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• 1 2018-04-30T22:52:42-07:00 Story Three: Arranged To Be Wed 13 plain 2018-12-06T00:05:50-08:00 Arranged to be Wed
  
  
  Chapter 1
  
  Its been three years since I last saw my husband, Mariano. Mariano and I were married on January 31, 1962, and I last saw Mariano on March 15, 1962. It was a month and half after we got married that he was set to sail back to San Diego to fish, and I was destined to wait for him while I stay in Mazara del Vallo. 
  
  It doesn’t even seem like he is my husband since he hasn’t called, or tried to see me since shortly after we got married. He occasionally writes and sends money for me and my family in Sicily, but that is not a husband. In his letters he says that he is in school, trying to get his citizenship, but to me its excuses and I constantly question what was the point of us getting married in the first place. 
  
   It was 1961 when I first met Mariano. My Uncle John had asked me if I was willing to meet a Sicilian man who was staying in America. Uncle John had showed me a picture of Mariano and he said, “He’s a nice guy, and if you like him you keep him.” I laughed at him, and agreed that I would meet him. Never did I think that I was going to marry Mariano. 
              
  My Uncle called my mother shortly after I said yes to meeting Mariano to tell her that he was actually going to take a boat to meet me in Sicily. I ended up meeting Mariano on November 20, 1961. I thought he was a handsome, kind, gentleman. I true Italian man. However, he was hung up in his work and his life in America. He said he had to get back to his work soon, and he quickly asked me to marry him in December.
             
   I wish I hadn’t agreed, but I did. My parents had pushed me into marrying Mariano because of money. Being the youngest out of eight kids, my parents were struggling to make ends meet and they thought that he would give me a better life in America. Mariano and I were married in January. I was fifteen and in school at the time. The priest said I was too young to marry Mariano since he was 21 and I was only 15 years old. My mother and father had to sign our marriage certificate as pretermission for us to get married. 
  I had cried for many reasons on my wedding day, and not for the reasons that you would think. I cried because I was too young; I cried because I was scared; I cried because I did not want to get married. My teachers and school friends came to my wedding. They ran up to me in my big white dress, with smiles; all of them telling me that I was so beautiful. However, they asked me “Why, Diana? Why are you getting married? You’re so young.” I told them that it was what was best for me, at least that’s what I had thought. Never did I think that when Mariano left in March that it would be three years till I would see him again.
            
   The past three years of my life have been lonely, and questionable. Shortly after I got married I stopped going to school, and started playing wife to a man who is thousands of miles away from me. Every day I wait and think that he may come back, but I know it won’t happen. Mariano says that he is gaining his citizenship soon and that I can soon move to America to be with him. It seems like I finally will be able to see to get the answer if Mariano and I were actually destined to be married or if it was all a huge mistake. 
   
  Chapter 2
  
  I sat on the plane, practically shaking in my seat. I sat there praying that this big metal contraption doesn't plunge to the bottom of the ocean and swallow me whole as I finally will be able to see my husband, Mariano.
  
  More people start to scurry to their seats, and I wrench my hands together knowing that the plane will soon be taking off. I pray to God, and I pray to Padre Pio, that I make it to America safety. A single tear slowly streams down my face in fear of leaving my small town in Sicily, and my family behind with it; but I also cry in aggravation that I going to be living with a man that the only information that I truly know about him is his name, his age, and what he does for a living. Mariano; Mariano Sanfilippo. A 24-year old fisherman from Palermo that moved to San Diego, and I am his wife. 
  
  As I sat there waiting on the plane, a million questions ran through my mind. Why did my uncle show me his photo? Why did I agree to meet him? Why did he have to pick me? I thought angrily. Why me, God, why? I am eighteen years old. I don't know how to take care of a man, let alone a man who is six years older than I am. I have seven older brothers and sisters; why did he have to choose the youngest one? My father and uncle tell me its because I am so young and the most beautiful. They tell me that I should be lucky a man wants to give me a better life than the one I could have in Marzara del Vallo; however, this is not the life I would have chosen. This is not the life I would have picked. 
  
