My loves,
It’s Saturday morning. It’s almost 10 AM. And I finally slept for 8 hours straight last night. You know what I realized? In Rome, I never sleep. Properly, at least. I can count how many times on my hands in the past 2-3 years that I fell asleep like a normal person before midnight in that city. I don’t know if it’s the over-stimulation, the perpetual beautiful chaos, or the fact that it just does something to me.
Rome is a feeling. A friend messaged me last night. I agreed with her. And Rome has to love you, for you to love it back. I agreed with her again.
This week, I arrived in Milan. For how long? As long as the universe needs me to be. That’s what I tell myself. And sometimes, that’s easier said than actually done.
-
A few years ago, I wrote about how I had to say goodbye to my childhood home. Actually, let me tell you the entirety of this story.
It was May of 2022, the second month of my official move to Rome. I had been staying at a friend’s place while she was travelling, a temporary stay to help me get settled while I looked for a place of my own.
I had already hooked up with PN once, and I was hellbent on getting over him. Hellbent on getting over him before I even admitted to myself that I was falling for him. Hellbent on moving to a new apartment. Hellbent on pushing forward, beginning this new life, beginning this new chapter.
No more feelings with complicated men, I told myself.
He had messaged again to come over one Thursday afternoon, and I, thankfully, had booked an apartment visit in an area of Rome that I wasn’t completely fond of.
A bit rowdy, but I thought I could grow into it. “I can’t. I’m seeing an apartment.” I proudly told him.
I thought I would be rewarded by the universe. “Good for you, Emily. Choosing to see an apartment versus facing your feelings with a complicated man. Good for you.”
Well, the apartment looked like a jail cell. And the look on my face said it all. The realtor looked at me, and said, “Maybe this one is just not for you.”
I should have just hooked up with PN. Was the first thought that crossed my mind.
Panic started to creep in, as it was almost two more weeks before my friend was coming back and needed her apartment.
Still hellbent on moving forward, I decided to go on Bumble. Aperitivo with a new, uncomplicated man. He was someone who worked in finance, and painted on the side. See universe? I’m trying here!
I spent that day walking around, thinking about what outfit I should wear to my date that night.
“How was the apartment?”A text from PN reads.
Ugh. I hate that I’m happy he followed up.
“Looked like a jail cell.”
“You’ll find a place. Want to get together next week instead?”
I don’t reply, as I’m trying to picture potential outfit ideas for the Roman finance/art bro that I am trying to distract myself with.
A Bumble notification goes off.
“I’m working late tonight. I don’t think I’ll be able to make aperitivo. Sorry!”
All of the sudden, mud splashes on me.
Are you kidding me. Universe, I’m trying here.
-
When I left home in April of 2022, I swore to myself that I wasn’t going to return. I left angry, and I thought it would be easier to leave mad. I wouldn’t miss it as much. I could fill myself of negative thoughts when I felt those feelings of longing come in. But remember what it did to you?
My sister informed me that my dad put the house up for sale after I left. This didn’t come as a complete shock, as we had discussed it.
But I hadn’t planned on a permanent goodbye.
-
“I can’t find a place to live. I got stood up for a date. The apartment I saw looked like a jail cell. Mud splashed all over me.” I’m Facetiming a friend back home.
“Emily. Do not spend your Friday night in Rome on a couch spiraling. Why don’t you pay a visit to your new friend at the bar? Take a walk around that area, see if you like it.”
I roll my eyes. “I will not move into that area.” It was everything I was trying to avoid. Feelings. Complicated ones.
But, my friend had a point. What good was spiraling going to do?
“Busy tonight?” I message him.
“Come swing by.”
-
"I need a drink. Or like, maybe five.”
I’m wearing a wine coloured silk maxi dress and white sandals. My casual clothes were in the wash, so. An overdressed Friday night is what we get.
He starts to laugh. “Ok. What happened?”
“The apartment was terrible. I have no other leads. I need to be out of my friend’s place in two weeks. And the publication I’m writing for told me my piece was too emotional.”
“You’ll find something. Trust me. I’ll ask around, too.”
He places a drink in front of me. It’s red. Hibiscus, lemon, and I can’t remember the rest.
“How do you know?”
He smiles. My heart skips a beat. Ugh.
“Trust me, Emily. I just know.”
“You know I got stood up for a date tonight, too.”
