Rooted 🌱
What sort of weird hybrid am I? A patchwork, a mosaic, or a chimera?
It is January 28, Lunar New Year for some, and a very special day for me.
I just got my Portuguese passport! Yay!
It did not come in a caravela, as my mother cheekily predicted, but I did embark on a journey of exploration of my own identity over the years, and I just discovered a new territory of my own to claim.
Weird analogies to the Era of Exploration apart, I am inspired and ready to write about the past 3 years I have sailed on the ship of self-discovery to understand where I came from. I would like to share a bit of this private journey with you.
Note that I study at Minerva University and spend every semester in a different country, so if I say something like “London semester” or “India,” I am not weird; I was just in these places as this story develops.
It all started in Taiwan in 2022 when I paid over 80 dollars to do an ancestry test; little did I know that I could have paid 40 dollars had I waited a week longer to get that MyHeritage discount — foolish me.
Anyway, I recorded a video of me taking the test and speculating on the results, betting on being mostly Italian and Portuguese since 1) I have Italian and Portuguese surnames, and 2) I knew my great-grandparents had immigrated to Brazil in the 20th century. A few saliva drops and a couple of months later, I finally got the results in Hyderabad, India. Guess who is half-half? I am also a small percentage of a lot of places.
What sort of weird hybrid am I? A patchwork, a mosaic, or a chimera?
I have now lived in seven countries, so what the hell am I?
Unusual upbringing
A summary of my upbringing is in order: I grew up in Brasilia because my mom was a foreign officer or something at Itamaraty. I spent 12 years in an American school with the children of diplomats who came and went away in a breath, and my school was just like Minerva but dutifully stationed in Brazil’s capital. My friends were primarily foreigners or Brazilians who spent their lives abroad following their parents’ careers elsewhere, and I didn’t realize how different this was until I met people whose childhoods were deeply rooted in one place.
So, naturally, when I found myself questioning where I belonged, I did what any identity-crisis-prone gen-Z hybrid would do: I obsessed over my ancestry results.
The Taipei Semester 🇹🇼 (Fall 2022)
The Taipei semester was a mess — I was angry, confused, and hurt, and there is nothing more dangerous than a hurt animal cornered. Just like Taiwan, I was fighting for my own self against external threats, and if China had not (unfairly) claimed Taiwan, I would have combusted the island simply because I could not stand the anger in me and the confusion I felt. Taipei remains one of my favorite Minerva rotation cities, however. So, in the name of self-determination and being inspired by the island, I decided to take action.
I would mold an identity of hybrid backgrounds.
I started learning Italian, listening to Italian music, and writing my university assignments about Italy. I was famished for every piece of information I could find. I saved every extra money I could as a college student to spend my summer in Italy and read books about the Italian diaspora. I recalled as many memories as I could of my great-grandparents, but apart from the fact that my great-grandfather freaked out when my mother was born (a girl instead of a boy to carry the Basso last name), I don’t think I have much respect for him. I planted a family tree, digging up to find more than 300 people and nine generations! I traced my maternal DNA, asking, “What would my last be if we followed a matrilineal line?”.
Giovanna Zuriato.
But Then — A Detour to Rwanda🇷🇼
In the summer of 2023, however, I went to Rwanda as I organized the Women Deliver Conference in Kigali. No Italy for me this time; instead, I got to explore a new continent. :)
I was content by simply getting my hands on as much information as I could, sometimes slightly distracted by my university. I still had to study!
I remember looking at my family’s immigration records and laughing at them. Mérica, Mérica. Why would you spend 36 fucking days in a steam engine to a new country in the pursuit of a dream?
My mother cut my condescension short:
“You traveled to the other side of the world and lived in seven countries — just in a plane for 16 hours.”
Eye roll.
So maybe I am 50% adventure too.
BOOM!
Another Discovery — The Portuguese Side🇵🇹
I made another discovery: my dad’s grandparents were Portuguese. Like, what? I knew that but didn’t know if you know what I mean. I never knew much about my paternal side of the family, and it turns out my father didn’t either because he never met his grandparents; my grandmother is the youngest of 32869 siblings (hyperbole alert), meaning by the time she had my dad, her parents were already stars.
London, Scotland, and an Existential Gelato Crisis
January 2024, and I am finally on European soil for my semester in London. And it was — weird, for lack of a better word.
I was overloaded academically, suffering with my grades, and reconnecting with my childhood friends living in London. I even hosted an event to share about my childhood in BrasĂlia! When I traveled to Scotland on my first solo trip in tribute to my 22nd birthday, I came across two weird situations:
1) The guy at Starbucks came to my table to ask if I was Italian since I had given them my real name (am I the only person who does that at Starbucks?), and;
2) The lady at the gym screamed at my face, “ARE YOU ITALIAN?!” when she saw my name on the computer, babbling in Italian. My reaction? I froze. I mean, I understood what she said language-wise, but I could barely craft a response, much less in Italian. Her excitement and imminent disappointment when I did not say anything was heartbreaking. I just wanted to say, “Credo di sì.”
I guess I am?
I had traveled to Europe before and been to Italy multiple times growing up, but I was a senseless child who just wanted gelato and did not have time for existential questions. It was the London semester that changed everything; maybe I could belong to this family, too. I got my hopes up and decided to spend all my savings and travel to Italy.
So thank the Italian lady at CitySport who, with the sparkles in her eyes, motivated me to say sĂ, sono italiana.
So I moved to Italy, met with my aunt who now lives near Milan, committed many cultural gaffes, ate a lot of pasta, had a lot of gelato, spent too much time in trains back and forth between cities, tried cooking, bought a cheap Italian flag from a Chinese store that I now have in my window in San Francisco, and fell in love with this country. It is bellissimo in every sense of the word.
Could it one day be mine, too?
