What took me so long?
I know that I've missed it. I miss it everytime I stare at the walls in my bedroom at Marist that are covered with pictures of every place I laid my eyes upon in Europe. I miss it everytime I log onto Facebook and look back at my tagged pictures. I miss it everytime I eat pizza in the U.S. and think about how much I'd rather be eating a pizza from La Grotta di Leo, on Via della Scala 48 (Google Street View), where a portion of my heart will always reside.
But for some reason, it took me four months of living in America again to come to hysterics over it. I thought I was lucky, as my abroad friends seemed to struggle with adjusting back to their lifestyle in Poughkeepsie more than me. But now I realize that I'm having just as hard of a time adjusting (re-entry shock they call it); it just took me a little longer to feel the heartache.
And I have a feeling it's going to keep happening.
In my Intercultural Communication class with Cochece Davis, there are a slew of us who went abroad that are constantly able to talk about how much we loved our experiences in a judgment-free zone.
If you've been abroad, you know what I mean when I say, "judgement-free zone." Studying abroad is such a unique experience. Those of us who have been find ourselves constantly reminiscing about times of exploration, intruding into others' conversations if they are discussing travel, and throwing out comments that usually start with something like, "well in Italy..." for months and month following your safe arrival home. And although friends, family, and classmates may be giving you the "stink eye" because they are just plain SICK of you babbling about the most amazing four months of your life, the habit forms and the words continue to flow out of your mouth. So I love being a part of that class, where we collectively work through our withdrawal feelings together. I couldn't help but smile and laugh when my friend and classmate Katie described how she felt like she was holding play money when she held a $20 bill for the first time in four months. I knew EXACTLY how she felt. Who knew I would need a support system for an addiction like traveling or exploring.
The crying began in a long car ride as I started to picture myself back in Florence, like a movie reel playing over and over again. The funny thing is, it was the littlest, and even sometimes most annoying things about my Florentine lifestyle that made me blubber even more. I pictured myself walking up the stairs to my apartment and using that funny-looking key to open my narrow door. I began to trace my steps to my classes, block by block on the beautiful cobblestone streets.
I saw myself standing at the counter, sipping on an espresso that I had just paid for with a 1 euro coin, while listening to the Italians order an espresso and chat about their day (or at least I tried to catch on). I pictured myself in Florence in the sun and in the rain, during the day and at night, in the churches and museums, running, walking, or sitting.
I wished I were back in my room with my roommate Milena, sipping our morning coffee, eating clementines, and trying to stream our favorite American TV show as we'd scream, "CHE COSA FAI!?!?"
I pictured my housemates and I, sitting around our dining room table, a few bottles of wine and a whole lot of laughs deep.
Heck, I even pictured myself in my tiny Italian shower and reaching into the tiny Italian fridge to grab my favorite kind of cheese from the little Italian market, and spreading it on the most delicious bread in the world. I won't even discuss the movie reel that my mind then created with pictures of various European weekend travels.
Tears were coming down my face at a steady pace when I decided to take a mental stroll around the city. I was extremely comforted as I realized I still most certainly still know my way around Florence. I expressed to my family when they came to visit the most beautiful city in the world that my biggest fear is that I would forget the city. I overcame this fear, as my mind settled at the last picture of my boyfriend and I standing in the middle of the Ponte Vecchio, overlooking the Arno on a beautiful, rainy, perfect night.
And then I started to cry even more at the thought of how ridiculously lucky I am to have had this amazing opportunity. Most people don't see the things I saw or felt the way I felt in an entire lifetime.
Tears came to a stop as I realized this is only the beginning; I'll be back in this beautiful place someday.
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