2. any place of residence or refuge: a heavenly home.
Home. When I think of home I think of my mom, I think of curling up in her bed on sundays when my dad makes us the most delicious eggs and we sit for hours watching our DVR shows together. That to me is the most basic sense on home. My grandmother bringing Havana over to accompany Chico, giving everyone in sight warm hugs and kisses all over our faces. My brother head locking me and laughing hysterically and my little sister trying to pry him off of me. This is home, my home, no one else's impression or description would be the same.
Since coming to Rome my description of home is different. I look toward my home here for inspiration, I think of the Campo market, the vendors, the one Euro case of eggs and my pocka-dot sheets. I think of opening the door/windows and letting the cool air in and allow the warm sun to fall across my face as I lye in bed. I think of long walks in the cold and cappuccinos that warm me to my bones. This is my current home and this is what makes me feel comfortable, feel safe, feel at ease. It funny how you don't understand the importance of these things until your away from them. You can't describe the things that you consider home in Rome until your AWAY from Rome.
Florence was incredible, but florence was far and cold. Far meaning far from home, from Rome. Cold because its northern and cold because you don't know anything. You don't know what street your on when your late for class or which left it was to the vendor that gave you the great deal on scarfs. Its new and new can be great but new gets old. It gets old fast and you can't decide whether you want more new or if you want home. I wanted home.
My mom always tells me I'm the home-body in the family. Wow, was she right. I would much rather sit cozy on a coach with a book or some online TV then go out and explore. But I'm trying, I'm trying to get the most out of this trip without killing myself over it.
When we were in florence things were so different from Rome. The people were much more excited about Americans. But maybe excited is the wrong word, maybe understanding of American's in better. With so may English speakers and even more American universities it makes sense that they are used to "our kind." The vendors at the street shops were pushy, much more then the Roman vendors, they even got mad a few times when I looked at something but decided against it. It was sometimes even uncomfortable to look at something to long as you walked past it.
After a few days of easing (as much as thats possible) into Florence, we made a quick day trip to Prato. Prata is a darker city, smaller, and a bit sad. It was a bit of gloomy day out, granted, but I found the area sad. Everything was dark, no street lamps no beautifully paved streets, a lot of larger, unexciting buildings and fewer people. The shopping was good if you had some money to spend, which of course I didn't after my amazing leather jacket purchase. But the moment we stepped off the train the atmosphere around me changed. The feelings I had in Florence melted away as Prato took of me. It was an immediate difference, and immediate change.
It was odd that when I was in Rome all I wanted was to escape to Florence. Then when in Florence, all I wanted was to return home to Rome. Prato was an even more extreme feeling. I not only was desperate to return to Florence but I was mentally exhausted from everything outside of Rome. My home had shifted. I NEEDED Rome. I even cancelled my trip to Cinque Terre in order to return to Rome sooner.
After a long 3 and half days and a few delays I arrived on the train headed to Rome. It was around 4:45 and I was excited for my return and my mind was jumping from plan to plan for the rest of night. With a bit of confusion we realized that our train was certainly not an express. It would be a four hour trip with frequent stops in between Florence and Rome. I pushed away my sadness and realized it didn't matter because I was going home and I was with, what I could imagine to be, the perfect traveling companions. Here we go.
After some games of Moxie, reading of the The Time Travelers Wife, some iphone games in which Marisa plastered lips and goggly-eyes on my photo, I was a bit anxious to arrive. I wanted my stiff bed and my 39 cent pasta. I was sweating a little, the train was a little bit to warm and everyone was getting a bit tired of traveling. We heard the word Roma sing over the intercom and all f our faces turned white from happiness. We were here, we were home. I could take a hot shower for as long as I felt like!
We were wrong though. We jumped off as soon as the train pulled to a halt. Our luggage was already in our hands and jackets zipped up. We began to walk to our right as soon as our feet hit the pavement. Within the next 30 seconds the train pulled away and my mind felt lost. Where were the bright lights of Termini? Where were the people running to catch trains, the McDonald's that served breakfast?
It was the wrong stop, we had jumped off one stop to early. No. No. No. It couldn't be. I was tired and all I wanted was to go home. Julie with her soothing motherly voice calmed everyone done. She smiled sweetly and just as any mother would do took care of us. She got us home. We took a metro to Termini and then a car from Termini to the House. Thank God she was there because Mick would have had to deal wth my tears and stress and he already knows by now that that is normally unavoidable.
After the long trek with our bags up the many flights of stairs, I was home. It smelled of dust and stale air, but I didn't care at all. I opened some windows and sat on the couch with nothing unpacked, listening to the guitar player in the Campo playing his familiar song. Here I was finally and all I wanted to do was close my eyes and sit here, not move even an inch. I wanted to relish this smell, this feeling, this utter relaxation. I was in Rome and until I left I didn't know how important it was to me. I didn't know the Florence was great until Prato was lonely. I am now in my bed writing about Rome, I am warm under my covers and I am full of pasta in my belly, I am happy.
I miss my real home a bit though. I guess now that I am back in my current home I miss my old home. But I know that I am only weeks away from my moms bed and DVR with my dads eggs. I can probably do without the headlock but I don't think I want to do without it. Funny how that works.
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