the flight home

 Bruh. what is it with me and finding the best movies to absolutely completely sob to - I mean heaving, nose dripping, heart aching cries. Literally was shaking in my chair and had to go to the bathroom to let out the sounds (luckily I locked the door this time… i haven’t been the best at that on long haul flights when I’m sleep deprived and sick) ((but honestly god bless this 14 hour layover that allowed me a night in Istanbul with a good sleep and a little foray into the city - transport issues and scary experiences and all. I’ve never felt this good on a flight before))

I finished a movie where a mom rescues an abused little boy who pretends to forget his memories so that he can live in lie that he is hers. Then I started a movie where a mom gets to visit her daughter after dying - but instead of finding her on UCLA campus as a professor where she last knew her daughter to be (and bragged about to all the small village neighbors, as a proud asian mom does), she found her back home, in her old roadside shop where the former professor was cooking up meals for travelers like her mom did up until the day she passed. Oh but trust me it gets even sadder - at the risk of spoiling the entire movie, her mom finds out how much pain the daughter went through after abandoning her at her uncles to be at a better school; the daughter soon finds out the pain of separation for her mother in order to create a better life for her: one where she would never have to work to serve other. The scenes of the mother attempting to care for her daughter while she pushes her away out of frustration and hurt feels much too close to home to be comfortable. In Bok-Ja, I see my mom, working away three jobs yet still making time to pick us up, attend all our concerts and meets, who saves away every penny and never splurges on herself. The mother who’s painful past I still don’t know the most of, who only cracks out of fear for us.

In the end, the mom decides to lose all her memories of her daughter in the afterlife just to be able to appear to her in a dream and forgive her for running away - so that she herself can forgive herself and move on. And that’s what mothers do, isn’t it? Giving up their lives for the sake of their children’s happiness. That’s something I’ve been thinking about a lot this past month. I find myself considering motherhood for a moment, then reminding myself of all the fears that I’ve built up to convince myself I don’t want it. I dream of holding a child, imagining me as a little kid, and giving her the world. But then i see what the world is coming to and stop myself. And then again, I see children all over, toddling, babbling, making silly jokes and throwing little tantrums but all so so loveable and so much to see. And i promise myself that I will make the world something worth seeing for them, that i will protect this earth so that they can keep experiencing it with wonder and hope. I guess that’s what children are eh? Not so much a selfish desire, but a manifestation of hope for the future. If only we can shape the world to make it just and safe for them.

This reminds me of a grandma I met on the 6th floor of an old apartment building in Rome - my family and I were just leaving, and as the elevator was broken, we passed by each other in a rare occasion. She had grown up in the states and moved back to Italy for the walkability and community (I don’t blame you at all), and adorably recounted her times in San Fran and Woodstock and living literally next door to the greats of the 70s. And then she sombered, and apologized to me for not creating the future that they had fought so hard for, with their protests and sit-ins and pushes for women’s rights. There was much remorse on her naivete and lack of change. But I gently disagreed - they led the way for us, and we were continuing the fight. The tides of change don’t come quickly, and nothing is accomplished in just a lifetime. But bit by bit we will continue resisting - Rome wasn’t built in a day, nor was the collapse.

Speaking of, there’s a lot of thoughts I’ve been having about the American empire. Namely that we are in fucking shambles, and that I was very privileged to be able to avoid the news while I escaped to Italy, but i don’t dream of leaving anymore. In my adolescence, I dreamt of living in Nepal and reconnecting with my roots: during the first Tr*mp presidency, I dreamt of reclaiming my Canadian passport and returning to my birthplace. Even this month in Italy was, in all honesty, a subconscious desire to run away from my problems here with work, with the country, with my fears of abandonment. I had hoped this time would be revelationary, that I could find spaces to call my own abroad and feel accepted doing it. It was not to be. Much like my month in Nepal, I felt lost, lonely, and alien. Even worse than Nepal, where I at least have the privilege of the language and looks to fit in, in Italy I stuck out like a sore thumb: broken Italian, Asian features (can you believe someone messaged me that as a way to flirt LMFAO), and an obvious tourist. I felt at home with Gretel at my homestay, with Fede and her family, but outside of those communities, I was just another lost soul trying to fit in. And yes, I know, 3 weeks is hardly enough to build a footing and get a sense for somewhere, but I couldn’t stop thinking about the people I had left in Colorado, Michigan, New York, Connecticut - in North America. Even that little time was too long to be away, unmoored without reliable SIM compatibility or wifi to even substitute with virtual connections. I’m sick of running away and trying to find myself in other worlds. Why can’t i just stay home and build that myself?

