It seems that one of my neighbours had a baby over the summer, as every night its cries echo up the steep cobbled street that lead to my door. Whether or not it’s wailing because of the realisation that its been born into a world where animals are slaughtered so that a toff can put his cock and balls in their mouths, or just because it’s bewildered and confused by its new surroundings, I don’t know, but have my suspicions. Either way, I can empathise with it a little.
As I think I’ve told almost everyone now, I can share it on here too. In a month or so I’ll be leaving Genoa on a jet plane, and don’t know if I’ll be back again. Well, I will be back but most likely just for holidays, but John Denver neglected to include that qualifier in his song. I do hate the idea to go, though.
I wanted to tell most people in person (done), and I’ve booked my hiring-required-medical (done), which, while making me feel like a professional football player, is likely to be significantly less glamorous. Now that’s out the way, it’s starting to feel real. This leaves me with emotions more mixed than if I'd just done a speedball (which future employers should note I have never done). In a way I’m excited for what’s next (Kuwait), and my head tells me that it’s a good move for me, one that will enable me to shed once and for all the chrysalis-like protective crust of my Italian life. As I’ve probably said on here before, I feel like I’ve become a man in Italy, whereas before in Scotland I was just ticking the boxes of adulthood, but still didn’t really know myself or my place in the world. On the latter score I’m still not quite sure, but if you’ll excuse my momentary use of the 3rd person (which you should never do) Michael has learned a lot about Michael, for better or worse, and so (no more 3rd person) when I look back in the future Genoa won’t just be a place I lived in for seven years, but the place where I grew up and actually finally started living. My head tells me that now is the time to move on, to move up and to grow a bit more.
That’s what my head says. Bad head, giving me difficult things to think about! My heart tells me to stay in Genoa, to stay in the city where I’m happy, to stay with the people I’ve grown quite fond of, and to stay in the job that while not really going anywhere, I like all the same. In the end, my head has won out over my heart on this one. This was fine up until about a week ago when I had other things on my mind, but now that I don’t (kind of), the realisation that I’m leaving is starting to get real.
The idea of these days being the last days of Genoa has had a big effect on me. I shouldn’t be surprised by this, and if anything I should probably find solace in the fact that I’m feeling down about leaving; after all, if I didn’t like it here I’d be indifferent-going-on-happy about leaving. If I felt like that then it’d follow that I’d be leaving with more of a negative experience than a positive one. Seeing as this absolutely isn’t the case, my blues have a strongly defined silver-lining. That’s what I’ve got to keep on thinking anyway. It’s just that sometimes it’s harder than others*.
* that’s what she said (Sorry).
