I was born in Canada, on the shores of Lake Ontario, to Italian parents, during the season when the temperature begins to coax peonies into bloom. As my mother often joked, “Due to a Mass,” fate brought my parents together in church one Sunday. She was a light soprano singing in the choir, coached by her uncle, Mariano De Benedictis. My father, on sabbatical, played the organ that day—an instrument he had studied during his years of seminary preparation.

My mother grew up in a small Abruzzese community with peasant roots, in the province of L’Aquila. There, medieval walls still stand guard over the town’s tower, while in the valley below, new dwellings line narrow lanes scented with must during the grape harvest. The surrounding hills remain an ancient patchwork of vineyards, olive groves, and golden wheat fields, splashed with poppies at the start of summer. A landscape where old and new blend, bound together by a deep sense of community.

My father was born in the valley of the Little Dolomites, in the Veneto province of Vicenza. He entered the seminary at the age of eight, graduating years later to train as a missionary priest in Milan, Rome, and London. Ordained by Pope Paul VI, he soon found himself in conflict: his dream of mission work clashed with the Church’s expectations for a different career. Their journey as a couple began with those notes of music and with the Pope’s authorization for their marriage.

When I was a year old, we returned to Italy, where my sister was born. My father’s missionary spirit remained unshaken, and he found ways to bring our entire family into that calling—a journey rooted in faith, joy, and service to others. We spent nearly two years in Verona as part of the first Family-Homes, an experimental ministry of the 1970s, where my father worked with young people struggling to reintegrate into society.

The rest of our childhood unfolded in the small town of my mother’s family. We grew up in a vibrant home where bread and the Gospel were daily nourishment, and where life was shared with differently abled individuals at the institute where our father worked. At our grandparents’ house, music was never far away. Relatives would gather around guitars, while uncles and cousins—musicians, singers, painters, and artists—filled the room with creativity. Among them was our great-uncle Giosuè De Benedictis, founder of the Benedictis Art Academy in Boston in 1908. In another corner, my great-grandmother’s sewing room was alive with the rhythm of hands and thread—a quiet artistry that fascinated me.

Life in a small town also meant living close to nature, following the rhythm of the seasons, festivals, and village fairs. I remember pressing grapes barefoot with my sister, laughing uncontrollably as our feet sank into the cool fruit—a boundless dance of scents and steps. Since then, I’ve always sought out chances to walk barefoot, feeling that same fresh freedom.

Our parents taught us that relationships are the foundation of community. As Aristotle wrote, “One cannot be happy alone; one must be at least two.” Better still if there are many, working together rather than apart. In Italy, we witnessed both the paradoxes of human nature—the warmth of solidarity and moments of indifference. Through it all, our parents showed resilience and compassion. We saw them respond to hunger, need, and loneliness not with words, but with actions. My father’s faith was not confined to the priestly role he once held; it was lived daily, hand in hand with my mother.

My own journey led me to Urbino, a hilltop city in the Marche region, where I studied at university. In spring, the light softened the red bricks of its walls and palaces, while its uphill streets taught me to move at a slower, human pace. After graduation in Sociology, life took me back to my father’s town, where I spent 24 years weaving together my personal and professional story in a region shaped by entrepreneurial pioneers like the Marzotto family.  I’ve guided communities and individuals through change and growth. My professional journey has focused on building bridges—between people, teams, and cultures—through leadership, coaching, and creating meaningful community experiences. My son Davide was born there, where the industrious green of the valley shaped his first cries into the rhythm of hip hop—a destiny that continues to unfold in music.

After 24 years, my father’s illness brought me back to Abruzzo. Overnight, I became a mason, painter, electrician, and interior decorator to prepare the family home for his care. I learned to administer injections from him directly, never knowing what each day would bring. To face this challenge, I cut my hair short like a marine and trained as a Laughter Yoga Teacher—a discipline that celebrates the ability to laugh without cause. It became a travel companion through hardship, reminding me of laughter’s power to heal.

Then, a Facebook photo. A simple comment. A brief exchange with no expectations. Eventually, a serendipitous encounter in the very town where my mother was born. In those last months of my father’s life, I heard him speak English again with the man who would later become my companion, exchanging distant memories as if destiny itself was retracing its steps.

While sorting through my father’s papers, I found my Canadian passport from childhood and a customs receipt from our first trip to Italy, dated June 7, 1970. On June 8, 2019, nearly 50 years later, I returned to Canada. He was waiting for me in Toronto. For both of us, it was the beginning of a new adventure—an opportunity to weave together the best of both cultures, rediscovering roots in Italy and Canada alike.

I often wish I had asked my parents more about their years in Canada. Perhaps I believed, without realizing it, that they would always be there to answer. Now, I can only imagine their reasons for returning: to live their intimate moments in familiar places, to reconnect with family, to reclaim their dreams and memories. They went back to where they truly belonged.

As I reflect on their story, I picture countless others walking Toronto’s zebra crossings or strolling its crowded sidewalks. Migration is woven into the fabric of Canadian society, teaching us to honour the past, live the present, and imagine the future. To me, Canada is a vast, colourful tapestry, endlessly woven by people who arrive from everywhere, each thread adding strength and beauty to the whole.

In my heart, Italy and Canada are always interwoven. One is tangible, the other a presence of memory, made vivid by scents, flavours, and sounds. Both are integral to who I am. By sharing my story, I hope to encourage others to embrace their own.

If you ever feel uncertain about where you belong, take heart in this: your story matters.

Let it join the great narrative of humanity in motion.

You never know where your journey may take you—but by embracing your unique identity and experiences, you can find your place in the world and in the hearts of people, and in doing so, help others find theirs.