RESTLESS NATIVE:Remembering the past, relishing the future

As I write this, I am sitting in the comfort of my own room at my home in Costa Mesa. My surroundings look about the same as when I left them, except a good deal cleaner, thanks to my dad’s preparations. Thanks, Dad.

Though all of my objects are familiar, they now possess a strange quality of antiquity as though I am looking at the relics of a past life. I go through my closet and dress in clothes that no longer suit my style — I am putting on someone else’s skin as I stand in my own museum.

There were no easy goodbyes when I left Naples. Of course I took pictures and exchanged e-mail addresses with everyone at the hostel, and there were plenty of hugs and kisses to go around. It’s strange to think that, right now, life at the hostel is going on as usual. New guests are arriving and perhaps there isn’t a single guest left who remembers that curly-haired girl who served breakfast just a few days ago.

It was particularly difficult to say goodbye to my manager, who has taken such good care of me for the past four months. He helped me take my luggage (with the addition of a new rolling bag for all the overflow) downstairs, where Renato was waiting to take me to the train station. (I flew out of Rome and needed to take a train to the ancient city first.)

Our building has two elevators, and during the week it costs five cents to ride up or down. Before going with my manager, I took one coin from our stash at the receptionist’s desk and headed toward the elevator. Seeing my one coin, my manager handed me a second and said, “For when you return.”

I hope I’ll be riding that elevator again soon.

Of course the real heartbreak was saying goodbye to Renato. The night before I left, we went out to a Spanish restaurant to eat. Letting the owner choose our meal, we enjoyed each dish with glass after glass of sangria and talked about the past few months as well as the future.

The next morning we drove around Naples before returning to the hostel to get my bags. As I went upstairs, he parked the car a few streets away. The area around the hostel was already packed, and parking is usually scarce in Naples anyway. After I returned and gave one last hug to my manager, Renato and I went off to find the car. We had very little time left to make it to the station, which would normally make the unexpected search for his car a stressful matter but I couldn’t help but smile because it reminded me so much of our first date.

More than four months ago we left a pizzeria and spent more than 30 minutes wandering the dark streets of the historical center looking for his Ford Fiesta. For some reason I wasn’t stressed that night, and I wasn’t stressed my last morning in Naples either, as the time ticked by before the departure of my train. It seemed so fitting that our first day and our last day — oh please don’t let it be the very last — should end so similarly.

Once we found the car, Renato raced through traffic toward the station. After parking, we ran, bags in tow and breathless, for the train, which had only moments left before departing.

Despite all efforts, I missed my train to Rome. This time I was reminded of the night I missed the train to Sicily. After I returned from the Isle of Capri, I had had most of the day left in the city before leaving for Sicily, so I called Renato and we met up for coffee. This was very early in our relationship, before I decided to stay in Naples and work at the hostel. We spent the rest of that day together and thanks to a tardy metro train, I missed the train to Sicily by two minutes. Of course this meant that I was able to spend more time with Renato.

Four months later, after missing the train to Rome, I had to wonder: Was I traveling to California or back in time?

I could see that Renato felt bad; the stress showed in his eyes and in his body language. He apologized several times before I finally took his face in my hands and said, “Look at me. Do I look upset?” There was a big smile on my face.

Yet again I knew I would share with him an unexpected gift of time. Each moment counted. Seeing my smile, Renato smiled too and let the tension drop from his shoulders. He put his arms around me and said that he was glad I had missed the train because if I had arrived on time, we would have had only a few seconds to say goodbye on the platform. As it was, we were able to spend another 40 minutes together before the next train to Rome left. We stood together on the platform, surrounded by my bags, talking and kissing — we even managed to laugh a few times despite the sadness of the occasion.

By the time I had to board, I wasn’t laughing anymore. With me standing on the train’s steps, we gave our last kisses — oh please don’t let them be our very last — and tears streamed down my face as I waited for the last whistle and the doors to hiss shut. Even when the tinted glass divided us, we mouthed words of encouragement and love before the train pulled away down the tracks.

Afterward, I sat down, miserable, in an aisle with one seat — I had no real desire to chat with anyone — and cried for half the trip. When two Eurostar employees passed to serve drinks, I politely declined, as I was too shy to look up at them. Before rolling their cart on, one of the women gently placed a napkin at my side to dry my eyes with.

After taking a second train from the station in Rome, I arrived at the airport, and it took me all of five minutes to check in. Going through security didn’t take much time either. As I approached the many lines, I scanned the people and their possessions to determine my quickest option.

Immediately I spotted one line with four nuns patiently waiting their turns. I joined this line thinking, “Who’s going to bother a nun?” This option also seemed the most fitting for my exit from the country since my experiences in Italy have been littered with patient nuns.

Of course, the line I entered ended up taking the longest. Each nun set off the alarm, with their crosses, and each, giggling throughout it all, had to be swept by the metal detecting wand of an amused security worker. Go figure.

My flight to Dusseldorf, Germany, was pretty much uneventful as was my one-night stay at a Holiday Inn; my next flight wasn’t until the following day. I did, however, enjoy having a private room and shower for the first time in months.

In the morning, I returned to the airport to catch my connecting flight to Los Angeles. On this final flight, I sat next to a very friendly lady from California named Pam, whose daughter also studied film and is now living in Germany. We talked for most of the way, which was great, because it made the time fly by.

When we arrived in Los Angeles, we continued to stick together and talk as we waited for our bags and made our way through customs. We were still walking together as we exited the airport and I spotted my dad. I introduced the two, said yet another goodbye, and then, finally, I got to say one great big hello.

I have many mixed feelings about being home. Of course, I am thrilled to see my family and friends again, but there is another family waiting for me in Naples. All the staff at the hostel — Christian, Errico, Atanasio, Marina and Argentina — became brothers and sisters to me. My managers were my surrogate parents.

Renato, well Renato is more than just my Scarecrow (“I’ll miss you most of all”), and already I miss my life with him. Together, however, we are making plans for my return shortly after the New Year. I want to study Italian this time. With any luck, I will be staying for more than four months.

For now, I will treasure each moment with my family and friends. They are truly the best part about being home, and there is so much to say and do with them before I leave again.

I suppose I have learned a lot from my time abroad, most of all, a lot about myself. After graduating from Berkeley, when suddenly there was no greater system planning my days by the hour, months in advance,

Now, when I see my life as a blank page, I don’t feel the fear I once felt before, but rather I sense the possibility of a great adventure. I want to be in charge of those blank pages. They are for my hands to fill now and thanks to my time in Italy, I know I could be dropped anywhere in the world and have the knowledge and confidence to face anything waiting for me.

So, until next time, whenever that may be, ciao ragazzi!