Final Destination

Dear Diary,

I imagine running away to Italy with Chenzo, getting lost in the winding streets stepping on shadows of chapels and stores.

Window shopping in Milan. Admiring the architecture and sculptures of Florence. Travelling by gondola in Venice. Sightseeing in Rome. Hiking in the Alps. Maybe not. 

 

I can see it all as if it were just outside my window. I can feel the wetness in the air, it was disgusting. But why?  Anyone would be ecstatic to be amongst the most luxurious material things that money can buy and the most beautiful sights there are to see. Never will understand that when I finally get around things that I think I deserve I always feel uneasy. Maybe deep down I still feel like I don’t belong.

 

 

I had to dig deeper.

Maybe a change of scenery would be better. The coasts of Tuscany would do me some good. Better yet flying to Isola Bella Beach. Down to the shore where I can relax and take it all in. The earth between my toes. The sun warming my body. The sound of the water splashing against the shore. At least I’ll be at peace even if only for a moment. It has to be paradise or a little piece of heaven.

Perspective. 

It’s all about the way you look at the things that surround you. 

I always had to dig deeper . . .

Dear Diary

Once the chores were finished we were able to go outside.  It was hot and miserable but it was still better than being stuck inside all day.  The rain drops started to fall one by one.  First on my arms and then on my face as I looked towards the heavens.  The children splashed around in puddles while I tried to gather them together to head back inside.  I noticed someone walking in the distance that looked kind of familiar. Who was that?  I managed to get the kids together and sent them in while I went to see where they were going.  The rain had stopped by now but this person was either drenched from the rain or sweating from the humidity.

I sat down on a nearby bench where I had full view of the restaurant.  The staff was preparing for the day ahead.  Someone was sweeping while someone else was putting the silverware in place and then there was someone preparing the food in the kitchen.  A gentleman walked in who seemed like he might have been a regular.  Everyone appeared to know him.  He talked to the person I had followed for some time and I could tell that they enjoyed each other’s company.  They eventually came outside for a smoke and some conversation.  I heard the older gentleman say, “What is all around me vis not home.”  He had a thick Italian accent but I was able to understand him clearly.  That phrase sounded all too familiar.

After they were done they said their goodbyes and parted ways.  I decided to follow the Italian gentleman who looked as if he would barely make to his destination.  I felt I needed to make sure he made it to wherever he was going.  About four blocks in our walk, he turned around and caught me in his footsteps.  I froze and couldn’t say a word but instead of dismissing me he introduced himself.  He told me his name was Chenzo and insisted that we walk together.  We arrived outside his building and he invited me in.  Maybe I looked like I was lonely or maybe it was my ragged appearance.  His home was beautiful yet modest.  There in the sitting area was the biggest bookcase I had ever seen.  When he came back with the tea I was looking over each book trying to file them in my mind.  He came over and pulled out The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction written by Walter Benjamin.  I told him that it looked like it would be too much for me but he assured me that I could handle it.  He said that it would be difficult but interesting so I decided to give it a try.  He told me to take as much time as I needed and to come back when I finished and he would be waiting for my return.  I left his home and promised that I would be back. 

 

 

On my walk I noticed that Chenzo’s server was closing up the restaurant.  The reflection from the streetlight hit something in their hand and I noticed the book Chenzo gave away earlier, Nadja.  I wonder what it’s about?  I really hoped that my book would take me away if only for a moment.  I couldn’t wait to get back and write in my journal.  I lifted up my mattress and found it right where I left it.

Dear Diary . . .Day Twenty Seven

“I imagine running away to Italy with Chenzo, getting lost in the winding streets stepping on shadows of chapels and stores.”