The Child Who Was Waiting for Diamante
I dedicated two days to searching for the places where I would stay over the next few months. I had planned no less than three consecutive months away from home.
The search was challenging: finding a place that wasn't too expensive, easily reachable on foot or by public transport, and surrounded by nature. On top of that, I wanted to book immediately for about six weeks. I wasn't organizing anything far in advance, which made everything even more complicated.
The goal was to stay outside Sicily but still in Southern Italy, to enjoy May in all its splendor.
A Sign of Destiny
And then something incredible happened. A sign of destiny.
The only house that perfectly matched what I was looking for was located in a city that means so much to me: Diamante.
I get emotional talking and writing about it because right now, as I'm writing this post, I'm in this very city.
Diamante, in Calabria, in the province of Cosenza, is the city of murals and chili peppers. It overlooks the sea and has a beautiful beach. But the most important thing is that during our camper trips across Italy with my family, there was always one certainty: we had to spend a few days in Diamante, sometimes even weeks. We had our trusted favorite campsite, with the camper parked right in front of the sea, facing the island of Cirella. On that beach, I lived my best family moments and witnessed the most beautiful sunsets of my childhood and early teenage years.
As you can imagine, I confirmed the booking immediately. I hadn't been to Diamante in about 15 years. I was incredibly excited about the idea.
Departure
The day of departure arrived. I didn't have much to bring, and by then everything fit into two backpacks. I got on the train, and my first experience as what we can now call a full-time nomad began.
The journey was long but fairly calm. When I arrived in Diamante, I was welcomed by the very friendly owner. The house was truly lovely, very simple, with everything essential. But it had an incredible view that online photos could never fully capture: a large terrace with even a desk where I could work overlooking the sea, the river, the town, and the mountains. At sunrise, I could watch the sun rise behind the mountains, and at sunset, disappear into the horizon over the sea.
What struck me the most, though, was the simultaneous sound of the river's waterfalls and the waves of the sea, gently accompanying my sleep at night.
The true lady of the house is the cat, a beautiful Bengal, who, as I write this post, is curled up on my legs and looking at me with her emerald, cheetah-like eyes.
Returning to the Beach
As soon as I could, I headed to the beach for a long walk in search of the campsite I had always deeply missed. I finally found it, still full of campers. It seemed bigger, with new bungalows as well. I laid down my towel in that very stretch of beach. After fifteen years, I could once again witness the sunset over the island.
I knew that every evening it would become a ritual. I felt so good, finally happy and connected to that inner child within me who had waited far too many years to return to that beach.
📻 Soundtrack
📻 Colonna Sonora

🎵 Caricamento...
YouTube Music
This song tells the story of an emotional liberation that arrives unexpectedly. We are used to thinking that the end of a relationship brings only pain, melancholy, and a sense of loss. And often it does. But not always.
Here, the breakup is not a collapse: it is a quiet rebirth.
There is no anger, no shouted regret. Instead, there is the awareness of having done everything possible, of having fought enough, of having spent too many sleepless nights trying to find solutions to keep something standing that, in reality, had already broken.
The song tells the story of that precise moment when you stop forcing things.
When you let go, not out of weakness but out of respect for yourself.
And then something surprising happens: emptiness turns into space to move in, pain softens until it becomes breath, fear loses its voice, and all that remains is a subtle, almost incredulous peace.
The past is still present, of course. Memories do not disappear. But they no longer weigh as heavily as before. The present becomes brighter, more livable. You rediscover the pleasure of simple things, of silence, of finally sleeping through the night without relentless thoughts pounding in your mind.
It is a song about rediscovered freedom. About that delicate yet powerful feeling of coming home to yourself.