When you are born in Rome, you don’t care. You rarely stop and look around to see the city of the Roman Emperors, of Caesar of Michelangelo… You see the ancient, the dirt, the dog poops on the street and the crazy drivers yelling at one another enraged.
Nothing like the Rome I see.
I have had the privilege to have met my city several times in all the years I have been separated from it.
And every time, I see it under a different hat with a outsider eye and and insider heart.
Rome is not only its unbelievable sunsets and its food. Rome is a city that speaks of its past from every corner and every street. Nothing changes is Rome and the layers of this past juxtapose one over the another until you can’t see clearly where the beginning is.
I love knowing that I come from this culture overloading. I smile every time I take for granted that the price to pay for such culture is inefficiency, traffic and lots and lots of annoying tourists everywhere.
I am quite happy to say that, despite my life took me to the far away Americas at 19, for the next two months I will be living in my Rome. And I intent, as it has never happened before, to explore every corner of every stone I can possibly fit my fat and broken knee and my twin crutches into.
I must return to New York with the best understanding of why and if I should continue living away from all this. I think the ongoing love affair I have had with my Rome will never end, but I need to know if there is some love back to hold on too…