The Feed

Milan moves slower than I’m used to — people walk like time is theirs. I’m still adjusting: learning public transport, surviving on vending machine espresso, and watching the sun set way past 8:30 p.m. The sky is clearer, the coffee is better, and strangers are kind without speaking a word I understand. I haven’t explored everything yet, but I’m here — and I’m hoping the city treats me good.

Moving to a new country isn’t just about homesickness or thrill — it’s about the quiet, unspoken feeling of not quite fitting in. Of walking streets that don’t know your name, of smiling through confusion, of waiting for your soul to catch up. This city doesn’t know me yet. And some days, I don’t fully know myself either. But maybe that’s okay. Maybe becoming is supposed to feel like this — unfamiliar, slow, a little bittersweet.

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