In preparation for a few posts about my writing process as it relates to my original work and projects like Dark Eras, I wanted to talk (eep!) a little bit more about me. To be perfectly honest with you, this is the part I hate. I don’t like talking about me half the time, because I feel there’s a certain level of complexity that human beings have, that cannot come across via the internet in writing. Too, I’m fairly private as well, because I tend to deal with my own b.s. and then move on as best I can. Today I’m going to try, because this will relate to a future post about my work and my research process that I’ve honed over several years when writing about other cultures.

I’ve mentioned before that I grew up in a cross-cultural household, and that I’ve never really felt that I fit in to “a” specific culture. When I went to London a few years ago now, one of my friends noticed how I really was of two worlds, the old and the new. Though I’m not a hundred percent Italian, the culture (regionally, this would be northern Italy) dominated my formative years. If you are not already aware, like many countries there’s no such thing as Italy being “one” culture and there’s often a lot of assumptions made about Italian-Americans thanks to shows like Jersey Shore or The Godfather movies. Often, when people haven’t run into Italians before, whatever the popular media has shown them is what they assume and it’s not always good.

I remember being of two minds on the subject of my heritage. Proud and angry. Proud, because while other families forgot how their great-great grandparents came to this country, the idea of “where we came from” was more immediate and present. It made me appreciate being in America, and I fell in love with the idea of the melting pot to the point where I idealized it. Oh, I did. I wanted to know about everyone. (Still do.) I wanted to know about all the different cultures, all the beautiful people with the different ways they practiced their faith or what they had for dinner or what they wore or what books they read or what have you. As a child, I thought America was a place where everyone was welcome, and I was ready to meet everybody.

This is where the anger part comes in. I’ve always been pushed and pulled into this idea that there’s “the one true way” to live, to be, that whatever the dominate culture is happens to be the one that’s “right”, or that the culture you’re born with has to be the only one. (A belief that I fight with every breath I take.) What’s so “wrong” about not discovering popcorn until I was 12? What’s so “wrong” about not having blonde hair? (Yes, I do now. This is called “obfuscation” as I’ve been going grey since I was a teenager. Considering purple!) Or the right nose? Or body shape? Or… For me, I also had an added layer of angst as a teen. I am a very passionate person, and even something as simple the display of emotion can generate comments and rumors. I also talk with my hands as well, and being expressive can cause raised eyebrows, too. And it did. Even beyond personal expression, there’s also issues I had with personal space. I remember how I was helping a friend home who was utterly wasted, and I had my arm around her to keep her upright, and kids driving by shouted gay slurs at us simply because we were touching.

I’m skipping a lot here, including the bullying, but hopefully the gist of what I’m trying to say is coming across. For a lot of people, even though my skin tone was white, and we were blue collar/middle class, I was still “different” and different isn’t always good, nor is it celebrated. That? That crushed me at first. As a teenager, because of my experiences, I went from believing in the melting pot, to convincing myself I had to fit in. I had to wear the latest fashion or dumb myself down or change my hair or do all the things that weren’t necessarily me because this was the way to get people to back off and stop ridiculing me or accept me. In other words, I felt forced to pretend I was unquestionably just like everybody else who was considered to be part of the majority culture, and it never quite seemed to work. I wanted to be invisible, because that seemed easier than the alternative.

No, the story of where I came from cannot possibly be condensed into a simple post, nor are the reasons for the way I was treated in my formative years straightforward. They’re not. To me, though, none of that matters and I am certainly not trying to get into any kind of contest about whose pain is greater. That’s not the point here. None of my terrible past experiences matter anymore. Why? Because while I still struggle with living between worlds sometimes, I am hyper-focused on turning those experiences into something positive, and then channeling that into my work. I’ve said this before, but music saved my life and writing gave me a reason to live it. Without the arts, I’m not sure where I’d be today.

Shortly after leaving home for college, I realized I wanted the dream back, because I didn’t feel that what I’d been told or shown was true. I desperately hoped for the melting pot, the rainbow, and the beautiful people–all of them–back in my head. To that end, and I remember this very clearly, I refused to sit down and be quiet and accept the way things were. I knew something was wrong, but I didn’t know what. And, being young and stupid, oh I’m sure I made my fair share of mistakes trying to figure out the answers to my questions, too.

Over time, I’ve come to understand that there’s a lot of people in pain simply because they are considered to be “different.” While their pain is theirs to deal with, the best I can do is listen and either keep listening or, when appropriate, say: “I will try to understand.” The best I can do, is be there for them because I know what it means to be in a position where no one is there for you. To me, this has nothing to do with being liberal of conservative; I care about what I can do to be a decent human being. Being a good person, I feel, should not be politicized, because that dehumanizes us and reduces us into another pile of stereotypes.

Despite how the media sometimes simplifies it, culture is not a linear, flat shape that encompasses the entire U.S. It ebbs and flows and grows and changes all the damn time, depending upon where you live and who you’re with and where you come from and where you’re going. There’s a lot of things that happen in the popular culture due to propaganda or half-truths being shared, misunderstandings, global events, inventions, popular movies/TV, turns of the season, political leaders, basic internet connectivity, money, etc. Taking all of these things into consideration, the American culture fascinates me, because it’s the most complex, organic structure I have ever encountered, just like how most people fascinate me.

To me, especially now, America is still the melting pot, a mixture of beautiful people who’ll inspire me to write better characters and design more visceral settings. A potpourri of all kinds of people who (thankfully) aren’t just like me. I feel this is cause for celebration despite this country’s horrific past, despite the ways we seek to isolate, separate, and condemn one another now because of the fear of the unknown, because the world is changing. The question that I often ask is: what unites us? This often leads to more questions. What does it mean to be human? What do we all share? What’s the positive side to being unique? How can we come together and have great discussions despite being different people? How can we work together and respect our differences instead of condemn them? These questions, to me, are infinitely more interesting because the answers bring me hope and joy.

Next time, I’ll talk about how these experiences have led me to address writing about other cultures from a position of mutual respect. That post will have a stronger writing focus than this one did, and I’m hoping that my stance on this topic will make more sense now that you have a general idea where my head is at.

Comments are open on this post as well. I’m more than a little neurotic about opening up, so please be kind.

Mood: Did I do this right?
Caffeinated Beverages Consumed: I counted four.
Work-Out Minutes Logged Yesterday: There was walking!
In My Ears: White noise.
Game Last Played: Sonic: All Stars Racing
Book Last Read: Commedia della Morte by Chelsea Quinn Yarbo
Movie Last Viewed: Painted Skin: the Resurrection
Latest Artistic Project: Beading!
Latest Fiction/Comic Release: Last Man Zombie Standing.
Latest Game Release: Gothic Icons and Smuggler’s Guide to the Rim
What I’m Working On: Read my latest project update.