That brings me back to my final movie - In the Heights. I’ve been meaning to see it for YEARS but as my best friends know, I suck at watching things all the way through (sorry about Bridgerton loves…) to those who don’t know like me, the movie is about a late-twenties bodega owner with a dream to return to the Dominican Republic, where his parents immigrated from and where he grew up going to his dad’s beach bar before they bought a bodega in the Bronx. I haven’t quite finished it yet (got distracted by a little baby playing peekaboo with the basketball player in the seat in front of me and was overwhelmed by the emotions i felt (joy being the primary one) and had to type this out) but it’s reaching the climax where he’s helping his community in the middle of a blackout, and you can see him start to reconsider his dreams. I am, or was, at the same junction, and now I’ve realized I can’t see myself living in another country unless I’m forced to. America, Turtle Island, Abya Yala, or all the other names it has been known as, flaws and scars and horrible underbelly and all, is where I’ve grown up and it’s where I want to contribute to its growth. After all, the country is just a child in comparison to so many others, and I wanna help it grow into one that I would be proud of. Can’t really parent from across the world.

what we lost in covid

 On the train to Verona right now, eagerly awaiting the Palazzo Musei where one of the original block prints of Hokusai’s Great Wave is on display in italy of all places - the very same artwork that bahini once saw at a friend’s house and asked if they had painted it and I called her uncultured swine - I apologize belatedly again for that insult bahini that was unnecessary. But it is still one of the most recognizable and one of my favorite prints, and I look forward to seeing it in real life and hopefully getting a copy of it.

I write this after my first stay in a hostel, after an evening on my own in the city of Bologna, after making the cardinal mistake of responding ciao to a random stranger heckling me in the night but pretty quickly also firmly saying that I’m crossing the street and going alone (after which thank god he didn’t follow), a solo dinner where I enjoyed the best pasta I’ve ever had and a huge piece of tiramisu (which I saved for breakfast the next morning), and walked home the 40 minutes back, traversing the train tracks and navigating in the dark, all the while talking to myself to ward off any more weirdos and feeling, honestly, quite drunk off the lack of sleep and excitement at the successful solo venture. No drinks were had that night, since I wanted to keep my wits about me just in case, but I still felt silly, as i always do when I’m alone.

But back to the title. I met/noticed a lot of solo female travellers, much like me, which made me feel much less alone and much more bolstered in confidence, but they also seemed younger while also more sure of themselves. Maybe they were locals, maybe they were more seasoned (this being my first solo trip outside of Nepal), but I also wonder if there’s a factor of the loss of the covid years for me. I was 20-21 when covid especially hit the US, in my junior year of college and right before my 21st birthday, where I planned to finally go hit the clubs downtown. Instead, I toasted with a small glass of red wine with my parents on the day. It was also the years of my planned solo travels - Ghana, Nepal, Italy, Japan, to name just the few I had already promised to friends. Because my teenage rebellion years hit a little late (end of high school was hell), my coming of age and entering into adulthood also hit late, and with covid, I missed my self-discovery moments. Moments like these on the train, where I see a young woman struggling to charge her phone through the on-train outlets, and offering her my battery pack. Moments like when I saw a young man abruptly change direction as he realized he went the wrong way - a classic about-face with a little shake of the head, as if simultaneously reprimanding and reorienting himself. Moments in my own journey, where I’ve dealt with loneliness, fear, slight panics, and overall lots of uncomfortability (Fede’s dad’s favorite (jk not) word in English). That’s why even as I am days away from turning 26 (twenty-six!!! Squarely ending my mid-twenties soon!), I still see myself as 24, and sometimes in moments of extreme loss of direction, as young as 22. Covid stole so much from us, but for me, it was mainly that opportunity for growth in such formative years. I feel as if I’m just catching up now, and while I’m glad that I get this opportunity, so so grateful for my parents for building me up to be independent with this sense of curiosity, and to have the privilege and funds to explore like this, between jobs, I feel so behind. Do you think I’ll ever catch up? Or maybe realize finally, that I’m not on any timeline. It’s ok to be figuring this out now. We all are.

Ok this isn’t for the blog I’m just gonna be typing because I like typing and the train is late and I’m getting a little agitated and I’m thirsty but also gassy and I don’t know what to do so I’m just gonna type and get out all my micro frustrations I just dont want to be late to the museum tonight and I won’t be able to see it tomorrow morning so I’m just really. Really hoping to be able to see it and have another lovely night walking around verona and having some cheesy ass romance moment at Giuliettas courtyard and look cute and pretty while doing it but also I don’t have time to change once I get to the hotel because i’ll probably get there close to 4:30 and with check in and stuff I’ll be in the room 4:45 and the last ticket to the museum is 5:10 AHHHHHHH i’m officially stressing now ah goodness ok this might be the most frustrating thing about trains is the lack of control over the schedule and stops with cars there’s a lot more independence which is really interesting because you kind of need that in the US there’s not enough populated places located close enough to make a train between them worth it really, without making a bunch of microstops but it would be so nice if we could have a train service that 

Oh my god I think the train just stopped and we’re not gonna get outta here until ok oh ok it’s moving again we gucci but i just. Really. Wanna see this block print. But hey. If it doesn’t happen. It’s ok. You don’t have limited opportunities. They have other block prints showcased in various places around the world, including most recently Chicago!!! So you’ll see it. Don’t worry babes.

I decided to include it anyway to showcase my stream of consciousness typing please enjoy I know I sure will later on even with the requisite embarrassment.

update: I saw the Great Wave of Kanagawa and it was so worth it

when in rome...

 you eat two gelatos a day. As my lovely friend told me when I first told her "wow! I have no troubles with the dairy here!": I didn't know you were in Egypt because you're living in de-Nile. And here we are, two days later, and I have such bad lactose intolerance gas - I'm so sorry Fede

Apparently you also start drinking a lot of coffee. Yet another intestinal mistake, but alas here I am with a morning espresso, an afternoon caffè, and an evening caffè d'orzo (uncaffeinated barley coffee, surprisingly tastes very much like a espresso, perfect for my caffeine sensitive melatonin cycle). By the end of the week, Fede promises that i'll be drinking espresso every meal - no sugar, no milk, like a true Italian.

Rome has been perfect. Paradise by Coldplay comes to mind when thinking of my past three days in this wondrous city, filled with so much love and light and history and beauty. Arriving to the Termini, I reunited with Fede after 2 years, and 10 years since I first met her in Michigan and promised her that I would come to visit her in Italy soon.

Next promise: Visit Fede again

It was magical, seeing her again and knowing that this time, we'd have a week together of exploration, family time, and catching up. To start our trip off, we walked almost an hour to our Airbnb after discovering that due to the Run Rome Marathon (30 year anniversary!) there was no public transportation running (rip). More great training for ABC though!

After freshening up, we set out to the city again. Our home for the next two days was in Trastevere, across the river from central Roma, but still a bustling and adorable neighborhood with pizza restaurants, cafes, and bars every other store. I got to have my first Italian pizza and it. was. heavenly. God bless pizza. (Should I say that? Is that blasphemous? I've visited many a beautiful church this past week and let me just say that Catholicism goes so f- hard and I would absolutely be a disciple in the right conditions)

With full bellies and excited hearts, we set off the 20 minutes to Piazza Navona, thinking we could walking around there and call it a night - we had both had tiring travels, Fede more so with a 4 am bus to Brussels and another flight to Roma that morning. But once we got there and got some tourista photos and realized the Pantheon was a mere 15 minutes away, we couldn't stay away.

And thank God we didn't.

Turning the corner to the Pantheon in view was a spiritual experience. I had seen online already the juxtaposition of the enormous monument within the bustling city streets of Roma, tourists and citizens mingling alike at restaurants, shops, and homes, but seeing it in real life was just absolutely breathtaking. Ridiculously awe-inspiring and emotional and bittersweet somehow, lost in the enormity of the still-standing former pagan temple now church, with its detailed architecture and solid materials, and as I later learned, incredibly meaningful civil engineering with the number of pillars, size of the dome (which the building was built to the height of perfectly encapsulating a sphere actually), and the oculus at the top to reduce stresses and introduce sunlight, which apparently is angled to perfectly illuminate the doors on April 12th every year, the day that Rome was founded.

This image doesn't even begin to describe my excitement and emotions upon seeing the Pantheon. As a former aspiring architect, and especially having a hyperfixation on columns when learning about styles in school, this made my heart happy.

Tickets had sold out for the night, so with a quick irreverent circle around the perimeter of the temple, we made our way to Fontana di Trevi - just another 10 minute walk away.

And again, I was floored. It was so much bigger, so much grander, so much BLUEer than I had imagined it to be. Alas, it was too crowded to get close, but we had plans to see it the next day anyway so we were satisfied with the first look and promises to return (and throw a coin into it hehe)

A few more churches later, we made our way back home, where we excitedly got ready for our sleepover and promptly passed out by 10 pm.

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The next day, we languorously got up around 8 am, getting ready and stopping for our second espresso (after the first nespresso in the Airbnb) at a sweet little cafe, sitting outside in the sun and basking in the morning light. Fede told me this is what she missed the most when studying abroad in the US; there are no walkable cafes in the US, and people certainly do not just sit and lounge luxuriously like they do in Italy, where it is cultural to visit cafes to just sit and enjoy the caffè - no laptops out anywhere.

Monday was our Vatican City day - a whole other country!! We walked a casual 30 minutes to Castell d'Sant Angelo, crossing thousands year old Roman bridges (that have NO signs of wear or tear, or have collapsed, unlike many modern bridges smh) in the process. From there we walked to Basilica di San Pietro (St. Peter's Basilica), where Pope Francis usually gives his sermons (may he rest well and feel better soon), and stumbled upon a Mass, where many little babies were getting baptized and I cried and learned the phrase, la pace sia con te: may peace be with you.

It was such a sentimental experience, heightened further by my recognition of the Baldachin above the Papal Altar from my high school Honors Humanities class (shoutout Mrs. Bates!! Maybe I should email her). The beautiful bronze canopy, covered in laurel leaves and bees, was the most beautiful part of the incredible basilica, because of the memories and lessons I associated with it :')

I can't wait for my dispo shots of this

From there we walked to the Spanish steps (another 40 minutes, ez), got lunch and GELATO (kinda sorta absolutely the best gelato I've had), then made our way back to the Vatican City for our 4 pm ticket time at the Vatican Museo and Sistine Chapel.

get you someone who looks at you the way I look at gelato - or all food for that matter. Fede says she never sees me as happy as I am with food LOL

The Vatican Museum is HUGE. Holy heck - so many floors and exhibits and incredible incredible paintings and sculptures and carvings and just history. I'm still shooketh at the fact that the room where the School of Athens is painted on the wall is just where the previous Popes casually had their library. Like what can you IMAGINE having the School of Athens as a backdrop for all your books?? I mean, fitting. I got myself a print of it because I love the artwork so much thank you Raphael.

The Sistine Chapel was tremendous too. All that artwork, on every square centimeter of the room, from the floors to the walls to the blessed ceiling with the infamous Creation of Adam by Michelangelo - a room where we weren't supposed to take pictures but Fede and I snuck some - she even got a full video hehe. Enjoy this one with me photobombing though - it's my best friend's favorite.

Fede and I were scheming of ways to be in the chapel when the next pope is confirmed, during the conclave. We came up with becoming nuns, and then had a discussion about why there isn't a female Pope yet - Catholic church catch up with the times! While I'm at it, the Dalai Lama should too. How come there isn't a woman Dalai Lama? Let's get that changed. I volunteer as tribute. Just kidding. I could not. I'm not disciplined enough I tried meditation for two weeks at Vipassana centre in Nepal and just about found myself but as soon as I was back in the real world I got distracted again. checks out really.

It is an important topic that I will absolutely stand on my soapbox about now. The idea that 50/50 representation is fair is admirable, but what about the reality that most everything we see is male-dominated? All the world leaders, be it political, religious, or both, are predominantly male. CEOs, politicians, board members, directors, even farmers tend to skew male, and I think parity isn't enough. I believe there should be a period of female excellence, prominence, of normalcy in women ruling everything, and then things can settle into equal representation. Could you imagine a world run by women? I dream of it. Where life isn't run for equality, but equity. Justice, even. And let's not forget other genders either. We should all get a turn within our lifetimes to experience an upheaval of social norms and be a majority for once. (to the fbi I am absolutely NOT advocating for riots or anarchy or lawlessness... just a little revolution would be fine).

Ok that's enough pontificating. I'll get back to the rest of Rome later! Ciao bella xoxo (oh god I'm turning into my sister)

wwoofing updates!

 Ok to be completely real I don't remember where i left off on my wwoofing journey, just that I've been so exhausted at night that I play my silly little games then fall asleep so deeply that I don't remember turning a full 45 degrees in the bed. Oh and drooling a lot. But based off my pictures, I don't believe I've introduced the homemade pesto and farro pasta to y'all yet and golly am I excited to ramble about it ad nauseum.

For anyone who can't see this image it's (clockwise from the upper left) 1. Umbrian special bread that's made without salt so it's perfect for bruschetta (and yes, I will forevermore be pronouncing it the Italian way brus-ket-ta), fresh buffalo milk mozzarella from the Orvieto market, homemade pesto pasta with basil from the garden, gigli pasta from the farro grown in Gretel's fields, freshly grated parmigiana, a lemon from Gretel's uncle's farm, and toasted sourdough bread that she had made herself a few months prior and frozen for guests. Not picture: the incredibly fresh and bright salad made of arugula, dandelion leaves, romaine lettuce, and jerusalem artichoke with a splash of aforementioned lemon juice and a neighbor's freshly pressed olive oil (so green so delightful). Ugh I'm making myself hungry. I'm really living up the eat in my eat pray love journey. This was one of my favorite meals at the homestay because I could really taste each individual ingredient and the freshness and richness of it, being organic and homegrown and locally made. What a freaking dream. This is the kind of life I will create for myself in 20 years, I promise.

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The next morning was a rainy one, which turned into a downpour afternoon, so Gretel and I stayed inside and mixed paints to refinish the fireplace surface with a new tint - something a little darker and earthier. I loved the joke she made as I used a fine brush to cover the edges of walls: How is your Sistine Chapel going Michelangelo? Little did she know I would see it in just a few days' time hehe. After painting was finished, we reorganized the wood storage shed and I rebundled all the tangled and knotted string that we had used random bits and pieces from to tie together the reeds I had cut and dried the night before. To be honest, I wasn't completely feeling myself this day, and often while working wondering if I was cut out for this much work - nonstop, continuous improvement, barely resting, barely enjoying myself. It was moments like this that gave me some doubt for the future that I wanted to create. Was I built for physical labor? To be continually productive and always thinking of the next thing to do? Or maybe I was just trying to perform and be the best houseguest and wwoofer I could be, and overextending myself in the process to please Gretel and achieve my totally normal to want and possible to achieve hope of being her favorite wwoofer. All I know is that I was pretty sore, pretty moody, and pretty quiet this day, and I hoped tomorrow would bring better days.

And better it absolutely did. It was ridiculously sunny and bright when I woke up, and I was feeling much less sore and much more excited (weather-dependent mood?? Couldn't be me...) The morning began with some cutting of smaller branches and organizing them into bundles in the wood shed, when up rolled Gretel's neighbor (vicino, thanks Duolingo) and his handy-dandy tractor, ready to split the wood that had been awaiting a sunny day. Together, Sandro and I lifted logs upwards of 20 lbs (in which case, I could see his surprise and me biting my tongue from staying "strong woman!! FARM????" to both me and him) ((see the meme that I reference at least once a week here)) onto the splitting platform, where a pedal would drive the hydraulic axe arm down, easily cutting into the wood like butter and splintering it wide open. Who needs a lumberjack when you've got me, Sandro, and this adorable ass farm dog who came tongue wagging tail spinning running after the tractor that Sandro drove up the dirt road?

including a screengrab of the cloud in case the video doesn't work again :")

From there, Gretel and I stacked two hefty columns worth of freshly cut logs. Slaps the tin roof of the wood shed: this bad boy could fuel the fireplace for two months!

feat. the reeds I cut and bundled up hehe 🤭

something I thought a lot about while splitting the wood though was how similar wood is to us. They also bleed (usually a clear, interstitial fluid type of water, probably the wood's xylem and phloem being cut, but in one case there was a wood that literally bled red, right on the edge near the bark just like humans do); they have an inner core that's super fibrous and looks very much like bone periosteum, and are layered in the way skin is, with the outer epidermis (bark), a meatier dermis (the older wood), all the way into the center where the bone marrow is (newly generated wood growing new rings each other). It made me think a lot about pain and death, and if vegans are right after all - everything that we eat that is living is bad. Plants release distress signals just like animals do, and have complex structures and communication patterns just like any other species. who are we to decide what we eat or not?

That's definitely a thought to keep mulling over. For now, I strongly believe in eating what my body needs, which includes vegetables and meats and dairy and not manmade poor substitutes that only partially mimic what nature creates in abundance. I do think there's a responsibility to consume ethically and regeneratively, and only eat what can be replenished and taken humanely, but I'm sorry, I cannot give up good food, especially cultural.

Thoughts of pain in plants and the definition of being aside, I soaked up so much sunlight and sawdust and energy that I felt completely recharged. My body was sweaty and stinky and heavily worked, but I felt good. Like this is what my body was made for, lifting logs and cutting grass and pushing wheelbarrows and laying on a warm stone wall like a lizard post hard work with a fresh orange and bottle full of cold well water. It made me think of a post I saw once saying something along the lines of "come over and do hard physical labor while I sit in the shade watching you appreciatively with a glass of lemonade". it's me, I'm both. I loved that morning.

I also had a little vanity photoshoot in the sun with the pergola in the background and pride and prejudice in my lap but that's all enjoy a few shots here:

i'm at the part where Mr. Collins proposes to Lizzy and 🤢

My friends are right. I. Am. Glowing. I haven't been this happy and this at peace in a long time, and it's showing on my face and my body. I feel better, healthier, and I am excited for the future and life and all the memories and connections that I'm making. I'm back to me again <3

After a delicious lunch of baked potato and artichoke pancake (a must-repeat recipe), I set off on my afternoon task: building my first very own fire, and repainting the fireplace with our newest made paint tint, by adding a bright cadmium yellow watercolor pan, owned by Gretel's late mother who was also an artist (and met her dad teaching an art class!! In Rome!!) I'm happy to report that I succeeded in both :3

my babyyyyy - and another bingo board item checked off ✔

Evening brought a little rainy road trip to Casa Vespina, where Gretel's neighbors mill and process the spelt that she grows into her flour in 25 kg, 5 kg, and 1 kg bags, where I got to meet their chickens, cats, dog, and eat a delicious homemade egg cream courtesy of Marguerite, one of the owners of the agroturismo biologica farm. It's named Vespina after the dog that originally lived there, that ran back home even after the original farmers (and owners) moved away, and was happily adopted by Marguerite and her family. She has since passed away, but Gretel spoke lovingly of her incredible soul, and how well she was loved by her humans and chickens alike.

That led us to my last night at the home, where over a glass of wine and leftover potato pancakes, Gretel and I talked about her life thus far, her journey post divorce and recent break-up, and the self-love that she has cultivated as she took on this farm independently and built a community amongst her neighbors and fellow organic farmers. She told me about her experiences as a WWOOF host and the people that have come through, the crazy stories and the good ones, and memories and connections she's made, and the lifestyle that she's built and certainly inspired in so many, including me.

That day was a beautiful one. One where I felt all my doubts from the day before all melt away, after a few hours of hard work in the sun and a multiple forms of accomplishment, all tied together with meeting neighbors and sharing in beautiful conversation (where I understood maybe every tenth word like ragazzi and padre) and settling into a calm night of reflection. I am built for this kind of life, this world that I've dreamed of, and a few moments (or more) of doubt will not stop me anymore.

That led to my final goodbye to Gretel, Podere Mansete, and Secondo the next morning, but not a forever one. I promised her that I would be back and we exchanged heartfelt hugs and thank yous, and I left for the train, fresh fusili from her farro safely in my backpack. Gretel, if you're reading this, I thank you deeply for everything this week has given me, both emotionally and inspirationally. I'll be back again - and in the meantime, anyone who reads this should go visit her. Give her my love 💕

Learn more about Gretel and Mansete here.

