a place called home
"do all of the things that i wasn’t able to do."
Good morning my angels,
I haven’t started a newsletter like that in a while. In fact, I’m doing something a little bit different today.
There’s no story today, other than just a Sunday catch up. The boys at the bar won’t make an appearance today. Only my espresso and apricot jam filled cornetto (my go-to).
Our First Muse visited me in my dreams again. It was another dream of us embracing for a really, really, really long time. I have no idea what this means.
Home. How many times can I talk about it? How many times can I talk about what it feels like?
I have this recurring vision of me going to Past Newsletters (ok, I said they wouldn’t make an appearance but here he is) and I’d ask him if he thinks I should fight to stay in Rome in the fall, or leave.
If I leave, would I come back? What if I hate where I end up? Would I be stuck there? Where is home? Does it always have to change? Why can’t it ever stay the same?
I’ve lived in 8 different places over the past two years. 3 houses in Toronto. 4 apartments in Rome. 1 house in Australia.
It’s me and it’s my 3 big suitcases. Full of short silk dresses. Oversized coats and boyfriend blazers. Cowboy boots and sandals and straw bags. Scarves.
But, it’s me and my memories.
-
It’s me and Toronto’s winter sun. It shines on my white Anthropologie blanket. The radiators make noises against the dark, wooden floors. Goose and Toulouse are snuggled up between my legs. There’s a giant mug of coffee from a pot that my dad brewed beside me.
“Just press the button” his handwriting reads on a sticky note, pasted on the coffee machine.
My neighbourhood. My old Toronto neighbourhood. The tall trees and the even taller houses. Greeted with a hug from my friends at the hair salon. I laugh at the ever changing staff at the cafe, where I treat myself to a chai latte every once in a while. The nonna, a staple in the neighbourhood, is a fixture while she stirs sauce in the window for her award-winning lasanga.
“We worked hard to get here.” My mom would say.
Two different groups of best friends host me in their AirBnBs when I come back to visit. The dark wooden floors in their 3-story homes are a source of comfort. A black labrador immediately becomes my best friend and my work companion. I stare out the window, and look at the way the sun shines on the Toronto snow.
“I made extra food. Help yourself for lunch or dinner.” A message from one of the hosts-now-turned-friend reads.
I eat berries from the market. Me and the man from the smoothie place swap stories about our Italian adventures.
“Take me back with you” he’ll say. I laugh.
“Dinner’s at 7:45 tomorrow. Old stomping grounds.” A friend texts me. “Did you get your brows done yet? Send me a picture after.”
My best friend and I link arms and walk around our favourite neighbourhood.
“Let’s stop for an afternoon coffee.” Coffee turns into dinner with wine pairings.
“I love us.” I tell her.
“Hey. Want to visit mom?” A text from my dad reads.
He picks me up and I stare out the window in the passenger’s seat.
3 roses lay by my feet. We place them below the marble plaque.
“I love you.” My fingers trace the lettering. Rosina.
-
“Emilia! Comè stai?”
My arms are filled with buffalo mozarella, salami, fresh bread, and a bottle of Pinot from my favourite Cheese Guy down the street. He makes me espresso with a little bit of honey. We use Google Translate to talk.
“I’ve always had this vision of me writing by the sea for a month. But I think I want to find a more permanent place in Rome.”
I fill up two glasses of wine and hand one to Past Newsletters. It’s the spring of last year. We sit side by side.
“I get it. You want to feel settled. You want to lay down roots, a foundation.”
“Exactly.”
-
In Australia, I desperately search for signs. I walk the same neighbourhoods and walk the same streets. I browse the same bookstore. I take pictures of the bright coloured summer outfits. I drink coffee in the sun.
“Love knows no distance.” Someone has scribbled on a chalkboard outside.
I start to cry.
“I come back Tuesday.” I text my friend in Rome.
“Perfect. Aperitivo at you-know-where on Thursday? Then dinner at 8 next door?”
“I love it. I love us.”
“Don’t cause too much trouble.” My roommate gives me a hug and helps me zip up my suitcase before I leave.
I tilt my head and look at him.
He starts to laugh. “Or do.”
Go. Do all of the things that I wasn’t able to do. A sentence in a book I just opened reads.
-
“A lot of people don’t have the courage to do what you did. To realize that they had choices. To leave.” Our First Muse tells me a few months back.
“I just didn’t want to settle. That was always my biggest fear.”
“And it’s fear that drives people to settle. But you know what’s even worse?”
“What?” I ask him.
“Having the right person at what you thought was the wrong time. And then having to watch them live their life after.”
-
On a Thursday evening in February, I take myself on a long walk to an apartment viewing.
Furnished. Tall ceilings. It’s not exactly my taste, my style, or my decor, but it’s a good For Now place.
“It’s a 6 month lease. Are you okay with that?” The landlord tells me. It starts on my mom’s birthday.
Without hesitation, I answer “That’s perfect.”
She has something planned. I can feel it.
-
“And then where after the 6 months?”
Leaned up against the white brick wall in March, I have Past Newsletter’s cigarette in hand and his borrowed lighter.
He sits on the curb across from me.
I roll my eyes. “I don’t know.” I hate when he asks me questions that I don’t know the answers to.
“Well, you’re already planning on something else. I can feel it.”
-
Go. Do all of the things that I wasn’t able to do.
“You bring this beauty to Rome. This…energy.”
The lady at the fruit market tells me as she packs up my tomatoes, peppers, and cucumbers.
We blow each other kisses as I wave goodbye. Angels in the form of strangers.
“I’ll see you tomorrow!” I tell her as I walk by the baskets full of fresh berries and open the door to leave.
“Iced latte?” Our friend with the bodycon dress and converse at the bakery mouths to me as I sit down.
I nod. “You’re the best. Did you do something different with your hair? You look amazing.”
“Emily - you know she’s in love, right?” The owner comes over to gossip. I stand up and give him a hug.
“I know, she told me.” We all laugh.
-
“Remember what you wrote about that afternoon?” Past Newsletters asks me.
It’s a busy Saturday night in the heat of last summer.
“Of course I do.”
“Time. The most important thing in the world.” He recites.
“What did you mean by that? About wanting more time? I never asked you.”
“Time to be…myself. My life looks different now. I love it, but it’s just…different. Yesterday was the first day where I could pick up the guitar, and just play. But, Emily? You’re like me, you’re curious about the world. You’ll know when it’s time to settle.”
-
“Looks like the universe is moving you again. You okay?” My spiritual friend asks me.
“You know what’s interesting? I never once hesitated about signing the 6 month lease. To me, it was the perfect amount of time. And I love it here. I really, really do. But I always wanted a space that felt more…beautiful. Big windows. A terrace. Maybe by the sea. Somewhere where I could just write. And feel…more myself.”
“Your soul is whispering to you. It’s leading you towards something beautiful. Listen to it.”
-
Go. Do all of the things that I wasn’t able to do.