first essay

My city.

The buildings. My home, a big flat built right after the Second World War, its unattractive external appearance that protects the beautiful apartments inside, full of friendly and loveworthy people. My old school, where I spent most of my childhood learning about the world, about our history, about numbers, letters, discipline, frustration, fun, friendship, love. My high school, its small classes with light blue walls that have seen me find my favourite subjects, my passions, my beliefs, my people, myself. The restaurants and bars, drinking caffe seated outside in the sun, sharing aperitivi with my friends every saturday, eating pizza with my dad. My mother’s bookstore. My grandfather’s house. The swimming pool. The tennis court. The Duomo, the gold Madonnina on top of it. The trams. Their yellow exterior. I take them everyday, even though they are never on time.The trees. Big green trees in the park near my house, that offer me some shade when I am feeling hot in the torrid italian summer, during the days when sunbeams are so strong that even the cement starts to melt. Fragile little trees outside of my room window, I can hear their soft voices when they tremble violently during the autumn storms, or when the spring breeze rushes through their leaves.  

The faces. Waving. Speaking. Smiling. Laughing. Crying. I know them, they are my family, they are my friends. I feel at home with them and when they are around me it is so easy to feel happy and safe. The memories I share with my people are and will always be alive in me, bringing me interminable joy and peace. 

Why would I ever leave that? Why would I abandon everything that I have ever known, leaving behind the people that I love, my childhood, my home? 

I am still trying to answer that question. 

Sometimes I think about living away from Milan, away from my country and my culture, and I think I am misguided, that I should not leave Italy. However, in the last few years, a new sensation came over me and will not leave. I feel like I am missing something and I have to look for it. I do not know its name or nature, but it comes with excitement and a little bit of fear. The fear of getting stuck. Stuck in my routine, in my comfort zone.