             
  We are shortly instructed that the plane would be getting off soon. I can’t bare the idea of flying by myself, especially since this is my first flight ever. I say a soft prayer to myself as the plane starts to ascend into the air, and I pray for a life that is better with Mariano. 
   
  **                                                                    **                                                                    **
   
           
  I quickly get off the plane to get on solid land. The past ten hours of my life have been a brutal one. I can feel my eyes heavily droop on my face from the lack of sleep, and my hands finally stopped shaking from my constant nervousness. The plane ride was rocky from turbulence, and my constant fear of the plane crashing into the water, or bursting into flames, had kept me up for the entire flight. I could kiss the ground as soon as my feet hit the concrete, but I didn't. 
  
  We were directed to where our luggage would be and I waited until I saw it. When I caught slight of my luggage I quickly grabbed it. and started to walk outside of my terminal gate to where my father and uncle had instructed me to where I was supposed to see Mariano. 
  
  I stood there waiting, and my hands that were wrapped around the handle of my luggage started to shake from nervousness once more. I hadn’t heard or seen Mariano in three years, besides our short letters to each other. What do you tell a man that you are married to when you first meet them again? 
  
             
   "Hello, I'm Diana. Do you remember me, your wife?" 
  
  I cringed at the thought. 
   
  Chapter 3
              
  Its been couple months since I moved to America to be with Mariano. To say that I am living the American Dream is an understatement. 
             
   I know no one. I have no friends. No family. I cry every single day because I feel so alone. My husband, who I moved to American to be with, is not even home. 
              
  Mariano works constantly. He is always fishing on the boat. He is sometimes gone for days to weeks at a time, and he leaves me to be alone in the house to clean and cook for myself.
              
  I am too scared to go outside. America is so much more different that Italy. I don’t know where to go, or what to do. Everything is so far away from each other. The only place that seems to be even be remotely in walking distance is the local grocery store, but even that is so different from Italy. However, even going to the supermarket is a difficult task as no one here can understand me when I speak, nor can I even understand them. Money is even different here too. 
              
  I write to my mother begging her for me to come home. I cry every time I write to her. I cry so much that the tears often spill off from my face and onto the page smearing my handwriting. I send her the letters anyway so she can she the truly sorrow in the words that I write. All I want to do is to go home. A married life, at least this married life, is not what I hope for, neither is it what I wanted. I am so unhappy. I wish I never even came here. At least when I was married to Mariano in Italy I had my family at my side, and I wasn’t alone. I thought I would gain a husband when I moved to America, but all I did was lose my family and my identity. 
              
  **
  
  End Notes: 
  
  This story ties into what we have learned during these past few weeks on Italian American's and family values. We see in Christ in Concrete, Confetti for Gino, the God Father, Big Night, and the other countless stories that family is Italian American's biggest value. My Nana did what she thought was best for her and what was best for her family. We can compare her experience specifically to the one that was portrayed in Christ in Concrete. In Christ in Concrete Paul works to provide for himself and his family after his father had recently died. Paul works, and go through many twist and turns to try to support his family. Though no one died in this story, my Nana did what was best for her and her 7 other siblings as they did not have much money. She decided that she would marry my grandfather Mariano to support herself, and make money less of an issue for her family. By marrying my grandfather she gave up her education, and her little freedom that she had as a woman in Italy during this time. It is because of that as to why I believe that her story is highly comparable to those that we have read and watched during this class.
  
  To conclude this final note, I hope you enjoyed her story as much as I enjoyed it. She was vulnerable, and exploited her life to not only myself but for all of you. I am forever grateful for her bravery, strength, perseverance through life, what she has provided for herself, and the rest of her family. I am forever grateful for her, because without her I most likely would not be here today. 
  
  
  Here is a video of her and her full story: