The feeling of “sweet sadness / longing,” called “saudade” in Portuguese, is a well-established concept in immigration studies, where it is usually linked to the colonial empires built by Spain and Portugal in the 16th century. When I first read about it I was still a student of Italian literature (with an emphasis on music, duh) at the “Sapienza” University of Rome; by the way, “Sapienza” means “Knowledge,” which always seemed a bit “on the nose” to me… I don’t know, like calling a bank “Money.” Anyway, at the time my head was filled with half-baked notions on the evils of colonization, and my peers were - for the most part - all too happy to rant against the USA, which they saw as the latest incarnation of that same Western power that for centuries had invaded, pillaged, subjugated and enslaved countless people all over the world. Outside class, of course, we listened to American music, watched American movies (poorly dubbed and with awful Italian titles, but that’s for another post), wore American clothes + shoes and ate fast food like there was no tomorrow. Like many other pseudo-intellectuals way older than us, we were blissfully unaware of our hypocrisy, or we just didn’t care.  

Once I moved to the States, things got more complicated. I saw a society full of contrasts, where one block (sometimes one street) could separate two different worlds: branded boutiques versus boarded storefronts, tiled walkways versus potholes, shiny Teslas versus rusty trucks with garbage bags taping the gaps left by broken windows. It shocked me that people called the “wrong” side of the road “ghetto”; what’s really shocking, in retrospective, is how certain loaded words can be used with such nonchalance, even by people who should know better. Wasn’t this the country that saved Europe from antisemitism? Why would you call a part of where you live “concentration camp”? Because that is what “ghetto” meant in Rome and Venice and all over Italy. I had never seen such a stark separation in Italian cities, although of course there are “bad” and “good” neighborhoods everywhere. At the same time, people were so nice to me; everyone seemed so interested in my experience, how I was doing in the US, and -above all- what I thought of “Italian” food (the quotation marks are mine) in Cleveland. I sensed a huge disconnect between what people saw - or didn’t see - and how they assessed their way of life.

I had also never seen people working so hard in my life. It is when I came to the States that I first learned the importance of keeping a daily planner. There were just so many appointments, so many things to do, so many “gigs” (another funny word for me to use, since I had only associated it with fast-paced dances - never with work). I remember thinking that, given the abundance of work opportunities, surely people were making a good living and there was no reason to be concerned. Yes, I was that naive, but isn’t that the “American dream” in a nutshell? Just look ahead, work hard, abide by the law, and things will turn out great. Of course, the very existence of this website is a testimony to the fact that - for me, at least - things did go well. I would not be honest, however, if I didn’t acknowledge the fact that I enjoyed the best of two worlds: I got my European education debt-free, and a few years after my arrival in the States I was already reaping the benefits of a flexible and prosperous job market. Schools were eager to enroll international students, and I was able to keep my tuition bills low by working as an accompanist while I was still studying. The “optional practical training” program was an amazing way of getting my feet wet in the “real” job market, and it gave my future employers a chance to know me from early on. Last but not least, as a student on one of Europe’s biggest campuses, I had been thoroughly trained in the art of finding things out by myself, with no help whatsoever from the administration. In my new surroundings, where help was everywhere, I felt pampered.    

It was a swift transition, and it wasn’t always that easy, but I was determined to make it work. I loved that there were so many international students in my school; bit by bit, in our broken English, we were able to share our experience as newcomers, whether good or bad, and we learned so much about our respective countries. My best friends at the time was a Ukrainian girl, Oksana, who - like me - was older than our peers in the collaborative piano studio, although she had “only” moved from Canada, which meant that her English was way better than mine. Oksana was the one who comforted me whenever I felt out of place, homesick or actually sick - I still think her borscht worked better than Advil - and we were able to laugh at things that no American would have found amusing, including our doomed-from-the-start romantic affairs and how quickly they unraveled. Oksana left us too soon and she deserves her own post, so I will leave it at that for now. There were other friends and groups of friends from all over the world: France, Germany, Japan, China, Taiwan, Iran, Easter Island... We were so different from each other, but what united us was stronger: it wasn’t “the dream” of making it in the US as much as the sense of longing - let’s call it Saudade - we all shared in different ways. We all had left behind a place we loved, the place where we grew up and where our friends and families still were, but the sadness was subtle and tempered by the sharing of our collective memories and new adventures. Different cultures and religions overlapped and sometimes combined in almost magical ways as we spoke, and drank, and laughed together. We would have never acknowledged it in such a meaningful way, of course, but it was a sort of unspoken pact, a bond that may last a few hours or the entire night, only to dissolve at the end of our gathering, when we would break that uneasy alliance to resume the pursuit of… Whatever it is that we were after.

One of my favorite composers, Gabriel Fauré, compared himself to a shipbuilder, whose loving and painstaking crafts eventually have to be set free, as they’re bound to a wandering existence. He wrote a beautiful song, “Les berceaux” (Op. 23 No. 1) in which that analogy extends to the cradles gently rocked by mothers, like the ships will be rocked by the waves. I always thought that this imagery perfectly captures the essence of Saudade; it conveys feelings of loss, abandonment and potential catastrophe, but also a sense of adventure and excitement for what is to come…

The Cradles (Les berceaux)

“Along the quay the great ships,
Listing silently with the surge,
Pay no heed to the cradles
Rocked by women’s hands.

But the day of parting will come,
For it is decreed that women shall weep,
And that men with questing spirits
Shall seek enticing horizons.

And on that day the great ships,
Leaving the dwindling harbour behind,
Shall feel their hulls held back
By the sould of the distant cradles.”

French lyrics by Sully Proudhomme 
English translation by Richard Stokes, from A French Song Companion (Oxford, 2000)