A Different Kind of Silence

By Kamea Miranda

Florence

I was so excited—I’d been meaning to go there all week. I remember walking with a smile on my face, totally looking forward to it. But as I got closer to the building, I noticed the room looked dark. That’s when I realized it was closed. It threw me off a bit, so I just kept walking, hoping to find a place I liked where I could sit for a while.

Eventually, I ended up near the carousel by the Duomo. I won’t lie—once I pressed the timer, I had to constantly fight the urge to check my phone to see how much time I had left. That small struggle made me realize just how often I pick up my phone without even thinking. It’s like muscle memory or impulse at this point, which probably isn’t great.

Compared to the last time I did this, today felt a bit easier. Maybe because it was a Sunday and the area around the Duomo was so alive—it helped distract me from sinking too deep into my thoughts. The deep thinking still came, but it wasn’t as intense.

I noticed how many families were out today, which you don’t really see during the week. It was kind of adorable watching little Italian kids throw tantrums. Instead of finding it annoying, I found it… amusing. I also saw so many dogs—one that stuck with me was a cute black French bulldog. I remember thinking, “Wow, to be a French bulldog living in Florence…”

There was something different about doing nothing here. It didn’t feel the same as doing nothing back home—but in a good way. As much as I was tired and craving my bed, I couldn’t stop thinking about how lucky I am. Lucky like that French bulldog—to be living on the other side of the world in a place that feels so different from where I came from.

Even in stillness, there’s beauty. I’ve come to love that feeling of never quite knowing what to expect. Each day brings something new, and even sitting in the same place on a different day feels different. There’s something about that unpredictability that feels so beautiful, so exciting—and for that, I’m grateful.