@Suzanne302
Hosting is a strange mode of trasport for the soul. The adventure with AIRBNB intrigued me. I got on this colorful train just out of curiosity, to know the other, to look for new worlds, to earn new beginnings.
Perhaps it was the fascination of the other, perhaps it was a personal matter between myself and an old loving friend: the informal sharing.
When my father was transferred to Geneva, I convinced him to rent our house in Milan to tourists.
My father has always been very strict with me. He taught me to be independent from an early age, pushing me into the world because that would have been my destiny.
The price I paid and I still pay is this: the curiosity for the unknown, to see what’s out there, a little further, beyond that border, to meet people with strange names, colors, flavors, codes different from mine, to take the measures of my life observing the lives of others.
I started really very early to want to take my space and make my own way. I was now a woman. I had to find a way to "do without": without dad, without crutches to lean on.
That emptiness made me uneasy. I was trying to fill it out of my home as much as possible. Hunting for noise, and Milan did not disappoint me. During the day I was studying, I was attending classes at the university, but when I came home in the evening, the house was empty.
The desire to host and to have the full house took hold of me. But could I make it on my own? I had no idea. Rent the house of dad alone. At twenty!
It was an epic moment. I still remember that day. The first contact point. The first yes. If you want to come to Milan, you are welcome to my home. They wanted to.
It was as if my life had begun only then. I had the impression of conquering the world, guest after guest. A world that belonged to me and to which I belonged. It did not take long to make me a safer, more resilient person. If I fell, I would get up.
And one of the first things that this wonderful experience has taught me is not to be afraid, to trust people. This feeling still gives me a lot of strength.
I opened the door and went out, sure that nothing would happen to me, whatever I had done. And I've done a lot of things: from hosting tourists with bad reviews (with some of whom I later even traveled to the North Cape) to accept sweets from strangers (immediate booking), but trying to stay alert, with the feline instinct well sharpened. I could even count on a faithful bodyguard with me and ruthless with the others: Frodo, a four-legged disheveled boy I had adopted a long time before.
I was taught to trust tourist and I trusted. I’m pretty sure the feeling was mutual. Sometimes they protected me accepted me as I was. They’ve even made me feel so special.
What was my favorite thing about being a host? Well, after so many years I would venture to say that hosting has meant for me to make some sense out of everything that happened to me.
