Shortly before New Year’s Eve, one evening I saw something in passing that has managed to remain stuck in my craw. Here in Rome, one of the buildings near Piazza di Spagna had its front edifice bedazzled with thousands of lights. I saw it after nightfall, and in this way it gave the suggestion of a continuation of a night’s winter sky. Or perhaps more accurately, a glitzy and modern Roman Christmas winter sky. Added to the spectacle was an addition of electric words glowing solid as if it were more urgent than anything else in the piazza. “E quindi uscimmo a riveder le stelle”. And then we emerged and saw the stars again.

Last year during the lockdown (or maybe it was the year before?), I read selected passages of The Inferno by Dante Alighieri. I would never have tried it on my own, but my then Italian teacher knew I was interested in literature, and thus sent me a few passages to stumble through. The cantos were slow reading— not only because I had to understand 14th century Italian— but also because one passage is full of references to past works, historical personalities. The voyage that Dante and Virgil take depicts throes of eternal human suffering in a detail that still disquiets the reader, over 700 years later.

Reading Dante—even in translation—is no easy task, but the short exercise certainly helped me to pass the time when we were all really stuck inside. And now that I think more on it, this reading exercise was almost two years ago. That is how long we’ve been on this particular journey so far.

As I looked up at the palazzo emblazoned with Dante’s words, I adjusted my face mask and tried to recall if I remembered this during lockdown. It’s a notable moment, the point where Dante and his guide Virgil emerge from Hell after meeting Lucifer. After a journey that lasted 24 hours, from sunset to sunset, they managed to find the night sky again. 

This winter season has not exactly been kind to any of us. Last year I recall the great relief I felt after receiving my vaccine and allowing myself to hope that we all just might be getting through this pandemic soon enough. Plans about far-flung reunions sprouted in my head as I looked to the summer and holiday months. My nascent plans were written down in pencil. I still have many airline credits from pandemic-cancelled flights that I haven’t managed to claim. Rebooking and truly committing to more travel was not yet appetizing. And then of course, the October served as a crystal ball for this winter and I understood that my sketched-out plans would not become a reality. 

Hello, January. 

I’m sitting right now and typing all of this on my phone while I partake in one the few vanities that bring me into contact with “mixed company”. I’m getting my hair dyed in the vain attempt to disguise the aging process. When I walked into the shop, I found that they’d had reverted to having clients put their pocketbooks in plastic bags. Everyone is wearing FFP2 masks— the masks reported to offer the best protection against infection. My hairdresser and I chat about what we did and didn’t do over the holidays. Who is positive amongst the people we know and how in this period, every day expectations and task accomplishment are not guaranteed to be met. His birthday is next week and I asked him what he was going to do. “Nothing,” he said. It didn’t require any explanation. We both shrugged behind our masks in mutual comprehension. The virus is still driving our daily journey.

E quindi uscimmo a riveder le stelle. And then we emerged and saw the stars again. 

Last week, after the Befana paid me a visit and filled my stocking with candy, I finally took down all the Christmas decorations. And the Presepe and tree at Vatican City is now gone, as is probably the tree at Piazza Venezia. As for the lights adorning Piazza di Spagna, I haven’t been back since before New Year’s. I don’t know if the quote from Dante had been dismantled along with everything else. But I do know for sure that those words are still everpresent, burning in my mind. 

This isn’t some half-assed attempt to equate our pandemic experience to some sort of tourist bus ride through the circles of Hell. Nor am I attempting to shore up sympathy because I still get to have brown hair while wearing a face mask and having my purse sit in a plastic bag. In the grand scheme, things could be so much worse. We all know that—yet we are all still allowed to feel weary. 

I do, however, recall one passage that I read two years ago from the Inferno. It was at the opening, when Dante the pilgrim was lost in the woods and unable to find the straight path out. I tend to feel as thought pandemic is one long dark wood with more twists and turns than we’re willing to account for. I don’t really see a neat and clear ending—where we all collectively realize that we are out of the depths and into a new hemisphere of the world. I think this thing is going to last for some time, and will eventual endpoint where we can all suddenly look back and say, “Wow. I don’t want to do that again.”  But we undoubtedly will have something else that comes along. I’m too much of a realist not to think otherwise. 

But the one thing I do cling to is that quote. It’s almost a fervent belief at this stage. And I don’t know when it will happen, but I know that when it does, there will be a recognition. Maybe for a time, we will enjoy a real valuation of what we have, we’ll all move about again with so much fear. Masks, plastic bags, ventilators, Long COVID. E quindi uscimmo a riveder le stelle. At some point in the future, we will look up and see the stars again.