A Lost Identity

        Lampposts cast warm light across the brick walls, as hostile headlights shot through the winding alleyway. David, Christian, and I sat at a small table inches away from the passing traffic, the back leg of my chair stuck between cobblestones in the road. A drinking fountain trickled beside us, as loud music and conversations flooded the dark night. We talked occasionally, but we also wanted to be left alone with our thoughts.

            Rome fascinated me because I couldn’t understand it. Surrounded by ruins as far as the ancient empire, here was a people who had lost their own identity, searching for it in endless parties and exciting entertainment. A small plate of ribs with sliced beets was gently placed in front of me by the waiter. They were unnaturally sweet to me; not that I didn’t enjoy them, but that they weren’t what I had grown to love back home. We were nearing the end of our six weeks, and I was thrilled to finally return to a world I could recognize. A world where air conditioning was common, and cheeseburgers weren’t looked down upon.

            And then I heard it. Across the street in a small bar, the guitar player had been singing popular American songs for the tourists. He slowly started strumming the opening to “Stand by Me”. The calm melody revealed memories I had ignored and memories I had forgotten. I chuckled to myself, thinking how no matter where I went the song followed. I knew my home was not here in Italy, but would people recognize me back home? Would you recognize me? In a city struggling with identity, I began questioning who I was.

            After dinner, I convinced Christian and David to visit the Trevi Fountain one last time. Figures of horses and men delicately carved towered over a shimmering pool. The ripples pulled my attention back to my thoughts; something about water always leads to reflection. We used to love swimming. Almost every week in the summer, we would visit Hurricane Harbor, forcing each other to try a new slide every time. You managed to get me on Daredevil’s Plunge, laughing as I skidded onto the water below. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t scared, but I knew I could trust you.

            The Trevi Fountain water was slightly stained from a layer of bronzed coins, but the water at Cinque Terre was a clear shade of sapphire. Under daylight, the sea was a refreshing break from the brutal humidity. But at night, the waves were fierce as they slammed into the cliffsides and swelled over the cove’s trail. Again, my thoughts flowed with the water, this time striking more powerfully in my mind. We were once inseparable, but I hadn’t heard your name in months. Even thousands of miles away, I still thought of you. I didn’t know what you were doing, but I hoped you were doing it well. You knew me better than anyone, until I became another nameless face in the crowd.

            Italy had been an escape. I wanted to suppress and forget our memories, but even the water led to reflection. Water is constantly flowing; no matter what gets in its way, it always adapts. Was I haunted by the memories or was I only too afraid to let go?

            The world is constantly changing, and now I was changing. The only question was whether I would escape my past or grow from it. My memories made up who I was, and if I cannot embrace them, I cannot move forward. Living in Italy was like living in a painting. Every detail was certain and intentional to create a beautiful picture. The worries of reality were buried beneath gentle brushstrokes. Back home, little was certain. Soon this wonderful dream would end.

The fluorescent lights of the Los Angeles Airport blared down on the half-asleep tourists. A screen stretched over the wall, advertising the latest models of silver cars and watches. I pulled my suitcase off the conveyor belt and slung my backpack over my shoulder. With a quick goodbye, I darted out of the crowded airport, into the world of doubt and questions. But I wasn’t afraid. I was finally ready to return home, to return to my life, and to return to you.