For a minute there, I started to worry about my weight. I felt like I was eating ALL THE TIME in England. Taking seconds at each meal, and still getting hungry between. If we aren't close enough for you to see why that's weird, let me put it this way...at home, I had such a hard time eating (I would get nauseous after a few bites, or get nearly crippling stomach aches) that my family would joke that no matter how much I was served, I would only eat half, and that if they put one grain of rice on my plate, I was likely to cut it in half and say I was full.
So suffice to say...I never ate much.
At first I was elated by my increase in appetite, thinking it was a good sign of health, but with all things, there must be balance, and I quickly felt gluttonous.
Now I find myself in Italy, three local children chasing me through the park, hurling confetti at me from their tiny fists, and screaming in delight. I pelt them back and dash to safety, laughing myself. Language is not a barrier for play. One little old grandma sits on a bench nearby, a smile on her face as the four of us run circles around each other, with Mia - the daughter of my hosts, and the child I'm working with - orchestrating the whole thing, passing out confetti, and giggling profusely. And I realize, watching her do cartwheels across the grass, that I'll have no problem getting in my cardio and keeping my weight steady if I'm to keep up with this tiny fireball of energy all month. Let's do it.
I have crossed some strange line, coming from England, where I bundled myself so tightly the locals would chuckle as I pealed off my many layers, to Italy, where I seem to be the only one who thinks it feels nice outside. I leave my arms bare to soak up the glorious sun, and the locals stare disbelieving, as they adorn themselves with leather jackets, and wind stylish scarves around their necks in the cool 70° sunshine.
For a few days I attempt to dress more like them, partially for the sake of my hosts so as not to attract too much attention. But I realize the attention will come regardless of my clothes, as we are followed by steady stares, so I abandon the notion of blending in and dress to enjoy the sunshine I've been craving so badly.
It's always the small things that form my opinion of a new place, the things you may not notice if you're focused on a goal or seeing everything. One of these things I appreciate in Italy is that you never pay until you're done eating. If you go to a coffee shop at home, you pay first and then receive your purchase. I guess we aren't trusted to not run away after drinking our coffee. Ha. Here, you take your drinks, your snacks, you enjoy them, and then you go back to the bar. The bar keep recalling exactly what you had without question every time. Seeing faces and remembering people instead of seeing money and remembering nothing.
I say you may not notice, because of course, if you pull out your money upon ordering, they will take it, but this is one of the fastest ways to mark yourself as a newbie ;)
I am into week eight of my trip and it has been the most challenging one so far. The transition into a family dynamic after being on my own for nearly two month is much harder than I imagined it would be. I feel I've come in at the bottom of the totem, beneath the rest of the family. These parents are the age of mine, but their kid is only 7, lending to the feeling that I am seen simultaneously as a child to be instructed, and as the help to be used, but not as "part of the family". The words they have thrown around since before my arrival. I find myself waking resentful in the mornings, a slight air of aggravation and annoyance hanging off me like a stink I can't wash out of my clothes.
The feeling of this household is so far removed from what I have come up with that I find myself unable to relax. They seem to live in paranoia, and as my last two months (and whole life really) have been spent with incredibly trusting and open people, this alone bothers me.
There are keys for the house and keys for the gate, motion sensors, alarm codes to be memorized, the alarms left on while we sleep so that I can't even go downstairs in the night, and to my surprise and discomfort, I glance up while cooking one afternoon to find a big shiny black eye of a lens watching me.
They even have cameras.
I feel judged with every action, their eyes ever present. I awake each morning to find myself locked into the house, the outer gate sealed as well.
Inside myself, knowing of their history and struggles to have a child (details divulged to me late, after a long dinner and a few glasses of wine for my hosts, Alex's eyes welling up as he recalls their journey), I know that these precautions are meant as protective measures, to ensure their safety and the safety of their daughter. I know. But having grown up in the woods, free to run wild with no supervision, living in a house that didn't even HAVE locks on the doors...I feel like a caged animal under constant scrutiny rather than a guarded princess. And this animal is agitated...
Originally I was meant to stay a month here, but I can feel this experience undoing everything I have worked on for two months. Taking me back to a place of dark thoughts. So I spoke to Alex and Maurizia last night.
I didn't tell them how uncomfortable I was, there is no need to shake the tree of their life, they have done nothing wrong. I simply don't click here. I told them I'd be leaving a week early to meet my uncle in Prague. This is true.
And then I felt incredibly guilty when I saw their faces drop. They really like me apparently, as does Mia, and they will be sad to see me go. It's incredible how people can be having such opposite experiences in the same space and time.
