Here's a random writing exercise I did for my creative writing class:

“Ciao, bellissima!” the gelateria owner calls to me as I pass by his sweet-tooth heaven on my usual absent-minded trudge home to Via Bruschi. I look up, seeing the honestly sincere grin waking up his entire age-wrinkled face, his eyes twinkling with kindness, and my cheeks flush with shy pleasure. I know he says this to every slightly familiar female who passes by, but it makes my day every time. This tiny little phrase, ciao, bella, this simple, daily Italian greeting is so different than the dry, drab common American greeting of hey, or the hopeless hipsters’ bored ballad of what’s up. Now that I have been spoiled with ciao, bella! I know that these are the two little words that my red cheeks and I will miss most when we leave Italy.

It’s true that I have many problems with how some Italian men interact with women, especially those who they know to be American students, like one other walk home when a not-so-pleasant man lewdly licked his scheming lips as he squinted his eyes and hungrily looked me up and down, up and down, saying in halting English, “Oh my god, how beautiful!” While I had to resist the overpowering urge to either spit on or slap that man, our sweet, old gelato man, as my roommates and I call him, and his innocent little mantra of ciao, bella, has never moved me to any action other than involuntary smiling. When I hear the Italian guys at school yelling down the hall to one of the other female students, ciao, bella, I don’t feel violated; instead, I feel a surge of love for these guys. In Italy, this friendly, yet completely polite greeting means infinitely more than just a short, disinterested introduction to get out of the way before launching into an exhausting story. But my gelato man’s mantra stops and takes time to actually greet you, and to shake hands with your self-confidence.

In the U.S., a country where eating disorders are sadly as common as pasta in Italy, it’s a shame that we Americans don’t greet each other in such a complimentary fashion. Granted, Italians say this to everyone, and I think they would even say it to a donkey’s grandmother, but the tiny little boost of confidence it gives, the warm rosy cheeks it produces are enough to make anyone’s day and to make any woman feel beautiful.