I woke up this morning excited. “It’s a new day, and it’s Sunday”-I thought. Sunday is usually a day to do house chores, rest, and meet a friend or my sister here in Rome. This Sunday, however, after having breakfast, I started to feel uneasy. I felt trapped in my house, unable to feel peace. There was restlessness, and that’s when I knew I had to get out.
Usually, when I have a very good day here in Rome, it’s followed by a really rough one. This city is all about extreme highs and extreme lows, with no in-betweens.
Context
This is my fourth city as a foreigner. Though the first two don’t really count cause I was too young, I’ve come to learn a thing or two in my journey as a foreigner.
The Netherlands, a country where I resided for six years, was very (VERY) different. International culture is everywhere; people speak English gladly, and productivity and efficacy are at the core of society. That country built a big part of me. It helped me become a fine academic; it was the place where I worked my first two jobs and discovered my hidden passion for hospitality, and it was home to two important relationships (one of which I currently have). All in all, history happened there, and I will always be grateful for the life I lived.
I always knew it would be temporary. Since day one, I knew my energy and the country’s energy were not compatible in the long term, but as with all things in life, closures happened in their own time.
Thanks to the Italian passport, mobility has been easy for me in Europe. My great-grandfather was a fine man from Genova, a city in the Northwest of Italy. He moved to Colombia in the 1850s and built his life there. Thanks to him, my whole family (from my father’s side) can access the passport. We’ll get to Rafaello’s story another time.
As I had an Italian heritage, I knew I wanted to move to Italy and reconnect with my ancestors. Not necessarily in Genova, but anywhere in Italy. I also wanted to learn Italian perfectly. Having the passport and not speaking the language feels like a fraud to me. This is when, after five years in the Netherlands and having found a fully remote job, I knew it was now or never.
Life, honestly, is all about opportunities. You can either hop on them when you get them or let them slide. I had to do this for myself, and it felt like a now or never kind of moment. I was too comfortable in the Netherlands, way too fucking comfortable.
I moved to Italy on July 17th, 2023, with expectations over my head regarding the country, the culture, and the experience. And Italy kind of slapped me in the face hard. Very hard. The first six months were among the hardest I’ve experienced in my lifetime. Personal crises, loneliness, reconfiguring expectations, and realizing that maybe, just maybe, it would’ve been better to arrive and float around one day at a time.
Aside from my personal goal to learn Italian and get to know my roots, I came here looking for a community and a feeling of home.
The “home” situation (Part 1)
It is a situation. Or at least, it has become one. Three years ago, more or less, I started to realize slowly that I didn’t feel at home anywhere physically. Every time I went to Colombia, I felt incredible, but somehow still not home. My parents changed houses after I left, and there was no bedroom for me anymore, only for my siblings. I think that twisted my concept of the physical home a lot.
The Netherlands, on the other hand, had been a huge part of my life with so much growth, sadness, and beauty. A mix and mash of emotions. I managed to feel at home for one year out of six, and it was my best year there. For the rest, it felt like I was there to fulfill different purposes. Bachelor, master, jobs, etc. But the sense of home was really only there for one year. It was the best year.
Italy felt like a calling and what I hoped would be my savior. If Colombia wasn't home anymore, and the Netherlands also wasn’t, I decided I needed to start a journey towards finding my home. I moved here, and all my conceptions of “home” have been challenged more and more since.
My rationale was: “Italians are Latins. It’s a warmer culture, a collective culture…that’s close to what feels like home. What could go wrong?”
First tip for the foreigner: do not expect same. It’s NEVER the same.
Italians, or better, Romans, are joyful, loud and warm. That was very refreshing at first. But as the months went by, I started to talk with more and more people and started realizing the life of a foreigner is no easy task in Rome. It’s a huge city (H U G E), it’s international in terms of people, it’s not international in terms of Italian mentality, and most Romans are quite closed-minded. It’s easy to have a conversation with them (they take an interest at first with foreigners). But from that to them inviting you over to their house for dinner? Good luck with that.