Now, don't get me wrong, I like all of them. They are intelligent, active, and positive people. I'm simply not comfortable. And where before, I would have searched for a validating reason to leave, or stuck it out for the sake of avoiding conflict, that's no longer how I wish to live. This trip is all about trusting myself to know what I need, and this is not it.
Messaging my dad about my feelings, he tells me "sorry", but there is no need. Not all experiences can be glowing, shiny examples of perfect worlds. I was bound to have one I didn't like.
I wasn't intending to share these feelings with you all...filling my blog instead with snapshot descriptions of the beach and the town, sun filled and shimmering promises of life overseas...but that's not fair. Life is still life wherever you go, and it's not truthful to promote how green my grass is, when yours is just as nice. So that's it for now, on the gritty, grimy truth of the adventure. Back to the shiny stuff ;)
p.s. I'm still enjoying my time, don't misunderstand! It's all part of the story!
I sit on the beach and read for hours, pausing occasionally to observe the people around me. There is a woman with bleached hair, roots protruding, sitting 30 feet from me taking duck faced selfies. She's covered in tattoos which make me cringe. The art itself is beautiful, but it's dull and meaningless on her skin. Signs and symbols I doubt she understands. Flash sheet tattoos of the "spiritually enlightened". Her body a living Pinterest board.
I meet another Maya, this one from California, living in Fano for 6 months. I have always felt the importance of names...watching her excitedly recite an anecdote I see myself reflected in her mannerisms and know that our stories will run parallel in parts as we share them. The tales of how we became a who.
First we meet for coffee. An hour of easy conversation. Interesting enough topics, but obviously the conversation of strangers. One of those funny things about travel, however, is the necessity to decide quickly who you trust and who you don't, and in our next meeting, the walls are down.
She asks me light, but probing questions, which spiral us into hours of wild tangents, on religion, drugs, enlightenment, magic, family, relationships, the need for solitude, and on and on. We take turns venting, laughing, questioning, relaying, and explaining on all topics possible.
Eventually I'm telling her about the past few years. How it was I came to forget myself. Lose my path. Live for someone else. And then live for nothing. My mom's cancer. My brother's addiction. My sister. My losing myself in grief, confusion, needless stress, and eventually drugs and alcohol. Forgetting who I am.
She listens quietly, the small smile playing on her lips in confusing contrast with the glistening wet forming in her eyes. Eventually my words slow and come to a stop as self-consciousness pokes its head up and I'm wondering why I'm an open book with some people, and a sealed letter with others.
"It's so crazy..." she finally speaks, and I wait for her to gather her thoughts. "You're coming out of the situation I'm going in to."
She tells me about her life...the terrible unhealthy relationship...the spiral into drugs and alcohol...the need to get away...traveling for two years so far, finding herself...getting healthy and clean...and that now, after traveling so long, she's going home because her dad has been diagnosed with cancer, and she's scared of falling back into bad habits and losing herself. She's scared of doing exactly what I did. Eventually this conversation slows, but there's no need to say much after this story, because we seem to understand each other completely, and that doesn't need words.
"Don't worry," I tell her, "you're already better off than me. You're going into this aware that you don't want to lose yourself. I had no idea what I was doing, and that's why I got so lost. You'll do great. Everything will be okay." And I believe that with all my heart. Because in the end it's all okay...and if it's not okay, it's not the end.
Maya introduces me to another American girl from California, Zorea, and together, the three of us venture to Urbino. I can't remember the last time I have laughed so much in one day. These are the first females, the first Americans, and the first kids my age I have spent any extended time with in the last two months, and the connection is immediate.
As soon as we arrive in Urbino the sun disappears and the storm starts, and we're dancing through the streets, laughing and shouting with joy as our clothes become drenched and the faces of Italians watch us suspiciously from the windows they hide in. The streets are empty, everyone hiding from the rain, and we run them wildly. The city is ours, and we are alone in our exploration and excitement, and it's perfect.
The sun returns, and the first door that opens makes us all jump, as if we have forgotten the town is actually inhabited. As the sun returns, so do the people, and suddenly we are in a sea of art and culture, alive and well.
Despite the difficulty I have felt in this stay and this week, when I finally manage to get my mom on a video call on mother's day, she says the same thing my dad has been saying about all my pictures..."You look happy."
This is the main comment I have heard from them both, or some variation... Today my mom said, "You're actually smiling, you look happy. Have you gained weight? You look generally less emaciated than you did when I saw you last." And I laughed, because it's true.
But it's a sad thing to realize what a state of constant unhappiness I must have been in, and how badly I hid it, that the first thing my parents notice and hang on to is that I can smile freely. That this bears the need for comment, as it's out of the norm.
I owe my family an apology. My friends, too. I thought I was there to help, but you can't help anyone to heal when you're sick yourself. I'm sorry I had to step so far back to see the picture. I pray you can all forgive me.
