Member-only story
I Moved Back to My Childhood Home
and hated every second of it
Ali Hall recently published a wonderful article on romanticizing our childhood home.
My parents come from a sea-town named Trieste, right on the border between Italy and Slovenia. They were, and still are, spontaneous, kind-hearted romantics. They met on Saint Patrick's Day and decided to have me about one week after that. Eight years later, they performed especially well at a concert, felt inspired, and conceived my sister — who they named after the protector of musicians. In my lifespan they have changed partners, homes, jobs, and opinions countless times.
I love them to bits, but sticking to a plan has never been their forte.
When I was three, we moved to a village of twenty people, nestled at the bottom of a mountain named Spinning Wheel — Mount Kolovrat. We lived there for eight years. Thanks to their spontaneity, I had an amazing childhood, which I will forever cherish. One day, they decided to move back to Trieste. They asked me if I wanted to go.
“Absolutely not,” I replied. We went anyway, of course. I was very happy where I was. I was looking forward to middle school. I was a happy child who didn’t feel the need to relocate.
I had no idea my mom, who just gave birth to my little sister, felt miserable in the village. Now I know she felt isolated and depressed. Going away was one of my parents’ last desperate attempts to make each other happy. It didn’t quite work. Problems tend to follow you even if you change postal codes.
Regardless of my parents’ intentions, once in Trieste, my life became very painful, very quickly. In the span of three years, I experienced being violently bullied at school, started having panic attacks, was abused by a teacher, picked-up smoking, and my parents separated while facing deep financial issues. Not only were they splitting up, they were also working all the time to support us. We seldom saw them, and when we did, we were all sad and exhausted.
I will never forget my granny, who patiently stood by my side during what arguably were the most painful years of my life (so far). She absorbed all my anger, while cradling my sister and making us tomato toasts…
