When some of the few English-speaking Italians approach me in Rome, without me saying a word, they address me in English. It’s as if I’ve got U.S. flag pin the size of a license plate hanging over my neck. After two years and three months here, I wonder how much I’ve really changed. I blend in Rome like a Starbucks souvenir shop.
While I can’t change my face, ruddy complexion and brown hair, I have experienced changes elsewhere. Inside I am a different person than when I took that one-way flight from Denver in January 2014.