Thank you Puglia for being so kind to me… and for making this solitary Christmas far less lonely than I thought it might end up being 🎄.
The whole region of Apulia (or in proper Italian, Puglia) felt desolate over Christmas. Everything was closed. Making me acutely aware of the fact that everyone else was celebrating indoors with their family – except me.
Yet, I also experienced unforgettable kindnesses during this strange Christmas period 🌟.
The highlight of my Pugliese encounters was a hotel owner who celebrated in his hotel lobby on the evening of the 25th. The place was closed for guests. But he let me in anyways. He gave me a bed for the night when no one else would. He gave me a little portable heater so I wouldn’t turn into a popsicle overnight. Then, the next morning, his elderly father waited for me in the deserted hotel with a steaming hot espresso ☕️.
I’m still processing the overwhelming amount of impressions and emotions from being at my place of origin. Finally reaching this region in the south of Italy, the place my birth-dad is from, was very much like arriving at a distant planet after light years of traveling through space.

Strange as it may sound, dear Puglia, I feel like I’ve found myself a bit more whilst being with you.
It’s hard to describe what it feels like when your mom gives you away at birth. It leaves a hole in your heart a mile wide… during your entire life. A deep loneliness nothing can ever fill. You wonder what it was about you that was so horrible that she couldn’t bring herself to love you and keep you. Your adult self knows it must have been something inside of her. Nothing to do with you. At the same time, the child within you can’t help but think that maybe it was and is something about you after all that made and makes you so unlovable.
Thus, you forever feel like maybe you shouldn’t be here. You’re too much and you don’t really have a right to take up any space, to exist. You were a mistake. This feeling never leaves you. This niggling doubt. It is always there, making you wonder and undermining your self-confidence.
Being orphaned, you have no roots. You float, or rather tumble, through space, through life. Free, yes, but always longing for somewhere to belong. An anchor. A home. A base.
Worst of all, your lack of roots means you don’t quite know yourself. You don’t know where and with whom that genetic puzzle that makes you the unique you originated. Who were your great grandparents? Who were your grandparents? Who were your parents? How did they live? How did they love? How did they fight? How did they forgive? What were their passions, their struggles, their dreams?
You didn’t grow up in this web of relations. You didn’t feel safe, protected and loved. Even worse, you ended up with adoptive parents who made you feel even more unsafe, invalid, and unseen. You never experienced the highs and lows being part of a real family brings. To this day, you have never really known the joy and pain of belonging to something greater than yourself.
Even now, at this very moment, you feel so much love inside of you… but are forever at a loss of who to give it to and how. Your existence isn’t grounded in something. You have inherited no history, no family, no information, no teachings, no roots.
All of this was my status quo until the age of 52, last year, when something unexpected happened.
Last year… I found my birth-dad. After over 30 years of searching and wanting to know who he is. Finding my birth-mom 30 years prior had been a disaster. So, I was scared as hell at having finally succeeded to locate him. I trembled with uncertainty and had zero expectations.
I wasn’t even sure he would want to be in touch. But he had the courage to respond to the note I had left in his mailbox. We began to chat on WhatsApp…
Those first few months, I was an emotional mess. Just looking at my WhatsApp and seeing our chat there filled me with awe and raw emotions. I remember one time sitting in a tram to work, looking at the chat icon and thinking, “Oh my god, I actually have a chat with my birth-dad on WhatsApp!!!” 🥹 And then I broke out in tears… the morning-commuters probably thinking, “There, there, it can’t be that bad to go to work.” 😅
Amazingly, it turns out, my dad is a kind man with an enormous heart. A man, who has faced many struggles. A man who has prevailed and has managed to keep a positive outlook on life. In fact, he has the awesome energy of an eternal Duracell bunny (remember those battery-advertisements in the 80ies and 90ies? The bunnies with the drums?), which is sometimes almost a bit overwhelming.
For the first time in my life, I am proud to be someone’s son. I’m so proud of you, dear dad 🤗.
Coming finally to Puglia, where he and thus half of me is from, somehow lets me guess at who I could have been. It also shows me a bit more of who I actually am… and lets me recognize the good man I have become, against all odds. Yes, I am a little bit proud of myself, too. I’m also proud of being half-Pugliese. What a charming corner of our planet to originate from!
Most of all, for reasons beyond my understanding, finally being in Puglia for a short moment has helped me feel more grounded. Can it be? Yes, it can, even though I have no explanation as to how and why: I felt and feel those invisible roots underneath my feet and in my heart.
Now, back in Zurich, they are still whispering to me: “It’s ok to be exactly who you are. You’re on a good path. You can continue to come home to yourself. You’re allowed to exist. Not just exist but thrive. You’re valid and valuable, as exactly the person you are.”
There will continue to be ups and downs of course in this journey of reconciliation with myself and the world around me. Lots of (continuing) hours with a therapist probably, too. Life helped me as well. Friends. Facing up to all those mountains in my path no matter how hard it became. I never stopped working on myself. And now, hearing my birth-dad say to me “I love you. I’m proud of you” – words I’ve not heard before from an adult in my life – is healing me in places I didn’t even know needed healing.
I’m feeling safer… slowly… in this world. I am… slowly… claiming space for myself. At 53-years old, I am learning how to walk. It’s baby steps. Just now in Puglia, another one of those steps was done. One tiny step in the eyes of mankind. One giant step for me 👣.
