When I was nine years old, my big dream, the biggest, dreamiest, dream I could dream, was that one day I would be able to work as a volunteer in an African village. *Normal* I used to watch those commercials that would come on way past my bedtime. The ones with the children, hungry […]
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When the songthaew finally pulled into the village, I eagerly hopped out the back of the truck and threw my backpack over my shoulder, happy to have my feet back on solid, unmoving ground. The driver came around back to collect the small amount of cash I owed him and kindly asked which hostel I […]
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I had spent six days in total silence. Nestled in a hut high up in the mountains and deep in the forest, where the temperature drops more than 25 degrees once the sun goes down, each night I would wrap myself in a small thin, blanket and curl up on a hard, wooden bed. With […]
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Each and every time I garner this undue acknowledgement, I begin to feel oddly like a fraud. Like I should craft some uniform and eloquent riposte to dole out to every person I’ve unintentionally deceived. One that makes it totally clear that I’ve done nothing remarkable. I may have been unafraid, but foolishly so. In fact, I cried four separate times because of momentary lonesomeness or because, like a child, all of my friends were together and I wasn’t there.
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For the last few years, as I’ve wandered across the world, through weeks and in and out of days, finding my independence and self worth in dark, locked boxes that, unbeknownst to me, had always been hidden in strange nooks of my soul waiting to be discovered and set free, I’ve begun to find that… surprise!
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There is no beauty more enrapturing than that of juxtaposition. Opposing forces exchanging unlikely compliments.
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Leaving Florence was always going to be hard. I never had any doubt about that. I had put far too much of myself into that place for it ever be any different.
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After floating through the acclaimed canals in a gondola, indulging in long glasses of prosecco and chocolate dipped treats (like a true tourist,) it's rumored romanticism was confirmed. I could attest to its unmatched, enchanted beauty. And for two and a half years that is exactly how the city lived in my memory. A fairytale moment. A tourist’s dream. I couldn’t imagine being any more enraptured with it than I already was.
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A couple girlfriends and I decided to crash a vespa tour running through Tuscany. In a small bus, we rode out of our beloved city center and into the hills.
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My lack of desire to see Bologna wasn’t based on anything concrete. It wasn’t based on anything at all, really. In actuality it wasn’t so much an aversion to the city as it was a lack of knowledge about it. And as is often the case, what you don’t know about, you don’t take much time to think about.
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