Mia's Life

Each day, I fall more deeply in love with Padova. The soft, cream-colored glow of the city lights feels like a warm embrace, and street musicians create a lively soundtrack with the hum of accordions. It’s as if I’ve wandered into a film, each moment a scene brimming with life. Everywhere I turn, I feel like I’m stepping through a living photograph—not just because of the ancient architecture surrounding me, but because of the stories unfolding in every face I pass.

As I walk, I’m drawn to the people around me, each carrying a life full of experiences that I can only catch in brief glimpses. Sometimes I wonder, “Who are they, really? What thoughts, memories, and dreams fill their lives?” Whether it’s an old woman shaking out a towel on her balcony or a couple sharing a laugh-filled dinner, there’s a sense of connection here, an intimacy to even the smallest gestures. The city streets are alive, filled with people enjoying life together. No one seems preoccupied with endless tasks or isolated behind screens; instead, they’re out, sharing a meal, browsing flowers at the market, smiling over a drink, or simply holding each other close.

There’s a corner store clerk I pass each evening, the same man who sold me my phone data my first month here. Though I rarely stop in now, I catch sight of him through the window almost daily, and I wonder about his life—what led him here, and what his days look like beyond that counter. Shops line every street here, from high-end boutiques to cozy storefronts with no sign at all. People seem to carve out whatever life they choose, guided less by financial ambition than by passion. I pass tiny, intimate shops that hardly see customers, yet there’s always someone lovingly arranging every item, taking pride in what they do. It’s beautiful to witness.

Back home, I always saw careers as paths to stability and status, with success measured in financial terms. Here, that pressure feels lifted. People aren’t fixated on selling, and no one tries to push you toward the highest price; they simply want you to enjoy their craft. It’s refreshing to see so many people rooted in what they genuinely love.

Whenever I step outside, strangers greet me warmly with a simple “Ciao!” Just yesterday, an older gentleman stopped to ask me how I was. It wasn’t strange or intrusive, but rather felt like a small kindness, a moment of genuine friendliness. When he asked where I was from, I don’t know what came over myself when I answered Canada instead of the U.S., and when I added “Toronto,” his face lit up even more. People here extend that kindness everywhere—cars stop instantly for a pedestrian waiting to cross, and locals form loyal bonds with their favorite bakeries, cafés, and markets, always sharing little moments of connection.

Now, as autumn settles in, I feel the season so much more vividly. The cooler air and fallen leaves color the city, but what truly stands out is the way people celebrate the shift. Shops fill their displays with autumn’s hues, adorned with pumpkins, chestnuts, and cinnamon-scented everything. Fruit markets trade summer’s berries and melons for apples and pears, embracing the season’s offerings. 

Texas may be my home, but some days, I wonder if I’ll ever want to go back. How could I leave a place so full of life? A place where people linger over books in cozy coffee shops, stroll their dogs through open gardens, bike to their doctor’s appointments, know the birthdays and middle names of their grocery clerks, and genuinely go out of their way to be kind to one another. It amazes me that some people are born into a life like this and have no idea just how lucky they are. The chance to look out my window at churches built centuries ago or hop on an hour-long train to explore another city—or even another country—feels like the kind of wish I’d make to a mythical genie. Yet, for some, it’s simply their reality.

“One half of the world cannot understand the pleasures of the other.”- Jane Austen