Rome

Whenever I've talked about my first, and only, visit to Rome in my blog, I've always discussed in a way that only notes the "terrible" decision I made to eventually leave my home and move to Vancouver to be with a man that I barely knew. A decision that didn't end the way I wanted to, but that I made none the less. 

This time, instead, I want to talk about the good in those moments. I'm re-reading Call me by your name again and it's made me think about that particular trip. The trip that was only meant to last a few days, the trip that really hadn't gone the way I'd planned at all, the trip that made me take such a risk. 

I met Jacob in a hostel. I'd been asleep all day, as per usual when I travel, and he was brought in by the hostel receptionist during his tour of the building. They walked in, waking me from my day of slumber, and commandeered the bed closest to the door. I was on the back left, he at front right, and we got to chatting casually with one of the other people staying in the room. After a few beers and the exit of the other guest, a drunken and flirtatious discussion ended up with me being topless and, as moved to his side of the room to retrieve the Deadpool t-shirt given to me by an ex-boyfriend, we kissed. 

I'm not going to say that it was a world-shatteringly romantic moment, it wasn't. Feverish and passionate, we were two drunk strangers making out on a single bed in a hostel. Making out that eventually led to us having silent, secretive sex while the person in the bed opposite pretended to be asleep. 

I'm very sorry about that by the way, who and wherever you are. 

The plan was for me to leave the next day. I was travelling by train and had another destination planned. Instead, he asked me to stay with him for a few days and, in a fashion that was incredibly unlike me, I agreed. We'd planned on meeting later that day after he'd booked us a private room for the next two nights, and spent the day travelling around Rome independently of each other until I eventually sat waiting for his message at the train station. 

I won't lie, I nearly left there and then. I couldn't get through to him and, as I sat exhausted crying on the floor of the station, I simultaneously craved his contact to prove that I hadn't changed my plans for nothing, and wanted more than anything to get on the next train out of Rome. I was tired of being attracted to people that didn't feel the same way, and being led on by a promise of something more than a one night stand. Fortunately, just being I was ready to give in, he messaged me, and I carried my bags back to the hostel and we settled into our room. 

It would be false to say that these were the most romantic of my life, there was an undoubtable connection and I knew I wanted to be with him at that moment, but that caused me a discomfort that I'd felt countless times before. I was scared, scared of how I would feel when I left, assuming that he wouldn't reciprocate my feelings of wanting to meet again. My past experiences and insecurities lead me to think I'm not worthy of love, and so I carried a tension around with me that giving into would have changed my path completely. Shortly after, I told him how uncomfortable I felt at the thought of continuing our journey together if we would never reconcile. In response, he simply asked, as he had been doing since the first night we spent together in our own private Italy, if I trusted him. 

I said that I did, I had no reason not to. 

It was our penultimate night in central Rome when he finally revealed why he was asking. Come to Canada, he'd said, this was serious. To many, the thought of travelling across the world to a place I'd never been, leaving my entire life behind, would have seemed insane. After all, not many people are willing to leave their homes, friends and family behind them. Me? I didn't see the problem. Yes, I'd miss people, but they were in no way going to leave my life. Travelling around so much, I'm used to not seeing the people I love on a regular basis and find it easy to maintain relationships over the phone. I said yes, of course, immediately contacting my friends and parents to tell them about our conversation. Did I know much about this man? No. Did I want to no more about him and be with him in Vancouver? Yes. 

That was our last night together in Europe. We spent our evening curled up next to each other in an Air BnB. Parting at the train station, I kissed him goodbye as he travelled to his next, and final, European location before leaving for Canada, with a plan to see each other soon. 

As we know, my journey to be with him didn't work out, as many people knew it would. But during that trip, in those moments, I was given the possibility of falling in love not only with a new person but with a brand new country as well. 

As I said in the beginning of this post, I often brush over my brief relationship with Jacob as a mistake, a choice that may have led to my eventual emigration to Toronto, but had also brought me an ungodly amount of pain. But, looking back, I now know that I'd make the exact same decision over and over again. I often think that, as a borderline, I'm not worthy of love. Not entitled to romantic happiness as I regularly so crave to be. But, in that moment, during those three days, I had a chance. Whether I reaped the benefits of my risks or not, I was given an opportunity to fall in love and, for that, I shall be eternally grateful.