The Trip That Almost Didn’t Happen (and Became One I’ll Hold Close Forever)

This Italian adventure almost ended before it even began.

Not because of weather, or illness, or logistics — but because I discovered the day before my departure that my passport, though technically valid, wasn’t valid long enough for travel within the Schengen Area. One of those details you assume is fine… until it very much isn’t.

What followed felt like a movie montage played at double speed:
An overnight bus to Canada.
No sleep.
Standing first in line at the passport office, heart pounding, bracing for disappointment.

And then — the impossible happened. They printed me a brand-new passport that very same day. I still can’t quite believe it.

My departure was pushed back by just one day — an unplanned expense, yes — but under the circumstances, nothing short of a miracle. The kind that reminds you how thin the line is between “this is over” and “go.”

Morale de l’histoire: always check your entry requirements well ahead of your departure. And also: sometimes, when you really need it, the universe shows up.

Once in Italy, everything shifted.

The urgency dissolved, the breath deepened — and it felt as though the prelude played its first notes. The music began quietly, almost imperceptibly, as if the country itself were cueing the next act.

Before the concerts, I met up with my mom and her partner, Michel, for what felt like stepping directly into a living history book — or a beautifully lit period film. Sicily has that effect: layers upon layers of stories etched into stone, streets, and gestures.

We even ascended Mount Etna — active, immense, unmistakably alive. Standing there, feeling the ground beneath us carry both beauty and danger, creation and destruction, was deeply humbling. A reminder of how small we are, and how alive. Being there together — and seeing Elias face the mountain, and his fears, once again — made the experience even more profound. It felt ancient, powerful, and strangely grounding — like the land itself was speaking.

Wandering together through ancient towns and sun-warmed ruins felt grounding in the deepest way. Travel like that — shared, unhurried, observant — becomes less about seeing everything and more about being present. About noticing how time stretches differently when you’re walking alongside people you love.

And then Palermo welcomed us.

From the moment we arrived, the city felt open-armed — generous, textured, alive. There was warmth in the streets, in the way people lingered, listened, met us with curiosity and kindness. By the time we stepped into Teatro Santa Cecilia, that sense of welcome had already settled in my body.

Performing PHIRO chante PIAF there felt like stepping into a dream. One of those moments that lingers long after the curtain falls. The room held us with such presence; the audience felt attentive, generous, deeply there. That quiet, palpable exchange between stage and public is something I’ll never forget.

I landed back home on Monday… and I’m still a little breathless. Still half-wondering if this actually happened ☁️

Sharing the stage with Hyuna Park and Elias Bailey continues to be one of the great privileges of my life. To make music with artists who support me so fully — on and off the bandstand — is a gift I never take lightly. I felt held by them every step of the way.

Bringing French music into the world will always be deeply personal for me. It feels like a quiet nod to my grandmother, born and raised in Québec, who passed on her love of the French language and culture — and inspired me to pursue an artistic life. Each performance feels like a continuation of something she set in motion. I hope she’s smiling from somewhere above… and maybe just a little proud ✨

In a time when the world feels heavy, leaning into music feels cathartic. A way to offer moments of beauty, truth, empathy, laughter, and kindness.

Deep thanks to everyone at Teatro Santa Cecilia and the Brass Group for welcoming us so warmly and taking such wonderful care of us. The generosity of the city, the audience, and the people behind the scenes is something I’ll carry with me.

May we keep choosing art.
May we keep choosing tenderness.
May music keep reminding us of what connects us 🤍🎶