I don't know what it feels like to spend your entire life in one country; sometimes, I envy the people that do. They have this connection with their homeland—how do I explain it? There's this glint in their eye whenever they talk about it, a sort of cultivated pride. It always starts off as a tiny seed at the bottom of your heart and, with time, through thick and thin, eventually blossoms into the flower of patriotism.There is no place like home.

Indeed, home is where the heart is. When you travel to another country, how often do you feel the need to compare it to your homeland? How often do you compare the unknown with what is known? You always hear, "Hey, we have this too back at X!" or "No way. I can't believe they don't sell my favourite snack here. These people don't know what they're missing out on!" It's a point of reference, and it's impossible not to turn to it in the time of need. That's why nations are often referred to as the "Motherland" or the "Fatherland"; when we are scared or hurt, we always seek help from our family, because they are the only ones we can trust with all our being.

What about me? What is my home? I've been travelling ever since I was a kicking, squealing baby, unaware of what lay beyond my mother's arms, of the big, wide world. My childhood was a blur of cardboard boxes, multicoloured suitcases, and nauseating plane rides. I've been to America, Europe, Australia, and travelled within each and every one of them, donating a piece of my heart to each. I've seen so many things in my eighteen years of life, that I struggle to remember most of them (but that's what photos are for, right?), so where do I live? Well, I've walked down many paths, but they say that they all lead to a single place.

Rome.

Rome is where the heart is, for me. No matter how many times I left, I always circled back to it, like a bird to its nest. I used to hate the mere thought of being committed to one place, finding it much easier to just pack my bags and move away at the first sign of trouble. Being granted the possibility to do so isn't something that comes around so often, so why allow it to slip through my fingers?

Now that I'm older, that detachment has come back to bit me right in the ass. My friends are scattered around the world, and the ones I've made here in Rome, back when I was in elementary school, have all grown and moved on with their lives. But that is a story for another time.

Back to Rome.

The capital of Italy is one of those cities everyone aspires to visit at least once in their lifetime. Tourists from all over the world flock to it with their expensive cameras, snapping pictures at everything in sight, from the chipped cobblestones to the thousand-year-old monuments dedicated to our very complicated history. We have the Pope, the Colosseum, the Trevi fountain...it's impossible to contain all this beauty into a simple photo album. But what lies underneath this facade? Something nowhere near as beautiful. A broken economy, corrupt politicians, dingy, trash-lined streets, disabled beggars, dilapidated buildings, illegal immigrants—the list goes on and on.

I live in a neighbourhood that doesn't offer a view of the Tiber river, or Saint Peters church, as most people seem to believe when I tell them, "I live in Rome". Fifty years ago, during what the considered the 'Golden Age', my neighbourhood used to house a tight-knit community of well-off Italians, that went to church together every Sunday and spent their holidays all together at the beach in Ostia.

That is all but a distant memory now, which only lives on through the post-war generation. Today, this neighbourhood harbours the aforementioned issues, as do all the others, even the ones in the centre. I realise that it's easy to overlook these problems and focus on the positives, but unfortunately, this is the reality of my city, of my country, of the place I've grown to love despite its imperfections.

The place where I live.

A/N: Hello! This is my entry for the Where I Live 2016 contest. The word count is 723 (nowhere near the top limit, thank God) and I thought I should enter because the issue of national identity is of great importance to me. I hope you enjoyed reading about my experience and please vote for my entry in the contest book! (The external link will be provided once I actually submit the form).

Update: I won! 🏆 (Most votes for the entry)