Rainy Days

Choosing rest, silence and reconnection before a new chapter begins. @August, Copenhagen 

It’s Sunday, and it’s raining heavily.

I tried waking up a bit earlier today because tomorrow I start my internship, and for the past two months, I’ve completely lost the habit of early mornings. Instead, I’ve been staying up late and waking up just before noon.

It usually takes me about three days to get back on track, so I made an effort… but honestly, this rain and the fresh air flowing through the window made sleeping in feel irresistible.

I’ve missed this Scandinavian air so much—so, so much. When I landed in Berlin and stepped off the plane, the crisp air hit my chest with that familiar “home” feeling.

I might have gotten used to the Mediterranean climate, but my longing for the North is stronger. I’ve simply learned how to live with it—and how to be happy despite it.

I stayed in Berlin for over a week, and it was amazing. The city is alive and diverse in a way you can’t find anywhere else.

After a week of little sleep, I took a train, then a bus, then a boat, and then another bus, and finally arrived in Copenhagen.

Since then, except for a few coffee meetings, I’ve done nothing but

take the time I desperately needed to find myself again, to regain my energy.

I needed time to slow down, to sleep, and to be alone—

time to reflect on everything my brain hadn’t had a chance to process over the past month.

So many things had happened, so many trips and experiences, but I hadn’t stopped even once to let my feelings settle.

But now that I’m home, breathing in this fresh, clean air, my brain feels free to slow down, relax, and reset for a new, powerful chapter.

The first two days, I simply slept. Then, slowly—like a shy child—I began taking short walks.

This probably sounds absurd to some of you, but every time I see this city, I’m mesmerised by its beauty, by the casual way it exists so perfectly.

Once again, I was entranced by its buildings, its colours, the skies, the bike lanes, and everything in between.

I went grocery shopping and was briefly shocked by the prices, but then I remembered—this is Denmark.

Compared to Italy, groceries are expensive, but the lifestyle here is simply different.

Rents in Milan and Copenhagen may be similar, but everything else is another story.

I got a bike and started riding around the city—just me with myself. I needed this reconnection, this recharging.

I took Copenhagen by the hand and we rode together, rediscovering each other.

Every time I return here, I feel different.

Sometimes I feel more like I belong, other times more alienated.

But always, I feel a deep calm in my soul. It’s as if my heart and mind get to take a break from worrying about the world.

This city protects me.

Now, as I look out the window, the rain hasn’t stopped.

I had planned to bike to Dragør, grab a coffee, and write my latest articles there.

I still have four drafts waiting to be finished. I write in the moment, so I can capture exactly how I’m feeling and how life’s events are shaping me. But lately, I’ve been blocked—blocked not only in writing, but in everything: answering messages, emails, even opening books.

Everything in me needed a big pause.

I just needed to be.

To breathe. Sleep. Eat. Walk.

It’s only natural after such an intense month with no rest.

Dragør—a tiny yellow fishing town south of Copenhagen, with cobblestone streets, half-timbered houses, and a harbour that feels like a postcard—would have been the perfect little escape.

I imagined sipping overpriced coffee on a terrace overlooking the sea, letting the salty air untangle my thoughts.

Physical activity, especially biking, brings me the clearest head and the most inspiration for my writing. That was the plan.

Instead, I’m sipping coffee in bed, watching the gentle storm outside.

And I feel… things.

A loud, proud gratitude for who I’ve become and who I’m becoming.

Gratitude for what I’ve achieved through hard sacrifices.

Happiness for the things that are finally working out after so many struggles.

Pride for my successes, but also for my failures—they, too, are mine to carry proudly.

At the beginning of the year, turning 30 was a small shock.

But time moves too quickly anyway—we can never truly catch it. The only thing left to do is enjoy it as much as we can.

Now, everything makes sense. Everything happened exactly as it was meant to.

I’m a big believer in destino. I love romanticising my life (one of my unfinished posts is about exactly that).

I believe in destiny, but I also believe in choices—the choices that lead us to where we’re meant to be.

Each of us is following a story that belongs only to us.

I’m following mine, and I’m proud.

I’m proud of my life. Proud of myself. I’m always seeking to grow and improve—both as a human and as an individual.

But I’m also tired.

So I chose myself these past few days.

Me, my coffee, and myself.

No writing. No talking. No interactions.

I needed solitude, to crawl back into my soul and process all the emotions, all the ups and downs.

I feel so grateful, I don’t even know who to thank. Maybe… myself.

I love writing, and this little corner of the internet brings me so much joy. But sometimes the heart needs silence.

No words. No noise. Just the quiet weight of feelings settling into place.

And now, as the rain taps softly against the window, I can feel it—

the stillness, the gratitude, the quiet certainty that I’m exactly where I’m meant to be.