I lived in Rome for six months—long enough to no longer see it like a tourist, but not quite enough to understand it like a local. So I chose something in between: a perspective shaped by my intuition.

In Rome, disorder is a kind of order. To lose your way is sometimes the only way to find something real.

Long before a civilization records its history, its essence is already set. The gods—shaped by human—reflect the societies—shaping human. Among all mythologies, the ancient Roman deities feel the most human—they were jealous, vengeful, lustful, and reckless. They do what they want, unbound by morality, and yet, they were worshiped. That chaotic freedom is still in Italy’s streets today.

Southern Europeans are blessed. The Mediterranean climate is a gift from the sky, and Roman civilization flourished in this sun-drenched soil. Today, modern Romans inherit it all—like the children of a once-glorious empire, living freely in the glow of history.

Rome has a four-month spring, rainless skies, and endless treasure tucked into its orange buildings.

This city is a feeling, not a plan. And that’s the charm—it never asks you to fully understand it. Only to feel it.