Stories Of...Notting Hill

Tommaso is the barista next door. But he’s really a radio engineer and his dream is to be a host of a radio station where he curates his own songs. He’s a musical connoisseur. This morning in the cafe, he was playing “I’m Every Woman” by Whitney Houston.


He was in mid debate with the other barista with his Italian going British accent  “...she says ‘it’s all in me.’ Meaning that I am my mother, my sister, my daughter—" when suddenly this woman who was summoned by the ghost of Whitney Houston herself sauntered into the cafe like some gust of wind and was like “HE GETS THE SONG! He gets it! He is absolutely right! I’m every woman is about solidarity! That every women is in me!” She said with pause. Between. Each. Word. For emphasis. And then she left the cafe. 


I think I stayed in that cafe for three hours today.

Tommaso shared his sandwich with me on his lunch break. We’ve become friends and we see the world similarly. It’s comforting when you find someone with whom you speak the same language. I then received some troubling news. (I’m okay, don’t worry.) Tommaso gave me a big hug. Said all the supportive things. But with the specificity in the way that I’d like. Gave me words to acknowledge my pain and release it all at once. Told me what I already knew. That I was resilient. That it wasn’t meant to be. 


I think the woman from earlier that day was right. He did get the song. About solidarity. About being every woman. He’s not a woman, and yet it was one of the most feminist acts of seen. Gently justifying my pain without ever doubting my strength to get through it. 


                                                                                                                                            Stories of Notting Hill
                                                                                                                             Monday, November 8th, 2021