January 8, 2018 in Journal 1

Wooooeeeee… It’s been a while. Over the winter break, my mom and brother came to visit me in Europe. They came to stay with me in London for 3 days. Then, we went to Nice, France and stayed for a day. We took a bus to Genoa, Italy and stayed for a day. Took a regional train to Milan. Stayed for a day. Took a regional train to Venice, where we met up with my cousin and her friend who were also travelling throughout Italy. We celebrated Christmas together. And, like any other Christmas morning, we had traditional Jewish bagels with cream cheese and lox. We stayed in Venice for 3 days. We took a regional train to Florence and stayed for a day. We, then, took a regional train to Rome and, while my mom and brother stayed for 2 days, I stayed for 3. There was something amazing about all the places we went. I don’t know which was my favorite. With my family coming to visit me in London– a place I’d called home for the last few months– I tried to anxiously cover all the anxiety and depression I have come to associate with the cursed city. I had finally seen some old things and seen new things once more, and vice versa. Nice was nice, but it kind of felt like a boujie Boca Raton filled with old people with nothing to do at 2pm on a weekday– less crocs, more smoking.
Genoa was chill. It was beautiful and very much how I imagined Italy to be. A great introduction! Perhaps, the best pizza was had in Genoa as well. However, it was somewhat ruined by my mom and brother’s pursuit to get me drunk. [I don’t drink very much and I don’t like to.] So, Genoa was, also, where I had my first-ever black-out. I suppose I’m grateful for it though since my mom mentioned something about vomit and choking, which I’m glad I don’t need to remember. This Long Island iced tea-induced “thrill ride” certainly had it’s consequences the next day as we made our way to Milan.
Milan was nice, as well. I slept in the hotel for most of the day because I was surprisingly hungover. But, I left to go to dinner with my mom and brother in the evening and, later, went off on my own to explore Milan’s historic structures. I always enjoy the time when I find myself wandering alone, without anyone to say anything offensive or bitch about wanting to stop for a beer or cry about walking too much.
Venice was, perhaps, the place most to remember though. While I was surrounded by insufferable family, Venice maintained its beauty. It was just like an ethereal artist’s rendering of Venice. The mist was thin and the sun shone on the Grand Canal. Christmas was had in one of the most beautiful cities in the world. Again, I walked the streets alone, late at night, and found that Venice– like any other city– is one with a resident population, who hang their laundry out to dry from one building to the other like a scene out of Aladdin. I felt both like an intruder in their living space and one integrated in it, like an extra on the set of Bicycle Thieves.
Florence was a short-lived expedition, so I don’t know if it was truly as small a city as it seemed or if it seemed small only because I had not the time to find out how big it really was. My mom and brother are not museum patrons, so we spent the time in pubs more so than we did in museums. In fact, I don’t think we stepped foot into one museum the entire time we were in Italy. Florence was homely, though. It rained while we were there, but orange and yellow buildings and cyprus trees stood out to me, regardless. I could only imagine a summer in Florence– home to engender a plethora of creativity in a Renaissance man, like me.
Rome was the last leg of the journey, and, by that time, I think everyone had kind of given up (in a good way). I was sick of fighting my mom and brother’s protestations to walking and desire to drink, and my mom and brother seemingly got tired of making my life miserable with their offensive remarks and put-downs. Is it “okay because it’s family” if your family is not okay with it? Is it a character-reviving remark to say, “You know I would never say this in front of anyone else, but you’re family, so [insert offensive garbage here].”?
Anyways, once they left, I had Rome to myself for a day and I walked until even I was tired of walking. I took a metro to the Spanish Steps and saw all of Rome from the top. Then, I walked to the Pantheon, which hit me like a ton of bricks with its glorious beauty and the amazing history encompassing each stone of its foundation. From there, I walked to Piazza Navona and across Ponte Umberto to Castel Sant’ Angelo. I walked back across Ponte Sant’ Angelo, along the riverside and through a residential part of town as the sun began to set. I walked to the market at Campo dei Fiori and had perhaps the most delicious meal to be had in Italy at a small restaurant called Osteria da Fortunata, which served the most delicious gnocchi with pomodoro sauce and buffalo mozzarella. And, as I was making my way back to the hotel, I stumbled upon what I guess was the city-center (Piazza Venezia?). A massive white structure towered over a piazza below and stood adjacent to an entire lot of Roman ruins. I marveled at the ruins for minutes, perhaps hours, until I finally felt a calm happiness wash over me and felt ready to go back to my hotel, ending my trip to Italy and ending the year of 2017.
Italy was lovely. Truly beautiful. If you like to explore beautiful places of historical significance and eat amazing food, go to Italy.
But, since this is my journal, I’m going to be a bit of an egoist in this moment, because, while I thought Italy was absolutely beautiful, the trip made me feel ultimately unfulfilled. I just don’t know how to accept that kind of beauty into my life. I do not know where I fit in. I hate that my personal anxiety had to hamper this once-in-a-lifetime trip for me, and I just want it to end. The entire year of 2017 was absolutely ruined by the pain that anxiety and depression constantly rendered upon my heart and I just want to get back to something that I enjoy and that gives me purpose. Music? Neuroscience? Filmmaking? Writing?
I want this year to be the year of doing, instead of another year of hoping– hoping for relief and mercy. I am going to make my own mercy and grant upon myself relief. I will wash my lackluster brow with the waters of the new year and become a person fulfilled and made happy by achievement.
Happy New Year, Danie.

Last updated January 08, 2018