Travelling Through Time: An Italian Journey of Family, Memory, and Meaning

We’ve recently returned from a 10-day trip to Italy — a country that already held a special place

in our hearts. Fifteen years ago, we travelled there as newlyweds, wide-eyed and full of

dreams. This time, we returned as parents — more grounded, perhaps wiser, and

accompanied by our two beautiful daughters, aged 11 and 8. The trip was to celebrate our

younger one’s birthday, but in many ways, it became a quiet celebration of life itself — of

how far we’ve come, and of the transformations that time gently brings.

Italy, of course, has a way of speaking directly to the soul. Every corner contributed to the

profundity of our experience — from the frescoes and sculptures in Rome to the reminder

of the fragility of human existence in Pompeii. Even the most ordinary streets in Sorrento

felt like open-air galleries — every balcony draped with flowers, every café arranged as if by

a painter’s hand. The graffiti on weathered walls seemed less like rebellion and more like

poetry; an expression of everyday artistry that breathes life into the old and makes the

ancient feel alive again.

Somewhere between those cobblestoned streets, the gelato breaks, and the golden sunrise

in Venice, I found myself reflecting inward — about who I was then, who I am now, and what

truly gives meaning to our lives.

One evening, I asked my daughters a simple but profound question: “What has been the

highlights of your life so far?”

They both looked at me, puzzled. “Of our whole life?” one asked, as if to make sure I hadn’t

misspoken. I smiled silently. To them, “their whole life” meant 8 and 11 years — a small

number to me, but for them, it was the entirety of their existence.

After a pause, they began recalling their favourite memories: trips we’ve taken together,

moments of laughter and discovery, birthdays with friends. I noticed that none of their

answers had anything to do with school achievements, performances, or organised events.

No mention of report cards, concerts, or drama shows. Only moments of shared joy,

adventure, and connection stood out.

It struck me deeply. What defines the highlights of our lives — whether we’re 8 or 40 — are

not the daily routines or achievements that fill our calendars. It’s the emotions we feel in

the company of those we love. It’s the shared laughter, the awe of discovery, the adrenaline

of adventure. Those are the moments that etch themselves into memory.

When my daughters turned the question back to me — asking what the highlight of my life

had been — I answered without hesitation: “The day each of you was born.” Because

beyond all the milestones and travels, their existence itself is my greatest journey.

That conversation reminded me of something profound about being human. We chase

experiences, not possessions. We remember feelings, not facts. We crave connection, not

perfection.

As we wandered through Florence’s art-laden streets, I realised how deeply creativity runs

in Italy’s veins. Even shop windows seemed to tell stories — curated with such imagination

and care that they became part of the city’s living art. It’s a place where beauty isn’t

confined to museums; it spills into daily life, making even an evening stroll a lesson in

appreciating detail, craftsmanship, and passion.

And this brings me to an unexpected thought about our times — about AI, technology, and

what they mean for our humanity. Many fear that AI will replace human experiences or

creativity. I don’t see it that way. AI can’t replicate the joy of watching your child chase

pigeons in a piazza or the warmth of shared laughter over an imperfect family selfie. But

what it can do is free us — from routine, from noise, from the mechanical aspects of life —

so we can focus on the experiences that truly matter.

Perhaps salvation in the 21st century isn’t about renouncing technology, but about learning

to live alongside it wisely. Let AI handle the repetitive and the mundane, while we

rediscover the sacredness of living — the creative, emotional, deeply human parts that

machines can never touch.

For me, that’s what Italy reminded me of — that life’s meaning isn’t found in accumulation,

but in awareness; not in ownership, but in experience. And that every journey, whether

through a country or through time, is ultimately a journey inward.

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