Dolce Vita!
August 8, 2008
I am officially half way done unpacking at my new apartment. I have said good bye to Opera and the corn and rice fields and instead of three balconies, I now have an apartment with a small stone ledge, off the kitchen. My bedroom windows open up to a courtyard facing other families’ apartments with small balconies and large windows they neither screen nor cover with curtains. I have a window into countless lives and right now, they have a window into mine, for I have only one of my shutters closed and I sit on my bed and type, as I look at the lit stain glassed windows across the way.
I am back in Italy. This week, I said goodbye to family and friends and I felt my heart hurt. When I hugged my sister, I debated what would happen if I never let go. I didn’t want to let go. I suppose sometimes hurt is not only good, but necessary. I am glad it isn’t easy to say goodbye to my family and friends and I am also happy that I long for my life in Italy too. I find a weird comfort that I have two lives that are so different, that I sometimes wonder how I feel like I fit seamlessly in both. However, if I really ponder it, I don’t really fit in and I am not truly whole in either place. But, who cares about being whole, instead, I think I want to be happy. Happy, even in the hurt, for I have a family who misses me and who I miss. Who I carry with me everywhere I go. I also have a life in a foreign country that knows how to enjoy life like no other people I have ever encountered.
I came back to Italy with two suitcases, full of a month’s worth of shopping on a strong Euro and a weak dollar. Somehow my black and hot pink trimmed suitcases were actually four pounds underweight. For days, I had wondered if I would be able to get to my new apartment on my own. Navigating the train to Cordona on the Malpensa Express would be interesting. Then, I hoped I could get a taxi the rest the way. Hadn’t Paul picked on me just a short month ago, that I didn’t know where the apartment was? So, I did what I do well, I fretted a bit. I quietly practiced my Italian phrases, looked at my suitcases and thought about how I would ward off the gypsies, who once stole five euros from me at a metro ticket kiosk. I was ridiculous, giving myself pep talks, stating that it was good for me to feel a little nervous. I even made the very important decision to wear flat shoes instead of heels. I would be fine!
But, I wondered what it would feel like Thursday night? Once I had gotten to my apartment, when it was quiet and I was alone. Amy wasn’t coming until Monday and I missed her already.
I landed and I found myself texting Mike asking him if he was in Milano. I had basically given Mike a month off. We had exchanged one email and one gmail chat, where we sang Big River songs in honor of his fishing expedition in Ghana. A month away from him, seemed surprisingly ok, considering how much time I had spent with him this year and how much he makes me feel at home in my own skin. But getting back in the city, I instantly longed for an apertivo with he and Amy. I found him sitting in front of Swame with a Mojito in his hand, smiling at the fact that I had gotten lost trying to meet him. As I listened, I realized how much I had missed my friend, who has slowly turned into family. Two hours passed and soon we were going our separate ways, he to pack for his trip to Eleanora’s parents’ estate in Sicily and I to unpack my black trash bags that were piled high in my new apartment. My heart was full and I was happy to be alone for a bit in a city that felt strangely familiar yet exciting. From my room, I watched the night fall as the windows glowed and one lone star sparkled above the roof top and I fell asleep until morning (or afternoon, for jetlag will sometimes make people sleep until noon).
I am officially half way done unpacking at my new apartment. I have said good bye to Opera and the corn and rice fields and instead of three balconies, I now have an apartment with a small stone ledge, off the kitchen. My bedroom windows open up to a courtyard facing other families’ apartments with small balconies and large windows they neither screen nor cover with curtains. I have a window into countless lives and right now, they have a window into mine, for I have only one of my shutters closed and I sit on my bed and type, as I look at the lit stain glassed windows across the way.
I am back in Italy. This week, I said goodbye to family and friends and I felt my heart hurt. When I hugged my sister, I debated what would happen if I never let go. I didn’t want to let go. I suppose sometimes hurt is not only good, but necessary. I am glad it isn’t easy to say goodbye to my family and friends and I am also happy that I long for my life in Italy too. I find a weird comfort that I have two lives that are so different, that I sometimes wonder how I feel like I fit seamlessly in both. However, if I really ponder it, I don’t really fit in and I am not truly whole in either place. But, who cares about being whole, instead, I think I want to be happy. Happy, even in the hurt, for I have a family who misses me and who I miss. Who I carry with me everywhere I go. I also have a life in a foreign country that knows how to enjoy life like no other people I have ever encountered.
I came back to Italy with two suitcases, full of a month’s worth of shopping on a strong Euro and a weak dollar. Somehow my black and hot pink trimmed suitcases were actually four pounds underweight. For days, I had wondered if I would be able to get to my new apartment on my own. Navigating the train to Cordona on the Malpensa Express would be interesting. Then, I hoped I could get a taxi the rest the way. Hadn’t Paul picked on me just a short month ago, that I didn’t know where the apartment was? So, I did what I do well, I fretted a bit. I quietly practiced my Italian phrases, looked at my suitcases and thought about how I would ward off the gypsies, who once stole five euros from me at a metro ticket kiosk. I was ridiculous, giving myself pep talks, stating that it was good for me to feel a little nervous. I even made the very important decision to wear flat shoes instead of heels. I would be fine!
But, I wondered what it would feel like Thursday night? Once I had gotten to my apartment, when it was quiet and I was alone. Amy wasn’t coming until Monday and I missed her already.
I landed and I found myself texting Mike asking him if he was in Milano. I had basically given Mike a month off. We had exchanged one email and one gmail chat, where we sang Big River songs in honor of his fishing expedition in Ghana. A month away from him, seemed surprisingly ok, considering how much time I had spent with him this year and how much he makes me feel at home in my own skin. But getting back in the city, I instantly longed for an apertivo with he and Amy. I found him sitting in front of Swame with a Mojito in his hand, smiling at the fact that I had gotten lost trying to meet him. As I listened, I realized how much I had missed my friend, who has slowly turned into family. Two hours passed and soon we were going our separate ways, he to pack for his trip to Eleanora’s parents’ estate in Sicily and I to unpack my black trash bags that were piled high in my new apartment. My heart was full and I was happy to be alone for a bit in a city that felt strangely familiar yet exciting. From my room, I watched the night fall as the windows glowed and one lone star sparkled above the roof top and I fell asleep until morning (or afternoon, for jetlag will sometimes make people sleep until noon).
Comments