One Day.
Today, last year, I landed in Florence, Italy for my Fall semester abroad. I left home, left my parents who, mind you, I have never been more than 10 miles away from my ENTIRE life, for what I only hoped would be a life changing experience. I wasn't prepared for what I got though. Because what I got was more.
My God, it was so. much. more.
Sometimes I think that I didn't feel homesick or alone/depressed because I was blessed enough to have someone I trusted wholeheartedly and whose company I enjoyed and welcomed, with me on this journey. But then again, I have always been into risky, sometimes lonely endeavors. Into traveling and experiencing things that I'd only imagined before. The thrill of searching and finding, of exploring, of independence existed inside of me long before I knew enough to acknowledge it. (My parents can stand testimony to that!) But despite it all, despite the excitement and the lack of homesickness, I was scared out of my mind. I was walking into something that could either be the most surreal months of my life, or my worst nightmare.
Today, after almost 6 months since getting back, I think about it all the time. I'm constantly looking for ways I can go back. Maybe to study? Maybe to teach? Maybe as a tourist? Maybe as an expatriate?
I want to write about what it was like to sit in those piazzas, to pass the Duomo every single day, to sip delicious coffee or devour the most heavenly gelato. I want to capture and cement the feeling of awe from hearing the locals converse, of Harry- my boyfriend who will be mentioned often on this blog- telling me to speak in Italian when we spoke to Italians, of me practicing what I'm going to say to the waiter coming over to take our order at a restaurant and then chickening out at the last minute.
I want to go back and live every single moment of it. I want to do it through writing, and pictures and stories that I can look back at and hold on to for all eternity.
Someday.
One day.
My God, it was so. much. more.
Sometimes I think that I didn't feel homesick or alone/depressed because I was blessed enough to have someone I trusted wholeheartedly and whose company I enjoyed and welcomed, with me on this journey. But then again, I have always been into risky, sometimes lonely endeavors. Into traveling and experiencing things that I'd only imagined before. The thrill of searching and finding, of exploring, of independence existed inside of me long before I knew enough to acknowledge it. (My parents can stand testimony to that!) But despite it all, despite the excitement and the lack of homesickness, I was scared out of my mind. I was walking into something that could either be the most surreal months of my life, or my worst nightmare.
Today, after almost 6 months since getting back, I think about it all the time. I'm constantly looking for ways I can go back. Maybe to study? Maybe to teach? Maybe as a tourist? Maybe as an expatriate?
I want to write about what it was like to sit in those piazzas, to pass the Duomo every single day, to sip delicious coffee or devour the most heavenly gelato. I want to capture and cement the feeling of awe from hearing the locals converse, of Harry- my boyfriend who will be mentioned often on this blog- telling me to speak in Italian when we spoke to Italians, of me practicing what I'm going to say to the waiter coming over to take our order at a restaurant and then chickening out at the last minute.
I want to go back and live every single moment of it. I want to do it through writing, and pictures and stories that I can look back at and hold on to for all eternity.
Maybe I'll write it all down. Maybe I'll travel again. Maybe I'll change my life once more.
Maybe.Someday.
One day.
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