I'll be back to pet you all you want, Secondo! And lounge with you under the pergola on sunny days.

wwoof night and day #1

 ah yes. I finally made it to Orvieto after my arduous train battle (it truly wasn't even that bad I slept for most of it and almost prevented my seatmate from leaving on her stop bc she was too nice to wake me up.

But Poderi Mansete, the place that will be my home for the next 5 days. I couldn't see anything on the long windy drive up, but it felt like Colorado and Nepal roads, with tight turns, steep drops, and nothing but darkness save for the beams of brights cutting through the steady rain. The car hummed as it changed gears - when I first got in the car I thought there was classical music playing but nope, just the car singing up the mountain.

Gretel is a gem. Someone I want to be like growing up, she commented as we turned in for the night that it wasn't our first time meeting, was it. We had met before, somewhere, somehow, in another existence. And I believe it. She is kind and gratuitous, she is curious and affable. She asked me a lot about my life and my relations and I learned of hers. She dries orange peels to burn as kindling in her fireplace, and feeds the local "semi-free" cat who drops by for pets and purrs - he even came to say hi to me! Her home is a haven, for art, for cooking, for storing, for growing, for hosting, for hygge - or maybe there's an Italian word for it! Her neighbor chops her wood for her and is bringing us fresh ricotta cheese tomorrow, made from the milk of his flock of sheep grazing on the best of winter grass. She does yoga and paints and draws and embroiders and hosts other engineers like me apparently, all looking for an escape from our dreary jobs, and I think she mentioned something about being a literary publisher, where she joined someone for a wine tasting and agreed that it was pretty superfluous but that that was the best wine that she had ever had - reminded her of her grandpa's briefcase. We talked about exes and crushes, kids and grandkids, and she encouraged me to invite the guy I have a crush on to the next singles night. All in all, the warmest, coziest evening I could ask for. It was everything I expected yet more than I had hoped for. It's exactly what I want to create for my future.

So I was way too tired to write yesterday... I woke up at 5 am (jetlag) and went to go pee and tried to go back to sleep and was so confused when it was still bright after I turned off the lamp. Was it my phone still? A mysterious glow from somewhere in this room? Ah, sunlight. Coming through my window. I felt like that one orphan who goes to live at her uncle's home in the mountains and sleeps in the hay bales in the loft. Does anyone know what I'm talking about?

call me by your name vibes (is that racist of me)

Spurred by the sun, I went downstairs to start making cha and getting my tasks assigned as my first full day as wwoofer! If I didn't explain wwoofing, it's like workaway where you work for your keep (as I wish it still was normally sigh) but specifically through World Wide Opportunities on Organic Farms. Huh. They coulda capitalized that middle o and made it WWOOOF. My best friend likes to call me a wolfer hehe.

First task of the day: break down all the boxes and take off the tape and stickers so that they could be used for either fireplace or compost. I was pleasantly distract, nay, aided in my task by the lovely Secondo (Italian for second, as he is the second) semi-free cat that roams the land but always drops by morning and night for pets. Look at that BELLY

After that, I was tasked with cutting down all the reeds in the garden, intermittently stopped by squalls throughout the afternoon but if it weren't for Gretel calling me back in I wouldn't have minded. I've missed the rain and the comfort of a simple, satisfying job. Snip snop snip snop.

Eventually though the rain wouldn't let up and I was started to freeze so I retired inside to the roaring fireplace (ugh. I love wood fireplaces) and soon got changed to go to Orvieto the main city while Gretel went to her yoga class (67 and still doing yoga and running a whole ass farm this absolute matriach). I climbed I kid you not at least 500 steps (good Annapurna training) and walked the whole of this incredibly gorgeous walled city.

I was doing my usual meandering without direction when I stumbled into two tourists who asked me for directions...in Italian. Stuttering, I said something along the lines of "scusa, no parlo italiano, io sono turista" and then a quick realization of ah! I have a map (god bless eSIMs) and quickly searching for the Duomo di Orvieto. Pretty quickly the woman then asked if I spoke English, at which point we both realized that we did, then I asked if I could lead their way to the duomo since I wanted to see it too. We asked the usual where are you from questions, where I learned her, her partner, and their two Yorkies were Italian-Brazilian!!! so grew up visiting Italy but speaking mainly Portuguese, and eventually that she went to University of Michigan dental school. what the heck. I'm realizing that the chances of meeting another Wolverine/adjacent are really not low at all, considering I've met one at least once a day since I landed, from Buddhist monks to owners of the cutest golden retriever who loves pets and fetch. But y'all, that church. was. gorgeous

It was also PERFECT weather. Sunny and warm the whole afternoon that I was there, and I ordered myself a cute cornetto and bought a dispo, both times using only the Italian I knew. I love saying quanto costa? I will say though every time I try to speak, all the other snippets of the languages I partially know come flying into my brain instead. Terrible.

