where to have tea are mugs and that bowls are made for soups only…I still remember my roommates’ laughters in Exeter every time we had breakfast together.

What else? It means I was baptized at a Catholic Church and I love my hair to grow long and shiny and flirty and thick, it also means that were I born in Iran now I would be wearing a headscarf.

Globalization has not only implied studying abroad, opening new businesses on the other side of the world, or that it is perfectly acceptable to eat sushi at Christmas: it also has thrown in our bubbles people very different from ours as a result of migration. Now we no longer need to watch TV from our sofas to encounter the Other and in the same way we cannot push a button to make them disappear. We cannot ignore them. We can judge, hate, pity them without being able to explain why. We all feel more comfortable with those who are similar to us, right? Well, then let's find similarities. 

We all have noses. Eyes. Chins. 

How about.... dreams. 

Expectations from the future. 

People we care a lot about. 

People who have broken our hearts. 

Regret about that time we wanted to hit someone right in the face but we didn't. 

Grief for never apologizing to that friend until it became so late to be meaningless.

Once the unfamiliar becomes more familiar we can tiptoe towards the differences. Different food recipes. Different clothes. Different sport teams. Different hairstyles. Different expectations from others, and so on...  

Why cultural differences should prevent us from respecting one another? My grandmother and I have sometimes different world perspectives too, but this doesn't mean we don't respect each other. Or that we give up talking about anything.

Remember, construction. It means that flows of immigrants reaching the borders of my country bother me because I identify with that portion of the world who has no idea of what it means to have to abandon one's own country to find a better future, or a future at all. 

This blog aims to be a critical eye on what’s Other. You don't have to let me convince you of my beliefs, feel free to read them too with a critical eye. At the end of the day I am prey of my perspective as well, and even though I strive to be as objective as possible and to never stop questioning anything, everything that I am affects what's in my mind. Obviously enough. 

Without what is Other than Myself having to become my other self, both the Other and I can coexist, recognize each other's value, de-Otherize each other, borrow what we like from each others' kitchens and cultural identities.

Never, never, never stop thinking.

Laura del Rey