9. Stuck

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9. /Stuck/ 
Florence, Italy


One cannot be anything but be in gratitude to wake up on a cool, cloudy Sunday morning in Florence, Italy.

To spend the morning lingering through the open air markets in San Lorenzo, drinking coffee and eating fresh pizza slices. To walk around the Piazza del Duomo in slight drizzle under your umbrella observing the romanesque, gothic and renaissance influences in the architecture of the city.

Wandering through the Uffizi gallery in the afternoon, seeing Leonardo Di Vinci’s incomplete “Adoration of Magi”.

Walking across the Ponte Vecchio in the evening and getting lost in the tiny alleyways finding your way back from one of the other connecting bridges further down the Arno river.

Sipping a local Tuscan wine, there you are in an old 16th century wine tavern now converted into a restaurant, deeply breathing in Firenze. If you tilt your head up, there’s a mesmerising grey and yellow floral pattern on the ceilings. You’ve just finished a plate of fried zucchini flowers, a delicacy in Florence and something you’ve always wanted to try because you read about it in some book once. Brunelleschi’s lit red dome looms in the night skies above, different strains of Italian music from the alleyways and the restaurant’s speakers stream through you and occasionally a breeze gently blows through your hair.

But when amidst all such beauty all you want to do is take your earphones and shove them in your ears and put Irshad Kamil’s penned ‘Ghar’ on repeat, you know in the pit of your stomach that this m***arhod problem is now under your skin.

And it’ll make you burn. Cities and temples. Years of hard work. One’s very sanity. Into dust.

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