So suffice to say...I never ate much.
At first I was elated by my increase in appetite, thinking it was a good sign of health, but with all things, there must be balance, and I quickly felt gluttonous.
Now I find myself in Italy, three local children chasing me through the park, hurling confetti at me from their tiny fists, and screaming in delight. I pelt them back and dash to safety, laughing myself. Language is not a barrier for play. One little old grandma sits on a bench nearby, a smile on her face as the four of us run circles around each other, with Mia - the daughter of my hosts, and the child I'm working with - orchestrating the whole thing, passing out confetti, and giggling profusely. And I realize, watching her do cartwheels across the grass, that I'll have no problem getting in my cardio and keeping my weight steady if I'm to keep up with this tiny fireball of energy all month. Let's do it.
 |
| Maia and Mia! |
I have crossed some strange line, coming from England, where I bundled myself so tightly the locals would chuckle as I pealed off my many layers, to Italy, where I seem to be the only one who thinks it feels nice outside. I leave my arms bare to soak up the glorious sun, and the locals stare disbelieving, as they adorn themselves with leather jackets, and wind stylish scarves around their necks in the cool 70° sunshine.
For a few days I attempt to dress more like them, partially for the sake of my hosts so as not to attract too much attention. But I realize the attention will come regardless of my clothes, as we are followed by steady stares, so I abandon the notion of blending in and dress to enjoy the sunshine I've been craving so badly.
It's always the small things that form my opinion of a new place, the things you may not notice if you're focused on a goal or seeing everything. One of these things I appreciate in Italy is that you never pay until you're done eating. If you go to a coffee shop at home, you pay first and then receive your purchase. I guess we aren't trusted to not run away after drinking our coffee. Ha. Here, you take your drinks, your snacks, you enjoy them, and then you go back to the bar. The bar keep recalling exactly what you had without question every time. Seeing faces and remembering people instead of seeing money and remembering nothing.
I say you may not notice, because of course, if you pull out your money upon ordering, they will take it, but this is one of the fastest ways to mark yourself as a newbie ;)
I am into week eight of my trip and it has been the most challenging one so far. The transition into a family dynamic after being on my own for nearly two month is much harder than I imagined it would be. I feel I've come in at the bottom of the totem, beneath the rest of the family. These parents are the age of mine, but their kid is only 7, lending to the feeling that I am seen simultaneously as a child to be instructed, and as the help to be used, but not as "part of the family". The words they have thrown around since before my arrival. I find myself waking resentful in the mornings, a slight air of aggravation and annoyance hanging off me like a stink I can't wash out of my clothes.
The feeling of this household is so far removed from what I have come up with that I find myself unable to relax. They seem to live in paranoia, and as my last two months (and whole life really) have been spent with incredibly trusting and open people, this alone bothers me.
There are keys for the house and keys for the gate, motion sensors, alarm codes to be memorized, the alarms left on while we sleep so that I can't even go downstairs in the night, and to my surprise and discomfort, I glance up while cooking one afternoon to find a big shiny black eye of a lens watching me.
They even have cameras.
I feel judged with every action, their eyes ever present. I awake each morning to find myself locked into the house, the outer gate sealed as well.
Inside myself, knowing of their history and struggles to have a child (details divulged to me late, after a long dinner and a few glasses of wine for my hosts, Alex's eyes welling up as he recalls their journey), I know that these precautions are meant as protective measures, to ensure their safety and the safety of their daughter. I know. But having grown up in the woods, free to run wild with no supervision, living in a house that didn't even HAVE locks on the doors...I feel like a caged animal under constant scrutiny rather than a guarded princess. And this animal is agitated...
Originally I was meant to stay a month here, but I can feel this experience undoing everything I have worked on for two months. Taking me back to a place of dark thoughts. So I spoke to Alex and Maurizia last night.
I didn't tell them how uncomfortable I was, there is no need to shake the tree of their life, they have done nothing wrong. I simply don't click here. I told them I'd be leaving a week early to meet my uncle in Prague. This is true.
And then I felt incredibly guilty when I saw their faces drop. They really like me apparently, as does Mia, and they will be sad to see me go. It's incredible how people can be having such opposite experiences in the same space and time.
Now, don't get me wrong, I like all of them. They are intelligent, active, and positive people. I'm simply not comfortable. And where before, I would have searched for a validating reason to leave, or stuck it out for the sake of avoiding conflict, that's no longer how I wish to live. This trip is all about trusting myself to know what I need, and this is not it.
Messaging my dad about my feelings, he tells me "sorry", but there is no need. Not all experiences can be glowing, shiny examples of perfect worlds. I was bound to have one I didn't like.
