Oranges, Everywhere
There is something about oranges that feels both ancient and alive. During my travels, they have shown up in the frescoes of Pompeii at the Museo Archeologico Nazionale di Napoli, the open-air markets of Sur Mer, in a glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice in Mexico City and an orange eaten roadside in Havana, in the orange-infused water I returned to again and again during one of the harder health seasons of my life in Charleston. Oranges have followed me — through travel and through wellness — and I have come to think of them as more than fruit and also as a thread connecting the earth to the body, the past to the present, and the places we visit to the people we become.
Italy, At Last
I had always wanted to travel to Italy since college Art History classes — focused on the antiquities of Ancient Rome, its art, pottery, and furniture — planted a small light in my heart. I specifically had wished to see and experience Rome, a metropolis defined by seven hills, vibrantly painted temples, and a landscape blending monumental marble government centers with massive entertainment venues like the Colosseum. It all seemed so far away yet attainable in time; and as they say, Italy finds you when it's ready.
Departure
As the airline attendant calls for final boarding, travelers make their way to the gate, each carrying their own reasons for leaving, their own dreams of what awaits. I watch them file past—a young couple holding hands, a businesswoman with her laptop bag, a family juggling backpacks and excitement. We all share this threshold moment, suspended between the life we're temporarily leaving and the one we're about to step into.
Travel Light
After so much travel through the years, I've become a pro-packer despite varying climates and time zones. I've also become a packing minimalist with a capital M. I can pack a load of black clothes by rolling each garment then stacking the rolls like chopsticks. I can puzzle together necessary hygiene products with luxury beauty creams in one small cosmetic bag without much fuss. I've even mastered the art of accessorizing—necklaces, earrings, scarves and belts—so one black turtleneck transforms into ten different looks. And by default, every time I start packing for long trips with limited items, I think deeply about the things we carry in life. Why is editing out unnecessary people, places and things so trying, difficult and sometimes painful? Why does saying "no" seem like bad manners? And why can the weight of people's asks and expectations feel so overwhelming and disorienting? Why is it so tricky to travel light?