I was quite the tourist this past weekend when I ventured to the Big Apple. (side note: no one in New York calls it that. In fact, they oftentimes forget that it is even called that) Overlarge camera perpetually pressed against my eye, a hot dog bought at every corner, and the urge to snatch up all “I Heart New York” shirts…yup, I was tourist to the max. Fortunately, tourists are the glue to the bustling economy and fill the city from dawn to dusk like desperate little ants with only two weeks to live. I had finally found a colony of camera clickin’ creepers who wore ugly camera bags just like me.
Everywhere you go, you are surrounded by an ocean of diversity. A Palestinian gyro here, a cute chattering French girl there, the ubiquitous Asian everywhere…
When I returned home, it was too quiet. Gone were the corners exploding with culture and the savory exotic food stands. Just trucks, Texan flags, and the occasional token black person. I felt out of sorts and grumpy; where was the sizzle of excitement that filled the air like electricity? Where were the subways filled with every sort of person imaginable?
It was a sad student that returned to her overwhelming stacks of homework with a sigh and a forlorn glance to the direction of the melting pot of America.
The tale of Ugolino is a horrifying one. It shows how strong the patriarchal society was in Italy during the eleventh century. Nowadays, the story would be that the father begs his children to eat his flesh to survive, not the other way around.