Life Lately: A Slow Burn Love for Rome
Two Months Later, Am I Falling in Love with Rome Yet? Some Reflections.
Cari Amici,
Happy Palm Sunday! I am back with another letter to share what life has been offering me lately. So much sweetness!
Do you like Rome? How do you like Rome? Ti piace Roma?
I’ve been asked this question countless times since I started meeting more people here—whether it’s my classmates, my new friends, or the strangers I cross paths with. My love for Rome is more of a slow burn than a whirlwind, heads-over-heels kind of ROMAnce. The kind that grows in seeing its nooks and crannies, encountering new faces, and getting to know their stories.
This stay is not without its frustrations, but the longer I stay, the more I fall in love with this city. I am beginning to understand why people, especially Italians who are not from here originally, say it’s the most beautiful city in Italy. I’m living for the slow burn, baby!!!
Rome may be buzzing with tourists and cars, but I wouldn’t say it’s fast-paced like North America. Of course, that's a generalization, and I realize how much context plays into it. As I alluded to in my previous post, I'm realizing the brevity of my time here, and I am intentionally approaching this question: How do I make the most of this experience?
Two months have flown by, but they've also taught me to slow down and learn how Italians live, with their passion, intentionality, and way of being in the world. During my daily walks to school, I often see this elderly man walking, taking his time, unbothered by those passing him.
In one of my earlier posts, I shared about the lady who asked me where Termini was. Two weeks ago, I was walking home when a father and son stopped to ask me for directions. This time, I was able to confidently tell them, "Just go straight." My Italian might still be limited, but I knew they understood when the father confirmed “sempre diretto.” At that moment, I gave myself a figurative pat on the shoulder. You know you're integrating when you can give directions and trust that you didn’t lead them the wrong way.
What has been moving my heart lately? Here are just a few notes on what is making this sojourn a whole lot sweeter:
On the last weekend of March, I travelled outside of Rome for the first time since I arrived. It was exactly what I needed: quiet, stillness, and a break from the constant noise of trains and sirens. I joined a retreat on the peaceful side of the Metropolitan area, in the city known for porchetta: Ariccia (though ironically, I didn’t get to try it). The retreat center was filled with tall trees, a tiny garden adorned with red camellias, goldfish swimming and turtles lazing in the stone-edged pond, and kids practicing soccer nearby.
Being mostly on my own here and in the company of relatively new connections, it felt uplifting to be around a faith community again. I honestly can’t remember the last time I belly-laughed, not over a phone or video call with family, but just laughing in person, in the moment. At that retreat, laughter came easily, in the presence of people who made it easy to be present and joyful.
At our final lunch, we were all joking and just enjoying the simple pleasure of being with each other, even if our words came from different places. My new friend said, “Rompere le scatole”—a phrase that didn’t quite compute in my brain. I translated it literally, “Break the boxes?” She burst out laughing and explained it. I asked, “Mi fai ridere?” (“You make me laugh?”). It took us a while to land on the meaning and that’s the mystery of language, isn’t it? Words aren’t just glued together, they come from a unique culture. Culture breathes meaning into words.
In the first week of April, I visited the tomb of St. John Paul II for his twentieth death anniversary. It was after the Mass, and his tomb was surrounded by garlands of roses and yellow flowers, and the red and white of the Polish flag. This man was deeply loved and respected. I knew I had to visit him, and I’m so, so, so grateful that I get to be so close to his legacy while I’m here. I prayed the rosary at his tomb, the same sacred space where I found myself eight years ago during my first time in Rome before I joined a mission committed to sharing his life-giving teachings. St. John Paul II was someone holy, someone who changed history—my history—bringing me closer to the love of Christ. If you don’t know him, please do yourself a favour and learn about his life! Take a look at some of the things he accomplished. Twenty years have passed since his death, and every day, I find myself falling deeper in love with his legacy. Above all, I’m drawn to him as a person. His love for Christ was, and still is, undeniable. I’ve been studying his philosophy and his personhood, and I’m convinced that he was truly in a league of his own. I’m continually moved by how many others in my program admire him as deeply as I do, and some even more so. There’s something powerful about being in a place where his philosophy, his witness, and his vision of personhood aren’t just studied but lived. He’s an alumnus of my university, which adds an even more meaningful connection. To walk the same halls, read the same thinkers, and strive toward the same truth. I am so honoured that I can pursue this!
Today is Palm Sunday, and I celebrated with my church community here in Rome. It’s even crazy to write that. Celebrating with this group made me feel that I could belong, even as a “straniera.” I even found myself praying, “God, is there a reason to stay here?” I know that’s futuristic to think, but it’s a possibility. There was also something reminiscent of my birthplace, the Philippines, when I was holding the palm branches and processing to the church with people I’ve only started journeying with but already am at home with. After Mass, one of the babies was getting a little tired, so someone gently placed him in his stroller. I bent down to help soothe him, and he calmed down—più tranquillo. I heard one of the guys say in Italian, something like, “Wow, you’re calm with Genicia… maybe she should stay here with us.” A small comment, but it carried weight. When everyone was slowly making their way home, the girls asked me if I wanted to go for coffee with them, and one of them treated me to a free cup of macchiato—un piccolo gesto, but it made my heart full. A little later, I met up with some girls from school for a second coffee (because when in Italy, why not?), and we ended up talking about all the little things we’ve grown to love about life here. I was so glad to know I wasn’t the only one smitten with this sun-drenched, sometimes unruly, but endlessly charming country in the Mediterranean.
Tomorrow is my father’s birthday, one of the very few times I don’t get to celebrate with him. It feels strange, not being home for something familiar, especially as Holy Week begins. Back home, Holy Week and birthdays often overlap, which meant shared family meals and church traditions and visits. In this time and place, celebrations look a little different, but even in the difference, I see how God provides, may it be through friendships, small kindnesses, and heartfelt conversations over coffee. I feel deeply seen and cared for.
This afternoon, a friend from Toronto messaged me and said that I am missed, especially by my sister. It’s wild how life unravels before you. Exactly a year ago, I was ugly-crying in front of Bridget, in the middle of a midlife career crisis, asking God what to do with my life. Now, I’m living a new chapter I could have only dreamed of but always longed for in a city that still feels foreign but is slowly becoming like home.
What about you? How is God moving your heart and filling it with goodness and kindness? Tell me all about it, please!
Wishing you all a fruitful Holy Week and a Happy Easter!
Con amore,
Genicia Victoria
Happy Holy Week, Genicia! Can’t wait to hear about your Holy Week experience in Rome ❤️