I’ve taken a break. From writing and recording. I’ll feel sorry for not having words and pictures, I know, it will be so hard, remembering how the streets of Bologna looked like the first days in which I had to double check at every corner that I was walking in the right direction. But living those same moments is more important, I guess.
It’s a month and a half since I’m here. Days keep losing themselves, somewhere, but I don’t know where. I planned to have a night out with some schoolmates, but we already came back home after 3 am last night, we and our Neapolitan taxi driver. So instead I’m home, drinking hot tea from my Badass Feminist mug and finishing a book I have to read for class. I’m also planning a hypothetical trip to London for the LIMUN next February with M. and P. I miss the city. And the idea that I will be in the UK in less than a year does not win over my desire to flight as soon as I can. It actually feeds it.
It’s a month and a half since I’m here and I’m doing more than what I expected, but still, it doesn’t seem enough. Maybe I am not fair with myself. I need time to adjust, to find my rhythm.
I find so hard, living in the present. To not wonder and worry about what will happen next. To plan and feel exited and feel guilty.