the city that reminded me what I was made for

The first time I went to Italy, something ancient inside me lit up. It was more than just a vacation. It was a reminder—a deep, visceral knowing—that I was made for this. For art. For stories. For the kind of beauty that makes you stop mid-step with tears in your eyes and a lump in your throat.

Italy doesn’t just show you art—it breathes it. It spills from corners, cracks, rooftops, fountains, doors. Every alley felt like a secret. Every fresco, every chipped statue, every shadow under a cornice felt like a message—left there centuries ago, waiting for someone to notice.

And I noticed.

I got lost on purpose. I let my feet carry me into courtyards I wasn’t sure I should be in. I stared at ceiling frescoes until my neck hurt. I leaned into old bricks like they were breathing. I whispered thank yous to mosaics, arches, fountains, cathedrals, chapels, and cracked sidewalks.

Because someone once imagined those things. Someone carved them. Built them. Painted them. Someone chose that color, that shape, that placement. With their own hands. With an intention. Maybe with divine inspiration. Maybe with a sense of duty. Maybe just with love.

The Art of Noticing

I think that’s what Italy taught me the most: how to notice again.

Our surroundings aren’t just backdrops—they’re living documents. Evidence of labor, thought, belief, dreams. Even what’s been covered up or erased tells a story. A building restored. A window bricked in. A sculpture missing a limb. A wall painted over. It all says something.

You don’t need to be in Rome or Florence to feel it. Art is embedded in cities everywhere—we just stop seeing it.

I want this blog to remind you: look up. Look closely. The next time you pass a tiled floor, a stained-glass window, a carving on a church gate—ask yourself: Who made this? Why did they choose this shape? What spirit lives in this detail?

That’s art appreciation at its root. That’s communion with history.

**To the Ones Who Leave Traces**
Italy made me feel reverent—not just toward the grand and majestic, but toward every person who ever touched their world with intention.
This trip cracked me open. And I want to share more of it with you.

Soon, I’ll be uploading photos, little stories, and reflections on the specific places that left me spellbound. From hidden gardens to dizzying domes, I want to take you there with me—and maybe, help you see your own city through a different lens.

Until then, let this be a gentle invitation:

Be curious.

Be slow.

Be the kind of person who notices.

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