Melody emerged faintly before the sun set across Roman ruins and arches. All was golden.
I sat on a balcony garden, among father and son, as “Fever Dream” played to a setting sun, beyond Rome’s ruin.
Melody crept to the three of us, lulling our eyes onto crumbled arches and aqueducts; the son nestled his head in his father’s lap, and we sat, quietly, as this moment played through.
“Some days, her
shape in the doorway will
speak to me,
a bird’s wing on the window.”
The town was shimmering, as garden leaves brushed along the tugging breeze.
“Che Dolce,” the father later says, after the song’s ended. But for now, we stay quiet, knowing how precious it is to find a moment, perfectly content. And so we sit.
September:
I find myself in a place where I want to connect but don’t have the energy. It’s the last week of my travels, and on the eleventh I’ll be headed home from where it all began: Rome, Italy.
I’m tired, physically and emotionally, and all I want to do is nothing before I start my life at home back up again. Fortunately, there will be a few weeks for me to transition, get my things packed and find a place to live in Portland, before school starts again.
When I left Rome in June, it was after my first camp back with ACLE; I made friends from all over, and I have a place to crash if I ever return. It was the kick-start to my summer, the jumping-off point of an adventure. Then, I left.
The night before leaving, my host family and I had pizza outside for my birthday. We celebrated the two weeks we’d had together, and ate cake by an aqueduct.
Looking back on the summer, it’s strange to think of how different my life will be in the coming weeks, and how that difference has so much chance to change me. I like who I am most when I travel, most when I’m teaching, most of all in Summer. Change is risky.
I got on a train early the next morning, took it to Termini station, then to Vicenza and finally to Thiene station, where I was reunited with amazing people I’d met at a camp last year. That week, I tutored at their camp again and went skydiving. Riding my trains there, I got the chance to think about Rome.
As a tourist, it’s a city that harbors beauty, monuments that shouldn’t be overseen, but if I didn’t know people from Rome, I wouldn’t like to go back. It’s hot, dirty, and I’d rather be in Florence, only a train away; this is not how I feel about Italy, however.
Italy, for me, is a place to go back to. I go there like a bird for the season, and each time I like to think I become a fuller person. Through ACLE, I’ve been given the chance to see Italian culture up close, and more than monuments, that’s what keeps pulling me back: loving, amazing people who want to share their lives with you. I didn’t get that as a tourist.
Writing this, I’m back in Oregon. It’s 4:45am, and on my second morning back, the jet-lag is kicking in. I woke up at 3:00, but I feel amazing. . . .
Leaving Rome, leaving Italy, beginning a new adventure with each, it’s taken a long time to post this, but I feel like it’s the right time to conclude my Rome trilogy.
Late August:
When classes start back up in the Fall, and I have a job, and I’m moved out, and I’m trying to keep up with writing stories and this blog, who will I be then? Will I have finished what I’m currently reading? How much time will I have, and is it sensible to worry right now, as I lay on my bed in my last host family’s house?
Transitioning from comfort to the unknown isn’t easy, but without being present, it may still happen. What’s important is to enjoy the day, lay back and see the sun set.
“I want her
flowers, like
babies want
God’s love.”
The sun dips behind a tree. Everything feels intoxicated, under the tie-die skyline. A final verse plays, and we take it in, so sweet and sad.
As the moment fades, we take one last look at Rome’s horizon, a sacred thing in this rare moment that feels like a painting, and as it’s lasted, it ends.