It’s time to pack again.
Leaving home hurts. Not having a home hurts even more. Leaving your love breaks your heart, each time a little more. When I leave Italy, I always feel the many things I’m going to miss, and when I’m in Brazil I miss them. But when I leave Brazil, I leave my love here, and when I’m in Italy, I don’t just miss him. He is a huge part of myself, of my own being, and I feel empty and broken.
I can’t even say “But my life is there, in Italy, my life is in Italy”. That’s not true. My family is in Italy, and some of my friends are in Italy, and I love them both very much, but my life is not there anymore.
And it is not in Brazil, either. I can’t see my life here. I can’t see my future here.
Then where is my life? Honestly, I don’t know. I feel split, confused, and full of opportunities at the same time. I still have to find my home, which means I’m kind of homeless right now, but I can build one anywhere I feel like it in the future. I guess my life is wherever I take it. It’s inside of me.
And yet, I can’t help but feeling that my life is where my love is. A big part of my life is him. So whenever I go away from him, I leave a big part of my life behind for a while, before being reunited once more.
Then let’s rephrase it: I am homeless, but we are full of opportunities. We can build our home anywhere we feel like it.
Here I am, sitting on the floor of his room, our room in Brazil. I’m sitting in front of my suitcase, unable to fill it. Each item of clothes I move from the drawer into the suitcase feels as heavy as a rock. It feels like taking pieces of my soul out of my body.
This packing is going to take a lot of time and a lot of me.