An “American” Abroad
Dana Freeman
Part of studying abroad with an American college is being called American wherever you go. This may seem obvious, but being called American also comes with the connotations of what the US is. This manifests in being asked questions like “what’s the deal with Donald Trump?” or “why don’t you have good healthcare?” These are difficult and complicated questions that come up when you become a representation and an access point of information about a country that you belong to. Or supposedly belong to. It is at this point where it got complicated for me, as I don’t particularly identify as American. I was indeed born in the US and I do indeed hold an American passport, but I lived overseas longer than I’ve lived in the US and therefore I don’t particularly feel “American”. Thus, I felt very strange to be lumped together with the rest of my study abroad group and to constantly have a little imaginary invisible sign slapped on my head that said “Americana” when I was studying abroad in Italy. In fact, sometimes I felt a little offended and a little sad that I was automatically assumed to be American when that wasn’t the case: it was much more complicated.
However, I also completely understood the assumption because it made a lot of sense and we, as humans, make basic assumptions based on the information we have available to us. I have an American accent, I wear American-style clothing, and I speak English and bad Italian, therefore I must be an American. With that said, something I really enjoyed about studying abroad in Pisciotta was going beyond initial assumptions (both theirs and my own as well - because I had plenty of assumptions on my end) and getting to know the locals. I wanted to study abroad to learn as much as I could. I wanted to learn Italian and theatre, but I also just wanted to meet people, hear stories, and learn about different ways of life. I found it rather interesting and very cool that people there were interested in me and my story of being both American and not an American and how it was complicated.
So although I never stopped being lumped in with the other Americans, I found a sense of comfort that sometimes I could find the right people who were interested in taking the time to get to know me and my story which was a little less simple than most. I was delighted to meet them and in exchange, learn their stories and the details of their lives because life is in the details. I learned that other people too had moved around, visited other places, lost friends, gained new ones, and had made scary career and big life decisions. While their stories weren’t exactly like mine, they did make me feel a little less alone.