After getting back home, I finished my work cutting down the reeds and drying them out in the remaining sunlight for use in the fireplace for the rest of the cold while Gretel made pesto pasta, with pesto from her garden and pasta from the spelt grain she grows over 10 hectares. Ah and don't forget the homemade sourdough bread and the fresh buffalo milk mozzarella! Literally insane the quality of food and freshness. We had an incredibly insightful conversation about childhood attachment styles and lingering trauma and wanting to fill feelings of hopelessness with other people's approval. Which is, of course, impossible, and we talked about the joy of being alone and giving that validation to ourselves, with our inner voices. It's crazy the things that we can connect so deeply about, after only knowing each other for two days if that even. As my little sister in Wisconsin says, quite healing.

It's almost midnight again so I'll beg off for now. Oh! I've also been getting further into Pride and Prejudice (thank you for the book my lovely) and having a lot of fun deciphering all the old English and customs of that era. Watch it start to bleed into my writing a bit - might be good to have a little bit more distinction actually. Tata for now loves. See ya later.

the wild robot 🤖

 I watched the wild robot on the second leg of my journey from turkey to italy (hehehe…….turkey leg 🍗🍗🍗🍗🍗) and i lost it. The first half was pretty meh, and I was honestly contemplating stopping it early because I just wasn’t vibing with the robot (you're still my queen tho Lupita Nyong’o) nor the knockoff zootopia Nick looking ass fox or even the little gosling who was supposed to be cute but was… too cute. Annoyingly so. But as the gosling grew and so did the robot and the fox, the themes of motherhood, growth, and making your journey count hit. By the middle of the movie (I remember specifically because I paused it to blow my nose from the insane amounts of sobbing I was doing), all I could think of was my mother, our journey, and how I’ve always been too scared to be a parent because of this exact loss. Letting someone go and fly on their own is never easy, and I can barely do it with my little sister. How could I do that with someone that I’ve raised on my own and put my entire life into? I understand how my mom felt, just tangentially, when she became an empty nester. Letting your kids fly on their own without flying behind them, picking them up when they fall, watching them and making sure they’re doing the right thing, is so much fucking trust and fear and pain and I don’t blame her for how she reacted. I just hope now that she’s found another purpose than raising us into the adults we’ve become, and I’m not gonna lie, I think we’re some of the best. If you're reading this Mama and Baba, thank you. You made us who we are today.

There’s also something to be said about growing past your programming. From the literal programming in Roz to the recessive genetics in Brightbill, it’s easy to think of ourselves as limited to all that we are - nature and nurture. But isn’t that being human? To go beyond what we're given and accomplish something greater than we are, whether that’s to change ourselves fundamentally or to create something that we ourselves might not live to see but will leave an impact. Everything we do counts, even if it might not be appreciated by others. Even if we might not fit in. It’s a good reminder that being different? Kinda great. Sucks to feel but you gotta love the reluctant hero archetype and remind yourself that you are one.

ALSO Roz uses she/they pronouns confirmed hehehe

Sorry just passed by a hill that looked like Teletubbies in the rain and it was gorgeous and green and so healing. I’ve been on the train to Orvieto for over 4 hours now and was on a train for four more hours before this…because I took the wrong ass train and ended up going to Frankfurt. Ngl I don’t know what I was thinking when I boarded it, all that I knew was it was the right timing and the right train type and destinations both started with F (original changeover was Firenze) so I just took my little macchiato and bagel con salmone (and goat cheese blecgh) over and sat down. I didn’t even question it when I couldn’t find my seat, or when all the instructions on the train were in German. Nor when my little icon on the map starting blinking north instead of southeast. I figured my location was being finicky with the eSIM, especially after the mess of the Ubers last night (4 cancelled, final one couldn’t find my location/start the trip so I had to pay in cash). I don’t know when I realized it, but by the time I did the next stop was Lake Como…50 minutes away. Still. I got to see Lake Como! Very peripherally from behind many construction fences and bags but ah. Better save it for the summer anyway.

Regardless, I am now on the correct train to Orvieto, where Gretel from WWOOF will meet me and take me to her farm! I have no clue what I’m going to be doing there, all I know is that she collects chestnuts and likes to paint at night and that she’s an absolute sweetheart of a grandma. Hmm. I was reading through my posts last night and read the one about collecting older brothers like tamagotchi, I think I do the same with grandparents because I never grew up with mine. Let’s tuck that away for later.

It’s been honestly very stressful but I think I haven’t shown it. Which is good but then I get super tired from holding it all in while I’m in public. I know as soon as I’m safe I’m gonna break down a little and cry and feel better, but I sometimes wish I had the strength to do that with people. I wish I had a partner who could take care of me when I’m being strong and can’t do it anymore. Just a little break, please.

I miss my friends. I miss being able to lean on others and not having to take responsibility all the time. My roommate summed it up really well on our cabin trip when she noted that this was the first trip where none of us had to “mom” the group - we were each very independent and good at taking care of ourselves and others, so no one had to take control. I miss that.