It feels magical as if landing on the moon for the first time, because it feels right. I feel whole, and I am ecstatic to learn more about these places and their people, my people, too. I felt loved and welcomed with open arms in Italy — “some people said welcome back” and spoke Italian slowly so I could understand it better” (Grazie, Giorgio!). Some people thought I was just another immigrant, and that is ok; we have different paths to take.
The power of choice
I then spent a few weeks in Brazil before traveling to Berlin for my last year at Minerva University; I didn’t know these weeks would be the last I would spend with my grandfather. I regret screaming at him, asking why he did not care about his heritage, why he did not try to learn the language, and whatever not; I even gifted him a 500-page book on the Italian diaspora he never actually read beyond page 80 because it was “too boring”. I never read the book either.
This was the last proper conversation I had with him before he, too, turned into a star two months later. My anger was misdirected at my grandfather because I did not feel Italian enough. Blaming him was removing my agency from the narrative. He had to die for me to realize that nothing was his fault.
And as much as I wanted him to care, to move back to Italy or something, in the end, it was my decision to make — my journey.
The more I talk about Italy and learning Italian, the more I realize that I did not have the tip of the iceberg (see below), but I did inherit a lot of Italian “culture” that was deep-rooted in my family. The more I talk about it, the more I catch a glimpse of my mom yearning to learn Italian since, and I quote, “It is a beautiful language.” The more she puts effort into remembering her childhood with her grandparents, teaching me what she had forgotten they had taught her: piano piano, se va lontano, which I repeat to myself as a mantra every day. My heritage is in the small things, and slowly, slowly, I will explore this new identity.
I think my family just needed a spark of motivation to want to reconnect with their roots, and I think I am that spark. It is the very possibility of a choice that empowers me and gives me a sense of identity and self.✨
And to those who will say living a summer in Italy doesn’t make you Italian, yes, I know that. But I don’t want to be Italian, or just Portuguese, or just Brazilian — I want to be much more than just one thing. So give me time; maybe I won’t be 100% made in Italy, but it is one big step for Giovanna and a small step for Italy.
Maybe my ancestors will be annoyed at my blatant disrespect for their sacrifice across the Atlantic, but I am not sure I care (oopsie). They had their lives and I have mine. So I will have fun exploring the world because they gave me the opportunity to be multiple things.
Also, majoring in Social Sciences has taught me that culture and identity are forever changing and evolving — I did not identify as a “Minervan” before joining Minerva University, and here I am in San Francisco after living in 7 countries. So, let me introduce you to — drum roll, please! — the ICEBERG MODEL OF CULTURE!!!
Interestingly enough, most Italians I met during my summer described me as “too American and not really Brazilian”. I am not sure how to feel about this, but in the name of optimism, I decided to take this comment as a compliment. 🤷🏻‍♀
And I am not saying I am not proud to be Brazilian or anything; it is just that I felt incomplete; I wasn’t rooted enough.🌱
I don’t see it as negating any other identities because no identity is more important than the other. I am not just one thing; I am Brazilian, Italian, and Portuguese.
And there are multiple ways of being Brazilian, Portuguese, Italian, Chinese, Vietnamese, Indian, and more because we are not just one thing. I am a daughter as much as a sister, friend, and student, and all these parts work together in a weird combination that creates me. Some people won’t understand it; it is not their journey.
My heritage is part of my DNA, my past, my present, and hopefully, my future. So, for those raised in these places, tell me what you love about them so I can fall in love with them, too.
I have yet to travel to Portugal (perhaps as a graduation gift?), but I admit I spent more time at the Portuguese consulate in San Francisco than the officers would like, asking too many questions. Where can I find Portuguese food in San Francisco? Why are there so many Portuguese people in California?
I just got my Portuguese passport, and while the design might be a bit off, I love how it was designed to be read out as a Portuguese tile. What? Yeah, arrange four Portuguese passports in a square-like position, and you find that the design creates the Portuguese coat of arms!
Brilliant.
As I mentioned earlier, the type of school I attended nudged me to read more English books than Portuguese, an inheritance I still have after graduating from high school. However, reading Portuguese literature made me fall in love with the Portuguese language again and again. It is so well-written and formal! I love it. In fact, the first book I read in 2025 was “Falar Piano e Tocar Francês” by Sophia de Mello Breyner Andresen’s grandson, Martim Sousa Tavares, and in the infinite list of books I have to read lies in second place “Mocidade Portuguesa” by Jorge Calado.
Did you know that Portugal has a list of names permitted to give to your children? At least my name is on that list…
As I write this section, I am listening to my “Tugas falsificadas” playlist with random Portuguese songs I found on Spotify; some of them are edgy as a product of Richie Campbell’s craft, others are cringey and cute by Os Quatro e Meia. The fact that Portugal does not export popular media — like South Korea does with K-pop — makes me excited to change that. People need to know about my favorite pastel de nata! Maybe I will work for the Portuguese government in the future 👀.
In a bit of time, I will learn more about Portugal, too.
Into the Future
Looking back, I think I’m following in my mother’s footsteps, slowly falling in love with diplomacy. I’ve lived in the United States, South Korea, Taiwan, India, Argentina, the United Kingdom, Germany, Brazil, and Italy — it makes sense. I’ve navigated cultures, languages, and identities, always searching for a sense of belonging, and perhaps diplomacy is the ultimate way to bridge those worlds.
Surprise!
With a love for diplomacy and a life spent bridging cultures, I’m thrilled to announce that I will be part of the Italian Y7 delegation to the Commission on the Status of Women (CSW) in New York this March.
Because in the end, identity isn’t just inherited — it’s something we cultivate.
It is with curiosity, love, and dedication that one chooses to become rooted.🪴
Warmly,
Giovanna (Zuriato) Basso Dias
