I woke up today in Rome.
It was about this time when my eyes opened to glimpse the night sky changing from gray to dark blue — and it was 6:57 am precisely when I finally rolled out of bed and into the bathroom of my modest Air BnB.
My apartment has everything I need — a giant open window overlooking a central courtyard, a tiny desk and chair, a wooden amour to store my clothes, a shower big enough for just me, and a vanity mirror to make my face. It’s so beautiful and charming, I absolutely love it.
I got dressed in an eye-catching red Summer dress I picked up at Zara a week earlier in Miami, strapped up my brown Manolo Blahnik sandals, and headed out to discover the city.
Last night my mind began to imagine what it might be like to live here. To just leave everything behind in Miami and move to Rome — or some other place in Italy.
But is Rome for Italians? So says someone I know.
This someone has said before “Paris is for the French. Barcelona is for the Spaniards.” And so on… I couldn’t help but wonder, do they have a point?
I am not naive to the fact that I am a foreigner in a foreign land.
As an Afro Caribbean woman living nearly my entire life in the USA, where do I belong? In Miami? In Jamaica? In Africa?
Either way, I woke up today in Rome.
After visiting the Vatican City just a few streets from my apartment, I hopped on the metro to discover aw ell reviewed co-working space in Rome near Piazza del Re di Roma called Anitcafe — it’s cozy.
I’ll spend the day catching up on some work, planning the rest of my stay in Italy — and then eating lots of pizza and Pasta.
It was just a typo. 🤦🏾♀️Why am I like this? 🤷🏾♀️#overthinkersanonymous