But that’s what this trip is for, eh? Figuring out my limits, what I can do and what I’d rather not. My own eat, pray, love, as my besties would say. I definitely am eating a lot. And praying for myself. As for love? I’m learning to love myself despite my mistakes and aloneness. Honestly I’m really great at entertaining myself when I’m alone and keeping myself happy (if you see my vlogs, you’ll know), even if it might come across as slightly crazy when I yap to myself as I walk down a country road. It’s fine. Everything’s fine. I’m more than fine!

First full day in Italy. Let’s make it happen. Hugs.

musings from the plane

 It’s so easy to get lost in nostalgia. Especially, I think, if you’re a sentimental fool (affectionate) like me who once planned to get tattoos purely in honor of loved ones I had lost, effectively making my arm a graveyard of sorts (I still want to, more abstractly, and have already gotten one for my bun Hue). But it can get dangerous and distracting when all you do is daydream about the past and how things were. Something I’m realizing (unrelated) is that I tend to repeat myself a lot - I always need two adjectives, or better yet, a list, and I end up adding information that just doubles down on what I’m trying to say and not being concise. I just did it again - that last two pieces of the sentence on either side of the “and” conjunction were in essence, the same message. But ah well I’m not here to impress anyone with my writing (even if my sister says it does thank you you’re always my biggest fan) but rather try to write my thoughts out with as little editing as possible. That being said, if there’s a glaring grammar error or spelling mistake please please PLEASE let me know bc that would bother me to no end.

Can any of my interior design and/or design based friends make a better seating layout for planes? It’s fine and all but when the person in front of you leans back and you’re sitting right in front of the bathrooms and can’t lean back yourself the claustrophobia starts to settle in a bit.

Back to nostalgia. I love reading back on my diary entries and posts and seeing how little baby Anu thought and wrote and felt - even as recent as a few months ago because it’s fascinating to see the things that did and didn’t come to fruition, and how my desires might have changed since. Consider barely a year ago, when I was ready to move to California, then New York, and now? Back to the Midwest babyyyy. It’s interesting how fleeting our (or just mine?) fancies are and which ones persist, but waiting around to see what sticks would just make us useless. Even listening to the music I have saved in my Loves playlist - some I immediately skip, yet I must’ve loved it some point. What changed? What keeps the ones that I don’t pass over?

I get lost in the past and refuse to plan the future because of fear that it won’t work out the way I want it to. Planning things, whether it be trips, decorations, or even stickers, stresses me out. I have a fear of commitment. Funny that I would be searching for something so permanent like a house, a lifestyle, a calling when I can’t even choose where to put up my pictures - I’ve never even nailed something into the wall (Command Strips i am your target audience). I’m working on fixing that, with a mission to nail a gallery wall up in my next apartment, no matter how temporary it might be. I can’t wait around forever for something to feel settled in order to make things permanent - it might never be.

But at the same time, I’m prone to fits of whimsy and delusion. Jump on a plane last minute to the other side of the country? Sure! Whip up some bleach and hair dye on a Sunday night? Let’s do it. Pop into a bookstore because it was on the way to an appointment, even if I only had 5 minutes, and buy a book that I definitely wanted to find preowned somewhere else just bc I thought the cashier was cute and anyways I need a book today for my flight at night and I don’t have a fiction book and where am I gonna find a used book and also are they making eye contact or maybe I’m delulu again and I don’t want them to think I’m loitering and walking out without buying anything because for some reason I care about that kinda thing but only with certain people and I’m trying not to for the general populace? If you wanna know, it was Parable of the Sower. To be fair however, a lot of the things I do are dreams I’ve had for a while, and the impetus to act on them just happens at a seemingly random time. Perhaps that just is my way of planning, and my next step is to communicate that and put it out into the world so it doesn’t seem so impulsive. Man. Communication. Yikes.

Contrary to all my job application cover letters, I am NOT great at communication. Sure, I understand why it’s important and I’m learning how my friends and family prefer to be communicated with and trying to live up to that, but sometimes I just wish I could go silent and let people figure things out on their own and not be responsible for communicating my feelings. It’s tough when you don’t have the language for it exactly, and you’re burnt out from too many explanations.

I don’t know if I should fully post this, it feels so raw. But I guess that’s what this blog is for, eh? A diary of sorts, the feelings that come up from being alone and travelling and figuring things out for myself and trying to live in the moment without thinking of the past. If I’m brave, I’ll post this, and hopefully, hopefully, I can look back it at and see how much I’ve changed - or you all can feel comforted in knowing this. But future Anu don’t scroll too far and keep rereading these. Just take them as snapshots of your life in your mid-twenties, and go live where you are right now. Wherever it is, I know you didn’t make it there by mistake. It’s by the feelings you’re having now that spur some kinda action and I know I’m proud of whatever you’ve created now.

Weird to be talking to the future. Huh. I’m so used to diving into my past and reconnecting with my inner self that I forgot that there’s a whole other side to my life that I can look forward to that I don’t know yet. Every time I’ve written to the future it’s always been in the context of oh this is what you’re doing now! This is who you are and what you’ve accomplished and who you are again don’t you remember? Nah, now we moving on. Let’s go do this.