When Allison Saw the Italian Light

It had been more than twenty years since I last saw Allison, my American host sister.

We were seventeen back then, sharing a home in Texas for what felt like the most exciting chapter of our teenage years.

We spent countless evenings talking in a mix of hesitant English and imperfect Italian, laughing at our mistakes, swapping stories about our families, our dreams, our crushes.

Back then, the world felt huge, and yet, in that small house, it also felt wonderfully close.

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Time, as it does, rushed forward.

We grew up, moved on, and life pulled us in different directions. The years piled up — one after the other — until two decades had passed without us meeting in person.

This summer, I finally returned to visit her.

The moment I stepped into her home and we saw each other again, it was like no time had passed. She hugged me, pulled back, looked into my eyes, and said something that stopped me in my tracks:

“You have this light… Italian light.”

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I laughed, curious about what she meant. But Allison wasn’t talking about the weather or the sunshine. She meant something deeper.

She said it was in the little things:

• the way I set a table without even thinking, adding a small flower in a glass jar;

• the way I made coffee in the moka pot, filling the kitchen with its rich aroma;

• the way I opened the windows in the morning to let the golden sun touch the walls;

• the way I reached for colors — in clothes, in food, in everyday life — that made everything feel warmer.

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For her, Italian light wasn’t just about brightness.

It was a way of living: a gentle elegance, a mix of tradition and spontaneity, a love for beauty in the smallest details.

And as she spoke, I realized she was right. That light wasn’t something I consciously carried. It was woven into my habits, my gestures, my way of seeing the world — and it could be shared.

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This blog is my way of bringing that light to you.

Here, I’ll share the scents, the flavors, the rituals, and the styles that carry a piece of Italy in them.

Sometimes they will be big things — like a recipe passed down for generations.

Sometimes they will be as small as the perfect shade of light through a window at breakfast.

Because, in the end, beauty isn’t only in what we see.

It’s in how we live.

And maybe, just maybe, this Italian light can find its way into your days, too.

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☀️ Welcome to Italian Light Journal.

Your coffee is ready — shall we begin?