I wasn't intending to share these feelings with you all...filling my blog instead with snapshot descriptions of the beach and the town, sun filled and shimmering promises of life overseas...but that's not fair. Life is still life wherever you go, and it's not truthful to promote how green my grass is, when yours is just as nice. So that's it for now, on the gritty, grimy truth of the adventure. Back to the shiny stuff ;)
p.s. I'm still enjoying my time, don't misunderstand! It's all part of the story!
I sit on the beach and read for hours, pausing occasionally to observe the people around me. There is a woman with bleached hair, roots protruding, sitting 30 feet from me taking duck faced selfies. She's covered in tattoos which make me cringe. The art itself is beautiful, but it's dull and meaningless on her skin. Signs and symbols I doubt she understands. Flash sheet tattoos of the "spiritually enlightened". Her body a living Pinterest board.
I meet another Maya, this one from California, living in Fano for 6 months. I have always felt the importance of names...watching her excitedly recite an anecdote I see myself reflected in her mannerisms and know that our stories will run parallel in parts as we share them. The tales of how we became a who.
First we meet for coffee. An hour of easy conversation. Interesting enough topics, but obviously the conversation of strangers. One of those funny things about travel, however, is the necessity to decide quickly who you trust and who you don't, and in our next meeting, the walls are down.
She asks me light, but probing questions, which spiral us into hours of wild tangents, on religion, drugs, enlightenment, magic, family, relationships, the need for solitude, and on and on. We take turns venting, laughing, questioning, relaying, and explaining on all topics possible.
Eventually I'm telling her about the past few years. How it was I came to forget myself. Lose my path. Live for someone else. And then live for nothing. My mom's cancer. My brother's addiction. My sister. My losing myself in grief, confusion, needless stress, and eventually drugs and alcohol. Forgetting who I am.
She listens quietly, the small smile playing on her lips in confusing contrast with the glistening wet forming in her eyes. Eventually my words slow and come to a stop as self-consciousness pokes its head up and I'm wondering why I'm an open book with some people, and a sealed letter with others.
"It's so crazy..." she finally speaks, and I wait for her to gather her thoughts. "You're coming out of the situation I'm going in to."
She tells me about her life...the terrible unhealthy relationship...the spiral into drugs and alcohol...the need to get away...traveling for two years so far, finding herself...getting healthy and clean...and that now, after traveling so long, she's going home because her dad has been diagnosed with cancer, and she's scared of falling back into bad habits and losing herself. She's scared of doing exactly what I did. Eventually this conversation slows, but there's no need to say much after this story, because we seem to understand each other completely, and that doesn't need words.
"Don't worry," I tell her, "you're already better off than me. You're going into this aware that you don't want to lose yourself. I had no idea what I was doing, and that's why I got so lost. You'll do great. Everything will be okay." And I believe that with all my heart. Because in the end it's all okay...and if it's not okay, it's not the end.
Maya introduces me to another American girl from California, Zorea, and together, the three of us venture to Urbino. I can't remember the last time I have laughed so much in one day. These are the first females, the first Americans, and the first kids my age I have spent any extended time with in the last two months, and the connection is immediate.
As soon as we arrive in Urbino the sun disappears and the storm starts, and we're dancing through the streets, laughing and shouting with joy as our clothes become drenched and the faces of Italians watch us suspiciously from the windows they hide in. The streets are empty, everyone hiding from the rain, and we run them wildly. The city is ours, and we are alone in our exploration and excitement, and it's perfect.
The sun returns, and the first door that opens makes us all jump, as if we have forgotten the town is actually inhabited. As the sun returns, so do the people, and suddenly we are in a sea of art and culture, alive and well.
 |
| Huge fireplace or tiny girl?! |
Despite the difficulty I have felt in this stay and this week, when I finally manage to get my mom on a video call on mother's day, she says the same thing my dad has been saying about all my pictures..."You look happy."
This is the main comment I have heard from them both, or some variation... Today my mom said, "You're actually smiling, you look happy. Have you gained weight? You look generally less emaciated than you did when I saw you last." And I laughed, because it's true.
But it's a sad thing to realize what a state of constant unhappiness I must have been in, and how badly I hid it, that the first thing my parents notice and hang on to is that I can smile freely. That this bears the need for comment, as it's out of the norm.
I owe my family an apology. My friends, too. I thought I was there to help, but you can't help anyone to heal when you're sick yourself. I'm sorry I had to step so far back to see the picture. I pray you can all forgive me.
"It's not the long walk home that will change this heart...but the welcome I receive with a restart."
You are in no need of forgiveness whatsoever....we all love you deeply...we love your spirit, your kindness, and your tremendous heart....always
ReplyDeleteThe Journey continues...😎
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