The Missing Piece:
I moved to Milan 28 years ago. Last week, I finally became an Italian citizen.
The process started quite late in 2023. On July 6, I went to the Comune to submit some final paperwork. There, I met Signora Raffaella, a wonderful official, wearing her “fascia tricolore” proudly draped across her body. She looked over my papers and told me with a gentle smile that everything was in order. And then, almost like an afterthought, she suggested that I take advantage of being at the Milan City Hall, and do the “giuramento”, there and then, at that moment. Who can say no to a surprise citizenship offer?
I quickly placed a video call to my husband so he could “attend” our little ceremony as she read out my oath of citizenship and I repeated after her. We then took a memorable picture together. It was all very emotional for me given that I had stopped by on my way to work for a bureaucratic check of my paperwork following my citizenship decree. Next thing I knew, I found myself walking out of the Comune, all alone, with a tear in my eye and a new identity.
I was in shock all day, wondering what this all meant.
Until then the idea of the citizenship had all been about documents, consulates, police reports, translations, papers gathered from all the places I had lived. Suddenly, it had become a reality with just a few lofty words said in a high, lofty room, which would change my reality from being just “an American in Italy” to being an Italian.
Eleven years ago, Daniele and I married in my home state of Florida as soon as it became legal to do so. We then registered our foreign marriage at the City Hall in Milan as Unioni Civili became the law in Italy. It was only then that I could apply for citizenship here.
I hadn’t really thought about what this last piece of the puzzle – citizenship – would mean for someone who had lived and thrived for three decades in a country I already call home, where I loved and built a community around me, where I had grown into a man, a partner, a friend, a leader, a teacher and a lifelong learner. I already felt American and Italian. And yet, taking the oath that day seemed to have found a missing space inside of me and filled it.
I walked out of the City Hall asking myself, what was going to change?
While I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, I knew something had already changed inside me. I felt different. The formal citizenship was not about finding a new home, but of being welcomed with a full embrace into a home that I had already adopted. It was a sense of an expanding identity, finding a new place in the world for myself and to be able to proudly declare that I am also an Italian. I can have a voice in this country through a vote and given the state of the politics in the world today, that really gives me a deeper sense of belonging.
I recognize that a new citizenship is a privilege, denied to so many. I feel more secure. A bit of this and a bit of that. An American and an Italian. A certain kind of American and a certain kind of Italian. I hope to carry my various identities with pride and a greater sense of accomplishment, joy and completion. But now I need to let the dust settle and see what all of this really means.