I don’t know why I decide to tell him. Actually, I do know why. I was trying desperately to prove to myself that I didn’t like him. And that whatever was happening between us was super casual, and didn’t mean anything.
His tone changes.
“Asshole. Where did you meet him?”
“Online.”
He shakes his head. But a smirk crosses his face.
“Call me old-fashioned, but I could just never understood how you could meet someone if it wasn’t like this.” He motions to me and him with his hand.
And an annoyance to myself, I I find myself blushing.
I show him the article to change the conversation.
Behind the bar, he stands with my phone in his hands, reading. It’s a Friday night. People weave in and around me at the bar. Two groups of men stand beside me, asking for shots. Bartenders are making as many drinks as they can possibly pour out.
But amongst all of it. The Friday Night Frenzy. It feels like it’s just me and him.
“It’s a great article. I don’t need to tell you that, you already know. Tell them to go fuck themselves.” He hands me back my phone. “You’re too smart for them, anyway.”
I smile.
All of the sudden, my phone goes off.
“Hi, Emily. I’m not sure if you’re still looking for a place - but something just came up in your budget, and in a great area.”
I look at the listing. It’s right around the corner.
-
I had a few weeks in between my new lease starting, and my old lease at my friend’s place ending. My best friend was getting married, my childhood home sold, and I had a feeling the universe might have wanted me to say a proper goodbye.
So, I flew home. My best friend tells me that her honeymoon, coincidentally starts on the same day my new lease starts, and that she’ll be in Rome for the night.
On her wedding day, I sat on my childhood bed. Goose and Toulouse cuddled beside me. My journal open:
How many times do we get to say goodbye to things? I’ll be honest with you, I have left this home numerous times with 0 intentions of coming back. But for some reason, I always end up coming back again, again, and again. And I think about the process of goodbyes, and maybe I like to draw them out because, sometimes, we think we’re ready when we’re really not.
I feel lucky that I’ve been able to say goodbye numerous times. And I wonder how many times this house has rolled it eyes at me as I walked out the front door, telling myself it would be the last time.
-
“Emily. I don’t know what you’ve been telling yourself. But this. Is. Not. Casual.”
My best friend grabs my arm as we walk to the washroom. It’s the first night of her honeymoon, the first night of my lease starting. And, of course, we’ve paid a visit to the bar.
“The way he looked at you when you walked in.” My best friend, never one for a loss of words, is speechless. “I’ve never seen that look before in my life. It was like…he just saw the love of his life. And then as soon as he noticed his mask came off, he put it back on again.”
“Fuck.”
-
But do we really say goodbye to things that we know will never leave us?
I didn’t mean to cry while writing this. I’ve been holding it together pretty well over the past few weeks, mainly because so many other new things have been happening that it’s just felt like the right time to let go of something old. But there will always be a spot in my heart for this home. And I know it was home to others before it was a home to me, and it will now hold a new young family and the life that they’ll create together.
But I’m secretly hoping that I’ll always be its favourite memory.
-
Last Thursday evening, right after he made me promise him that I’d go to Milan, I fell to my knees on the floor of the bathroom stall. I locked the door. And fell. Those black and white checkered tiles. My head in my hands. Tears pouring out. Pain. It felt like. I felt like I was physically in pain.
I didn’t tell anyone that I fell to my knees in the bathroom. Not even my best friend. Me writing, “I cried in the bathroom” - makes it seems like I shed a few dainty tears and reapplied my Charlotte Tilburry Pillowtalk in Medium.
Nope. It was nothing like that. Nothing.
-
When do we know if we’re ready for a new beginning? We do, and we don’t. New beginnings will always prolong themselves if we’re running away from something.
Especially if that something is love. Especially if that something is grief. Especially if that something is heartache.
But there was something healing about the tears I shed last week. The admittance of pain. The admittance of loss. Those tears were proof that I felt something. That I felt something so big. I didn’t have to lie to myself anymore. I didn’t have to avoid.
Those tears were proof that something was. Like the tears shed as you move out of a childhood home. The final visit to each bedroom. The final visit of each memory.
Thank you for holding me, thank you for growing me. I’d tell those old wooden floors and cream coloured walls.
And thank you for holding me, and thank you for growing me. Maybe I’ll get another chance at telling PN that, one day.
Love this <3