It has been a pensive day in Rome. I’ve spent the first half of my day, standing in lines and finding myself thinking about things I’ve always wanted to think about. Opportunely, snapping back into real time has saved me from having to be pensive in a static situation.
I leisurely walk through Via Cavour as if I lived in the area. It takes three strolls before you begin to get a sense of familiarity. Eight strolls before you do not have to be fully aware of your surroundings because its already stamped in your mind. The wonderful thing about a stroll is, that even on the hundredth one- you will notice something you never did, before. Although I had been down these streets as a second level stroller, I found myself being surprised like I was a tertiary level promenader.
It is beginning to feel like I am not bidding goodbye anytime soon, just heading to my next destination. Musings of ideas that have changed my perceptions, accompany my walk.
La Dolce Vita. What did it mean before I came to Italy and what does it mean now? They call it the sweet life. I understood it as never ending materialistic desire, before. The concept of nothing being what it seems like on the outside.
I don’t have a clearer picture of this term at the moment but, I have more questions. Possibly, death is one of the reasons we have imbued a sense of time into our lives. May be we hear the clock ticking because we’re waiting for it to stop. We surround ourselves with short term satisfactions because we believe we don’t have the time for anything else. A theory.
The Romans came and went, leaving behind their massive structures- crumbling through minor tremors over time, being walked all over by tourists today. Rome has seen different ways of life. Mussolini’s Fascismo, demonstrated collective repetition of history. The perfectly symmetric buildings his power left behind in EUR, reveal a possible decay through authoritarianism. As these thoughts accompany my walk, I find myself in front of the perfect monuments to help and defy my perceptions, here in Rome. It keeps me warm, but at a distance- calling one into its deeper crust. I find myself in front of the Domus Aurea on this particular occasion.
I snap back into existential questions such as- should I get one last Prosecco at Fontana dei Catecumeni? The answer was no because I find myself astray again. I find a good spot to survey the evening’s movement. The sun is setting over the Colosseum, the tourists are flocking into bars, the locals are driving their little cars in a great hurry, the Cypress trees are starting to look like shadows and the night is young.
Floccinaucinihilipilificating 