A lake and familiar feelings

I have been wanting to sit down and write for months, but something always prevents me from doing so. My own personal entries rushed, I find myself opening my journal once in a blue moon, writing about events weeks after they’ve occurred, unsure about how I feel regarding it all, refusing to sit with my emotions for any time longer than 30 minutes on a Saturday night once a month.

I’ve sat with a certain sadness this year that I never really placed nor acknowledged out loud. Unsure of my place in the world, feeling smaller and smaller each day, like a robot, an alien, away from the familiarity that was suffocating me, away from people I once loved that I barely speak to anymore, away from myself, away from what I knew. Clutching with all my force, relenting and letting go, anger at the change, grief at the loss; a cycle I have struggled with breaking since adolescence.

I started a new job again and moved again this summer. A mere 6 months after finally adjusting at my old job, I found myself back at square one, feeling completely disoriented. I felt lonelier than I had in a long time, the sadness returning and bringing with it an anger that was so strong it was almost debilitating - at myself, at the people in my life, at the world and our crumbling society. Back of the taxi, tears running down my face, remembering last July. Life then so different to life now. I’m better now, I think. I’m sure. But why am I crying?

Two breakdowns a month later, it was suddenly the end of September, and I was suddenly okay. I think I needed to drastically burn out so that I can be forced to return to myself again. Or maybe I just needed to spend 3 days near a lake. Either theory could be true.

I went to Italy recently and it was one of my favourite trips that I’ve ever taken.

Initially planning to explore a large chunk of the country in less than a week, I ended up getting extremely ill on the second day, and had to take it very, very slowly. In those 5 days, I was reminded of the beauty of my life. The familiar feelings that wash over me, like sunlight warming my body, reminding me of the point of living day by day.

It’s 10 AM, I am battling a cold that has come out of nowhere while reading Intermezzo and drinking my second coffee of the morning. At this moment in time, I am suddenly reminded of it all; first friendship, first love, first loss, first heartbreak. Page 94, again, again, and again. How is it that I feel completely understood?

It’s 10 PM. We missed the last ferry, barely caught the last bus of the night. Quarter of an hour under the starry night. When was the last time I was able to see the stars so clearly? I’m in bed, my eyes are closed, my fever getting worse, and I feel the crisp air coming from the balcony touching my face. I hear my mum and sister laughing quietly while showing each other reels, and I find myself crying out of pure joy and safety before falling asleep.

Praying in a park again, coffee ice-cream, a lovely old lady on the street, kiwis for breakfast, fishing for the remnants of Italian in my brain, flags and chants for a free Palestine; for resistance, walking into museums, learning new things, painting of the last supper, salt knocked over, cappuccinos and chocolate, fried dough, feeling warm under the rain, fights, making up, soup, lemons, honey and hot water.

The same play I have watched since I was 18 still makes me burst into laughter.

I am so, so, so lucky. Lucky to be able to work and to see more of the earth. To witness community in a small village near the lake, many miles from home. I get to spend time with my mum and sister. I (try to) sleep on planes and (try to) laugh over broken tables. I read a book in a day and sob at the ending. I listen to the same music I listened to when I was in school, the same songs by Hozier. I am constantly surrounded by love - a grandma and her sister, a mum and her daughter, teenagers on a school trip, a couple in their mid-thirties. I see a crystal blue lake within reach. I stand in a ferry, feel the cool breeze on my face, and watch the sunset. I am so far away, but I am so, so close. I open windows, I stay up all night on the phone to my friend, I drink too much coffee, I step on my first autumn leaf of the season.

I am back now and I am so grateful for the trip and what it reminded me of and how it made me feel. There is so much to explore, and so much to learn, and so much to be thankful for. I don’t want this sadness and self-inflicted alienation to rob me of my life.

While my summer was a incredibly overwhelming and draining, I am still eternally grateful for it. It forced me to reflect on my priorities, and bought with it moments of pure joy and a serenity that I will never forget; a calmness flooding my chest on a random Tuesday night, quiet in my brain, and a sense of ease while I sit alone with myself. I hope these moments of bliss always find me, no matter the headspace I’m in.

Farewell summertime, farewell Cernobbio; thank you for reminding me of life’s joys and showing me how lucky I am that they are so close to me.