A goodbye letter to Rome
Rome teaches me how to accept the unshakeable past and evolve. And I ask myself, is the city changing with me?
Somebody called her a mother, the majestic one that traps you with her tenderness. Others a lover, the beautiful ones that will always betray and leave you empty.
Do you remember when you felt emptiness for the first time? For me, it was on a blue sky day warmed by a spring sun during a family trip to Rome. I grow up in a small town that looks nothing like an Italian postcard scenario. A place with no visible history that had turned into a breeding ground for an American-inspired landscape of big malls and fast food. Little by little, all the centers in my region started to look the same. Their identities were taken away by the multinational corporation, which opened the same shops in every town. Lucky for me, there was no identity to steal in my town, the shopping centers were just ugliness’ amplification. I thought it was a curse, but in Rome, I understood that it was not. Walking around all that marble beauty, the glorious churches, and the Renaissance paintings, I felt beauty crawling inside me through my eyes. Suddenly, I knew something existed to fill my emptiness.
I had longed for that revelation to become real for years until I sat in front of the Coliseum after a barefoot dancing night to sweet soul music. The lights of dawn were shining on the ancient amphitheater as I heard someone saying words of love to me. I knew it was time to let that childish memory live, so I moved to the Eternal City.
Living in Rome means you must come to terms with your idea of infinity. A crossroads in Ostiense neighbour, a spot not so known by tourists, shows that wells. You stand in the middle, turn around and see a I B.C. century pyramid tomb, a 3rd-century gate, a 1940s train station, a Rationalist building, and the water utility head office, nowadays a symbol of the city’s inefficiency. It’s an architectural timeline that tells of an empire’s rise and fall, horrendous dictatorship, modern revolution. In a few words, the humankind’s eternal struggles to survive. Living in this visible history landscape gives you heavy baggage to carry wherever you go. It makes your life a whisper in time.
It’s no surprise that generations of poets, writers and thinkers have fantasized about an apocalypse for Rome. We secretly love the idea to be the last ones on Earth because it frees us from the duty to build memories of ourselves. Living as a Roman citizen is, in fact, a constant fight to define yourself against the unshakeable memories of the world. It’s up to you to decide if you want to live to destroy or to change. I made the wrong decision at first. I came here to ruin my past, and what I was becoming through the creation of a childhood memory. As some might say, nothing is created or destroyed, but merely transformed, and Rome confirms that. She teaches me how to accept the unshakeable past and evolve. And I ask myself, is the city changing with me?
Every metropolis has an inner dualism, and Rome is no exception. While she is trying to be a more modern tech-city, her past is always calling. Take the Arrotino, for example, the rural artisans who went around town in the XX century to sharpen knives. He is still around here. Every morning you can hear him asking from his car’s speakers if you need to get your gas kitchen or your umbrella fixed. In the air full of Wi-Fi frequencies and electromagnetic waves, his friendly voice is a scream out of time.
Then, the people. Romans gave me the greatest weapon to survive anywhere: self-deprecation. Their dualism is expressed first by their way of nicely making fun of you and, less frequently, of themselves. That is their spirits, shown in lots of songs. Like Tanto Pe Canta’, one of the most famous ones in roman dialect with its melancholically but ironical lyrics about a lying first lover. But irony mixed with their unwavering conviction to still be the world’s emperor can lead to apathy and no respect.
The worldwide narrative on Rome nowadays focuses on the city’s inefficiencies. Yes, Rome has many problems, and that’s why I’m leaving for good in a few weeks. However, I will not go deeper into that for the sake of the city. You must face it: not everything or everyone evolves with you, and I admit it. I go out on my balcony on a summer sunset when the sky turns pink and look at my neighbours. I don’t know their names but I know them so well by their habits. The old patchwork-lady puts a multitexture blanket to her window to hide the living room. She spends hours looking at everybody, but if you look at her, she will quickly turn her face to protect herself too. The frightened smokers, their shutters are down night and day, and they only go outside to smoke cigarettes together with their backs against the wall. The hyperactive worker stays up till late at night, and every time he raises the shutters, his desk is in a different place. On the balcony where once a family talked and laughed together, now there is an empty chair. I ask myself what they see when they look at me. The answer surprised me because I find new habits, an authentic wholeness, and a new person. The child is finally free and it’s all because of you — my beautiful, my betrayer, tender, dirty and amusing Rome. I will love you for eternity, but now it’s time to say goodbye.