Second tip for the foreigner: warm does not mean welcoming.
Pasta, pizza, gelato, repeat.
Italians are very Italian. Does that make any sense? In Italy, everything is about Italy. I admire the nationalism here. They’re proud, and that’s beautiful and admirable. For the foreigner, not so fun.
You’ll notice if you’ve been to Italy that most restaurants and bars are fully Italian. It’s hard to find hippie alternative drinks like “chai latte,” “matcha latte,” “kombucha,” and so on. This ain’t a thing here. Here, it’s all about tradition. This is a culture with a traditional mentality. They are not so open to the new. They have their unsaid rules. No milk-based coffees after noon, no laptops in 90% of cafes, and no parmigiano on seafood pasta (tho I agree with this one lol). Man are they committed to their rules. As I said before, admirable. But damn, for the foreigner, this ain’t easy task.
When you’ve lived so many years surrounded by many cultures, you naturally adjust your perceptions. You become more open-minded and more tolerant in general. You slowly incorporate the “international mentality.” Moving to Rome was fucking hard because of this. Here, it’s not easy to find the international mentality. It’s their way, or get stared at, get mocked, get judged (actually happens). It feels like shit, but the best the foreigner can do is adjust. The international mentality comes with that. Constant adjustment. I did: no cappuccinos after noon, no parmesan cheese on seafood pasta, and no going against the flow but with the flow.
It’s been fun, but it’s finite.
When you know you know
You know that feeling of intuitively knowing something is good, something is bad, something is working, something doesn’t? Well, that happened to me in this country.
I love the slow down, I love the calm, I love the food. But I feel limited constantly. I love having options. I love having endless world cuisines; I love the hippie drinks after noon; I love the cafes that are aesthetically pleasing and welcome you nicely; and I love the English speaking. I love the international mentality.
I love it so much that it has become non-negotiable for me in my journey as a foreigner.
I haven’t found the feeling of home here in Italy. I’ve found the slow down, the great food, my sister (who also lives here, thank god), and especially, I’ve found my nonnegotiables thanks to Italy. I am closer and closer to my next destination, aligned with the life I want.
Third tip for the foreigner: find your non-negotiables before moving
The “home” situation (Part 2)
As a foreigner, the sense of home is distorted. Big time. I wish I could share more about what home means to me, but honestly, I’m still not there. In terms of space, I don’t feel at home anywhere. In terms of people, I feel at home with my partner, with my sister, with my family, and with my close friends. In terms of places, I feel home when I’m close to the forests. I feel home when I’m under the sun. I feel home when there’s a fresh breeze while I go down through the metro escalators. I feel home when I speak English and don’t feel judged or looked down upon. I feel at home, especially when I have people to share spaces with. Vulnerable, raw, and intimate ones.
Fourth tip for the foreigner: for every move, forget all you know. Start clean, or you won’t make it. Reduce expectations. Flow. Literally. Flow.
Home can mean so many things. And though I’m still conflicted with the term now, I feel closer and closer to the answer.
As I left my house this morning, I brought my Kindle with me and my laptop to write. I have been feeling uninspired lately, but I knew getting out would help. I went down the metro and hesitated to go back home. I didn’t know where to go or where I’d feel comfortable enough. There was this cafe I thought about, but it just felt too Italian, too closed (in every sense of the word). I felt a bit suffocated, which happens occasionally in my life here as I struggle to find my place as a foreigner. After a few minutes of thinking by the metro entrance, I decided where to go. The main train station. That’s international; there’s the food plaza which is super lively, good music and endless languages.
And well, here I am, after 1 hour straight, writing with my cold coffee, some jazz in the background, feeling like I can breathe again, writing about my current home.
Tip five: The foreigner life is not for everyone. It’s tough; it can get lonely, and it can get very, very messy psychologically. Read your own room.