A few weekends ago I went to Naples. I saw a lot of the city from a car and next to couples. Among all the buildings, history, and cultures, I found nothing. Not nothing in the city. As usual, it was full–of life, of people, and, of course, chaos.

No, I found nothing in myself. I found a heart aching to be filled, healed. I found more confusion than when I left Sorrento Friday night for two days of “relaxation.”

The weekend was supposed to heal me, refresh my mind and soul. Instead, I think it just brought me closer to my loneliness, closer to all my problems that I’ve been burying under fake smiles and lying eyes.

And they’re so good at lying, except when you actually take the time to look. Look in them directly, and you’re surely see how sad my soul really is.

As I’ve spent the last month back in Italy, trying to figure out what I would write, I think I’ve figured out how little people actually see me. More than that, I’ve realized how little I see myself anymore. How little I see myself…

How little I must think of myself to subject myself to a weekend of playing the friend to the girlfriend of a guy that I would like to be with. How little I must think of my worth to subject myself to the lifestyle of a mistress, when I deserve so much more than that.

But this is my problem. Well, I have many. But right now, I think I want too much at once, and I want too much from the wrong people.

I just moved across the world, basically, and right away, I think I expected to be accepted and loved almost. I expected for a life to immediately fall into place without effort.

But lives take effort. Love takes patience. And it’s not just romantic love. It’s also the love of friends and the area that you live in.

There’s this post that keeps showing up on my Facebook.

It says: “How do you find self-love? You dig. You isolate and you ache from being lonely. You heal. You accept, you look in the mirror and see god.”

I need to learn to be more comfortable in my loneliness. I need to ache more. Even though I feel like it hurts too much already to dig deeper, but I need to.

As I said, love takes patience. It even takes patience with yourself. Learning to be patient, because healing is a process, will bring me closer to myself. It’ll bring me closer to a place where I know myself again, see myself again, love myself again.

Maybe then I’ll be able to see a woman in the mirror that I appreciate because she appreciates herself. It won’t be until then that I’ll be ready enough to open my heart to anyone, because people aren’t blind. I think they see the emptiness in ourselves way before we’re ready to admit it.

This is not the post that I expected to come out of coming back to Sorrento, but it’s the one that I got.

Maybe next time I’ll be more eloquent. Next time I’ll write something beautiful, because maybe then I’ll have had the time to dig and see god.

With Wanderlust,




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