Home is where the heart is

So here I am.

Writing on a small balcony in this chaotic, messy and lively city.

It takes time to get used to ruins, everywhere. To the pollution, the noises, the sound of the car horn, it keeps going on for hours.

It takes time to get used to live with other 11 people or sometimes more. We don’t know each other, we are just strangers joint together by some weird and unknown selections.

12 lives brought abroad, our eyes full of curiosity, our feet ready to walk unknown roads, our hands ready to applause the kids in the school.

It takes time to learn a new language, to communicate in a restaurant when you don’t speak a word of Albanese and the waiter doesn’t speak a word of English. So at the end you get a soup instead of beans, chicken instead of vegetables, a huge amount of sauces instead of a nice and fresh salad. Whatever.

It takes time to smile seeing those kids in a sad and ugly school. They’re dirty, sometimes they stinks. But no, I don’t care, I can go home and stop thinking about it. Or maybe not.

It takes time to realise that something happened. The time passes, slowly. I’m on a noisy bus heading somewhere and suddenly you guys are not strangers anymore.

Suddenly I recognize those smiles, I know when my roommates are happy, when Chiara is sad, when Teo is annoyed. I start to remember the name of the kids, I feel like I realy wanna go to see them. I feel like finally I can’t wait to see their smiles.

Because you don’t know what they’ve been through.

I don’t know the story of anyone in this project and they don’t know mine.

But we live this experience together every day, standing side by side, sharing our laugh, our angry faces and our silences.

Out of the time, out of the usual space, totally out of our comfort zone.

But yesterday, after a long trip out of the country, I said I was happy to go back. To go back “home”.

Home is where the heart is, they say.

So today, you all guys, are my home.

Sara

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