In 2010, I was lucky enough to visit somewhere around 30 cities in at least 10 different countries. That is far from normal. Real life is not jet-setting around the world with your best friends, no matter how much I wish it was. So here I am, sitting in a cafe eating Mediterranean themed food, wearing my Italian pashmina scarf, drinking vino and saying “ciao” and “grazie” like a pretentious little bitch. I’m not trying to be pretentious, I swear. I’m just holding on to every little shred I have left from my fabulous former Italian life.
Cin, cin! (Cheers!)
While I’m holding on to every piece of Italia that I can, I’ve also been packing up everything I own for my spring semester back in Des Moines. It’s far less stressful but far less exciting than it was last semester when I was preparing for Italy. It’s so hard to believe that was already six months ago. I just cannot accept that it was that long ago when I was lost in the streets of London with some of the best friends I’ve ever had relentlessly searching to no avail for “the bar with the tree.”
Realizing that the people I spent last semester with will be so far away is seriously depressing, but I also cannot wait to see my friends from Drake. Some say they got nervous before seeing old friends after their return from a semester abroad, but I have no fear. Seeing old friends always makes me feel like I’m home. I’ve picked up right where I left off with old friends, and it was like nothing changed when I visited a friend from my abroad program in Denver. This experience has really made me realize that home isn’t where you grew up or even where you lived. Home will always be with the people you love. It so was hard to be away from my family and friends while I was in Italy, and now it’s unbearably difficult to be away from my abroad “family.” Thank God for Facebook and Skype—I don’t know what I would do without being able to send stupid YouTube videos to my friends around the globe and see their faces at least every once and a while. So I’m going to continue wearing my pashmina scarves and telling crazy stories of my European adventures until someone tells me to stop. It’s all I can do to hold on to what was very likely the best experience of my life.
