My name is Natalia Bafia and I’d like to talk about my experience of growing up in a European household in America. I was very Polish and proud, as until I was 10 I would tell everyone, “I live in Poland. I just go to school in America.” At times, I still let myself believe that I am that ten year old girl, naive and partially unaware of what it means to be first generation American. To me, it means receiving a great opportunity of not having to live through my parent’s horrible beginnings in the States, as plates or mattresses were picked up off the street to fill the limited space of an empty attic. The nights and days spent in factories by my father, and my mother cleaning house after house. I never saw any of that as I was born and raised into a prosperous time for my family in a fairly wealthy northern Chicago suburb.

 

At elementary school, I did not understand why kids would ask me what my father did. I saw his success from a factory worker to a construction business owner, but others in my town didn’t, as kids would brag that they’re dads were lawyers or doctors. That is why, ever since a young age, my mom would emphasize that education is a priority for my future. The opportunity I have received comes with a great responsibility as I learn, experience and embrace different cultures and histories. But most importantly, this opportunity is a remembrance of the struggles my parents went through to allow me the fortune of chasing my dreams.

​

​

​

"I see the sense of belonging to a place where travel elsewhere is merely for vacation not for relocation. Within my time in Florence, I’ve learned to see how travel has been a blessing and a curse..."

​

 

 

So here I am today, a Polish American girl living in Italy. In Florence, I see parts of the immigrant community feeling alienated from the city just as my mother has been for the past 30 years, longing to go home but either not being able to or feeling stuck in their better fortunes abroad to return. I see the sense of belonging to a place where travel elsewhere is merely for vacation not for relocation.

​

Within my time in Florence, I’ve learned to see how travel has been a blessing and a curse because it is difficult to know if the local or global perspective is the true depiction of the city we are in, so what if it isn’t worth leaving the local for the global? That’s a risk not all are willing to take. For others though, it’s a risk they’re forced to take. Such was the case for my parents when they escaped communist Poland as political refugees. Such is the case for many refugees today as well.

​

​

​

"So I find myself stuck at a crossroad of battling with the local or the global, Polish or American or maybe there’s another identity for me to discover."

 

 

 

For me though, I’ve made a conscious choice to move to a city, Florence, much different from my previous homes. But there are days, that despite my love for this city, I long to be that little girl every morning listening to the roosters of my small village in Poland crow, but the roosters are gone as shopping centers replace the farms. So I find myself stuck at a crossroad of battling with the local or the global, Polish or American or maybe there’s another identity for me to discover. So, I thank my parents for giving me the opportunity for a global experience and education as it allows me to find my path within the unity of the local and the global.