@Quincy
Opening my home
At that moment you’re in your early 20s. You still haven’t agreed to tell your father, and now that he’s about to go again, you’re sure you won’t. Not now, later… maybe. You keep it for yourself.
Your father is in the kitchen. "Dad" you say. "Is dinner ready?" You want to hear his voice, it's your way of intuiting his feelings. In fact, it gives you an excuse to tell him that the house is empty without him and that you are ready to rent it to travelers. An unconventional way to discover new worlds and feel yourself less lonely and adrift.
Your father drops the knife on the breadboard and wipes his hands on an apron. He drains the pasta and in a white cloud of steam says "It seems to me that you’re trying to grow up too fast".
"Daddy" you say, but your voice is too weak. You try to make things right. "Let me try".
His lake eyes frame upon you and from his chest cavity comes out a sort of "Oh" and that's when those b@stard tears run down your cheeks, and then you tilt your head back... Sometimes in life a door in your heart swings open and suddenly nothing remains as it was.
You turn around, cross the steam of the kitchen and the bad news and run off to your room. On a yellow Post-it you write the word "host". Your stomach gets twisted. You can feel the lungs inhaling your own air. You look around. You don’t know where to start. You don’t know anyone who has rented an apartment on AIRBNB and this gives you a pure, real, dark pleasure.
You wonder if you need some sort of magic to make this happen and if the joyful gospel of this portal will ease your pain. You wonder if this experience will change you and for a moment you see yourself a different person.
You think about such things, then you turn to the window while the sun goes down under the rooftops of Milan.
