I have chosen to talk about some words, especially those that do not have a correspondent in other languages, whose translation requires a whole long explanation. The fact that, at a certain point in its history, each culture has felt the need to create a word to describe a situation, a feeling, a sensation, a way of life says so much about the way of thinking, the priorities and the important things. The word in this post is heimat, a German noun, created around the middle of the nineteenth century: as in many other countries, industrialization involved moving people from the countryside to large cities. In the meantime the unification of Germany was taking place: therefore personal and community identity seemed to be lost. The heimat was interpreted as a reaction to this loss. But what does it mean and why am I talking about it? This word indicates a place that you can call home, but also as a sense of belonging, acceptance, safety and connection to one's native home, to one's origins. In short, it is something linked to one's own roots.
I grew up traveling around Italy and, although the nation was always the same, every time I was "the one who came from outside", "the foreigner". The first question I was asked, to determine where I was from, was: where were you born? It was there that, according to everyone, I could find my origins. San Benedetto del Tronto. Oh, then you're from the Marche region. Um, no. Because when I was three months old we moved to the province of Rome. Ah, then you are from Rome. Um, not really because I stayed there for short time. So where are your parents from? Their hometown would finally determine my history and culture. It's true, I spent many summers there, there were other relatives, but I was "the foreigner" there too and we didn't always understand each other, despite the fact that the basic language was the same. I have spent most of my life trying to define what my home was, where I belonged. And, then, I continued to travel, and to move alone. I always go back to Genoa, the last Italian city that I considered home but with which I have a conflictual relationship: I didn't choose it, it took away a lot frome me, yet there are some of the people I love most in the world and when I go back, I know how to move , I know the darkest and densest alleys. Is it heimat, then, for me? Mmm no. I don't feel I have so many things in common, nor do I feel that I am a part of them or sure. I have lived in Eindhoven for 4 years. When they ask me where I am from and, I answer Italy, there is no need for anything else, that's all: pizza, pasta and ice cream. Things I can happily identify with. So is my home here? I still don't speak the language well (a euphemism to say that my Dutch level is frighteningly low), I don't know the laws, customs still elude me. I take from this culture some aspects that I like and share: individual freedom, the sense of community, being very direct, the children at the center of our days. There are the people I love most in the world, there is my physical home that reflects our souls, I feel safe. Nevertheless. Do I picture myself here my whole life? Not really. Paraphrasing a phrase I heard in a film, the world is so big that it would be a shame not to go towards it. And I think that love, that security, that feeling of rootedness I create them and I carry them inside me, wherever I decide to stay.
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