The challenge of making friends with people who already have their own group of friends — now, that might be something you thought you wouldn’t have to deal with once you’d left your university days behind. That is, until you pack twenty years of life — or more — into a 48 pound suitcase and get on a plane to Italy.
Italians are kind and warm people. The catch? You have to get in first.
Making friends in Trieste has not exactly been easy. Which is why I convinced myself that volunteering might help. Maybe, if luck was on my side, I might find a friend there.
The easiest part was signing to become a volunteer. I filled out an online questionnaire. After one month, I received an email confirming the details. Two and a half months, one meeting, and one Telegram group later, here I am — surviving.
The winner among all these volunteer activities? The Trieste Film Festival. It brings together international films, filmmakers, and cinema lovers from Central and Eastern Europe.
However, being an “International Film Festival” doesn’t mean international staff. On the first day, I found myself on the social media team (which, apart from yours truly, is native speakers only) struggling to finish sentences in Italian.
On my application, I’d written, “I am a journalist with a social media background. I enjoy teamwork.” What I forgot to mention? My Italian is comparable to that of a toddler’s.
People were running around, shouting into phones. Some volunteers were missing. Conversations, as heard by me, went like this: “The posters haven’t arrived. Who has a microphone? Where’s Giulia? Let’s try your phone!”
On the other side of the room, I tried to explain that I didn’t know what to do or who I was working with. But I didn’t want to interrupt the chaos, so I stayed quiet.
Someone said my name. Lost, I responded, “Yes, that’s me.” No, I didn’t have a microphone. Yes, I will do the interviews. No, just in English. It’s better to leave my broken Italian off camera. Funny, as my English is not perfect either, but at least they won’t know.
“We are two,” said the tipsy self in my head to my tipsy self.
After a quick introduction, I was left at a bar table in the theater with another volunteer, Alexandra. Since the microphone didn’t work, we had nothing to do. We exchanged small talk before the silence settled between us.
Later, Alexandra and I were assigned to read synopses of short films and draft questions. A blonde girl arrived, placed a few books on the table, and began analyzing the plots.
I struggled to follow in Italian but didn’t want to slow things down by asking for English translations. After a while, I managed to tell them, in my very limited vocabulary, what I thought. Though far from perfect, it felt good to be part of the conversation.
By half past nine, we had planned more than fifteen interviews and reviewed posts, DMs, and comments, and even helped a 19-year-old video editor who seemed to be a natural tech genius. And yet, I had spent two hours doing nothing, unless wandering around the room counts.
To pass the time, I had a snack and fantasized that I was fluent in Italian.
Finally, a not work-related thing happened. I don’t know if it was the boredom, the tiredness, or the medium-sized beer that I’d bought for three euros, but I had a 15-minute talk with another volunteer. It was amazing. He was coming back from London, where he’d been living for the last five years, and now felt like he didn’t belong here anymore. Yet he didn’t belong there either. “We are two,” said the tipsy self in my head to my tipsy self.
We laughed about how our careers and lives felt like a “disaster,” just like everyone else who starts working in media or art. That little moment of connection was all I was looking for. Just a shared laugh, a comment or two about the messy work day, just that tiny hint that we are not alone.
I grabbed my coat, said goodbye, and messaged my boyfriend.
