I have one rule, and it has shaped my Life through all my travels, in more ways than I can count: there is no two without three. So here I am, back in a city I thought I had already said goodbye to, with a tower to climb and an old version of myself to catch up with. He and I have a few things to sort out. Some of it is funny, some of it took me a while to admit, and all of it starts in a hotel room...

The whole club sang every word of a song I had never heard, one that’s been around for almost twenty years. That turned out to be the smallest thing I missed this week. Someone told me I must have seen a lot, and maybe I have. But there was also a table where I was the weakest, a show that brought back two friends who are no longer here, and the honest side of this lifestyle people usually keep to themselves...

In 2016, a professionally painted mask won me a competition. Ten years later, my very young classmate recreated it, and I won again. Between a full moon, a week of goodbyes, and a song that sounds like unlimited youth, I kept thinking about Pirandello, and how easy it is to wear a mask, or to become a spectator in your own Life...

I chained myself to a chair, became a dog owner for 45 seconds, won a limited edition pasta, and walked into a building where an Australian anthem was playing. One Shazam later, I knew I had found my place in this city, the same way I once did in Darwin and in Sydney. All of this happened during a week I was fully prepared to hate. It turns out I may have been wrong about what a week like that is for...

I have lived in many countries, and I arrived in every one of them with the same rule in my pocket. This week, surrounded by people from every corner of the world, Québec showed me why that rule still matters. Yes, there was Thanksgiving, and my very first hockey game. But the real discovery was a city with no intention of becoming like everywhere else, and what that says about the rest of us...

I had deliberately avoided looking at pictures of Québec City, so I met it the only way that made sense: by running 21 kilometres through it with nearly 21,000 other people. Then came an intensive French course, a circus hiding in my neighbourhood, a book character I keep being compared to without knowing why, and a simple card game that delivered a message I wasn’t expecting. One last Iceberg beer, and a miracle I had to make myself...

One minute I was still in Newfoundland, the next I was basically being pushed onto a 16-hour overnight ferry. The last stretch of road on the island belonged to April, who has been part of probably 75% of my Newfoundland Life. Then came a rental car, a Newfoundlander called Jason, the ship from the 10-cent coin that left me slightly underwhelmed, and one of my many rules: never arrive in your new city at night. Four provinces later, I stopped and waited for the sunrise...

I was supposed to be gone already. Instead I gave Newfoundland one extra week, ran the Terry Fox Run, and found myself at a house party breaking the Yom Kippur fast. Two years in Canada were celebrated at night in someone’s favourite cove, watching faraway ships get closer to the Narrows under a nearly full moon. Then came 15 years since I left Italy, and a song on an ordinary Wednesday afternoon that put me exactly where Life wanted me. The best stories rarely send an invitation...

The week started with 21 kilometres alongside my very first friend in St. John’s. Right after the race, he sat on my couch and said exactly the words I needed to hear, about a goodbye I never said the night before. After that, I finally kissed the fish, danced like I hadn’t in over a year, and watched a ship disappear through the Narrows. Sometimes one small switch is all it takes...

I watched them build the patios on Water Street when I arrived, and now I’m watching them take them apart. In between, I crashed a wedding by accident, found a song at 6 a.m. about lives that are all front, and have a disclaimer to give you about last week’s custody agreement. Then a single image stopped me in my tracks, because if today feels ordinary...

The goodbyes have started, and they don’t come one at a time. This week I moved into my fifth address in seven months, signed my first custody agreement, fell out with friends and made peace, and ended up in the hospital in a way I definitely didn’t see coming. Life doesn’t hand you one feeling at a time...

The world’s largest single-masted sailing yacht slipped through the Narrows, and pure chance had me standing in exactly the right spot. It was a week of sunshine on Signal Hill, campfires that turned into sunrises, a Latino night I’d been missing since February, and a lesson I’m still learning about when to speak and when to find better words. Then a random Sunday decided the week wasn’t over yet...