Coming Home (It Was All a Dream)

FULLERTON, Calif. - Coming home from Italy felt a lot like waking up from a dream. The airport, I have always thought, is very sobering. It's like this portal of timeless clockwork. When I found myself in the passenger seat of my 02 Honda Accord with my brother behind the wheel, it felt almost as if I had never left home, like all of it - Italy - was just some wonderful dream. After just five miles on the 405 freeway, I was already struggling to hold onto that sense of who I thought I had become after a summer away from home. I spent that drive back to Corona from the airport convincing myself that the last month really happened, that it was all real, that the people I had become close to would still care to see me now that it's all over, and that the new life I had started halfway across the world was to continue with me at home and throughout my future travels. Some places are just too familiar, though. Home - which for me is a combination of Corona, Santa Ana and Fullerton, Calif. - is one of those places. I came home expecting it to be different. Instead, I have found that home is exactly the same, and I am different.

The first week back wasn't too rough on me. In fact, it was one big homecoming parade - happy hour with coworkers, a perfectly-timed toga party, and old friends who took the time to visit me. Then there were the weekly rituals like dollar beers at Brian's on Wednesday and saki bombs in Downtown Fullerton on Thursday. Nobody rolled out the red carpet, but I did turn the corner at the office to find my desk bedecked in streamers and balloons, and the Architect - who many of you know and love - cleaned up his apartment. I'd like to think he did it for me.

I learned, upon coming home, that lots of people had been reading this blog. Family, friends, coworkers, and in some cases, their spouses and children caught up with me regularly. In the end, I'd like to think that my writings have served some purpose, however small or insignificant, in their lives. Some have told me to ditch the law firm and to become a writer, some have told me that they were moved by my experiences, and many have told me that they have been inspired to travel. People like my friend, Gwen, who did what I did a year ago were happy to see photos and read entries about familiar places.

Even with the audience I have amassed, the greatest purpose this blog has served was for me. In fact, this site is probably the epitome of narcissism and exhibitionism. What you will find, however, is that this blog becomes less about Eman and more about Italy. My first night home, as I have said, I was already struggling to hold onto the memories. All of these memories, and my thoughts on everything and everyone in Italy are all here, packaged, polished, and ready to withstand the test of time. I know there will be some days when I will forget. Over time, many of the memories will fade. This blog will help me reclaim those memories throughout the years. Looking back on these posts with all of the writings, photos and video help me revisit that wonderful dream that was my summer in Italy.

More photos of Florence
More photos of Rome
More photos of Capri
More photos of Venice