I was lying in bed with my eyes closed. It was easy to picture the familiar surroundings of my bedroom. The blue speckled walls, the 15 year-old pet-net hanging above my head, the mishmash of furniture crowded into the room. I rolled over and felt the bumpy wall to my right. This was home and I missed it.
A familiar smell of cooked vegetables pulled me out of my daydream, but the sight that greeted my eyes was new. A massive bookshelf full of words I wished I knew loomed in front of me. The curved ceiling, more than 15 feet above my head, made me feel small and lonely. Even though I hadn’t touched one in more than 7 years, I longed to reach up and grab Brownie, one of my favorite stuffed animals. Sunshine streamed through the open window, reflected off the bright yellow walls and burned my fresh eyes. As I wiped the moisture from my face I heard a rumbling in my tummy and realized that I hadn’t eaten in 17 hours. I got up and went to the kitchen.
“Ahhh, si sveglia! Sono G___. Avete mangiato? Sembrate affamato, si sedate e gli farò il pranzo.” Evidently, my blank stare wasn’t an adequate response. “Hai capito?” That, I did understand. “No, no capito” was all I could manage to say. I looked around the kitchen at all the food she has been making. I was so hungry but I didn’t know what to do or say. I knew what I wanted. Chocolate. I ran back to my room, but quickly realized that I didn’t have any. Wrappers from the three bars that flew across the Atlantic with me stared up at me from the trash can. As my tummy rumbled once again, I realized I would have to face one of my two fears. For some reason, venturing out of the apartment won out over trying to communicate with G___, the family cook who spoke no english. Besides, who knew what was in that food? Chocolate was safe, even if I had to leave the 3rd floor apartment of my Italian host family. I quickly looked up the words I go in my self-guided Italian textbook and returned to the kitchen. “ummm, Io vado…ciao.” G___ looked at me, clearly disappointed, but I was too tired, hungry and homesick to try to talk to her. I picked up my little Vodafone, my set of keys, and the 100 euro that B had fronted me. That should be sufficient for a bar of chocolate.
I walked down the stone stairway and made my way towards the massive oak doors that separated me from Torino. Taking a deep breath, I pushed the door open, stepped out and turned right, beginning my quest for the chocolate that would stifle my homesickness and my hunger. I walked straight for two blocks and then noticed a little Di per Di down the street to my left. My stomach pulled me all the way through the door and straight to the chocolate. ‘Check, What else do I want?’ I grabbed some “American cookies” (chocolate chip) and a tube of Pringles (which cost so much I’m embarrassed to say I bought it) and made my way to the register. Then I saw the toiletry shelf. I stood there looking intently at the bottles for about 30 minutes, but my fear of buying foot cream and using it as conditioner made me postpone this errand for another day.
Lying in bed, surrounded by nothing more than what I fit in my two suitcases and a bunch of Ikea furniture, I opened a bar of pure milk chocolate and sank into happiness. Over the next few months I ate more chocolate than I care to admit. I was eating too much milk chocolate, so I cheated on him and began my affair with dark chocolate (hoping to cut back on my intake), but that didn’t work…I just fell in love with dark chocolate too. So here I am, a lover of chocolate, hoping to share my love and life with you. Hopefully I’ll be more faithful to this blog than I was to milk chocolate.
