Chapter Thirteen: I Was Never Good At Goodbye

I have said a lot of goodbye's in my life, but this one I knew would probably be the hardest of them all. There were things about home that I missed, but nothing will ever be to me what Italy has been. What has been difficult for me is finding how to convey in writing the feelings that I have about this country without just telling you the day to day events of my life. Aside from meeting some of the most amazing friends and the most amazing man, there has been so much that happened here that changed me and awed me and drew me in. My heart is attached to this place in a way I never knew was possible. How do I say goodbye?

                                                      ~

A few weeks before leaving I went to the sporting by myself, where I ran into Genio. He asked me if I had  eaten yet, and I said no. Although it was almost ten o'clock, we went to Babayaga, where they kept the kitchen open late, just for us. With the restaurant closing around us, we spent the evening talking and laughing and getting to know each other. Although I met him on my first night in the country, we were both in other relationships at the time and it was truly fate that brought us together this night. From then on we spent every moment away from work together. We spent a day at the beach together swimming and tanning and laughing and drinking, the day before my parents arrived, when he was off and I had just finished my internship. When we got back from dinner that night Genio's roommate told him that because the next day was a new month, the chef gave him that day off too. Although I wanted nothing more than for my parents to meet him, I could hardly ask that of him after only a few weeks...he offered to come without my having to ask. After spending an awesome day with my incredibly wonderful and understanding parents, we got back to Bellagio just in time to go to Lecco for dinner...this time to meet his mother. It was an eventful and emotional day. We only had a few days left, and they truly flew by. Not only with Genio, but with Cristi and everyone else. I had formed such strong bonds that leaving seemed impossible. 

The last day before I left Bellagio I spent with my parents, walking around a very rainy and dreary Bellagio...a feeling that mirrored my own heart. It was hard to not be sad when I thought about leaving everything I had known for the past three months. When Genio got off of work he came and picked me up, and we met my parents for dinner at the Hotel Florence, where we split two bottles of wine. Afterwards, we headed to the Enoteca Wine Bar and went through three more bottles...it was such a fun time I almost forgot that it was my last day there. Because my parents stayed in Como, they had to go back on the boat and I was able to get one last dinner with all of the Americans in Bellagio. It was a wonderful way to wrap things up, and lovely getting to see everyone one last time. After we ate, most of my friends came to the sporting and we relaxed and hung out for a few hours. 

Time came to say goodbye, and I wasn't ready. I cried, of course. More so when Cristi gave me a letter, not to be opened until I get on my plane home. The night was hard, knowing I was leaving a lot of people whom I loved. The morning was harder. I saw Cristi and Genio, before they each went to work, and we all cried. I cried as I walked down to town. Cried as I looked out over the lake and the mountains. I'm crying now, four days later. I also just said goodbye to Genio again...he had two days off and took the train down to Florence to spend here with me and my family. 

It's easy to say I will come back. I always said I'd go back to Mackinac. I also want to go to Nasville, Chicago, DC...truth is, I have no idea. What I do know is that I have felt and received more love here than ever before in my life. I ate better, drank better, and learned an entirely new language (given, that part began two years ago). I can honestly say I've never seen a more beautiful place. The drawback? The work leaves a lot to be desired. If I can get a job here, it won't be what I could get in the United States. I absolutely have better work opportunities there. Can I really hold back from doing what my heart is calling me to do because I can't get a job as a manager? It seems like a silly question. I know the answer. You know the answer. Now let's all just convince my mom, eh? Who knows. For now, I return. I finish school. Maybe I'll cry every day missing this place, and maybe I'll just drink more Italian wine. Maybe I'll never see any of these people again. 

One way or another, I've had the most incredible three months of my life. I lived without reservations and have no regrets, only incredible memories and, hopefully, lifelong friendships. 

Italy has my heart.

Chapter Twelve: We're Not in America Anymore

Giving the benefit of the doubt, I like to believe that most people recognize when preparing to travel abroad that they are traveling to a place that is very different from the USA. Most people probably understand that a country like Italy operates in a completely different way than we do at home. Everything from eating and drinking to shopping to relaxing is done differently here. Most people, I think, know that going in.

That being said, for some reason that "understanding" doesn't seem to translate into actual understanding when they arrive here. Here are a few situations I've noticed over the past ten weeks. 

The most prominent thing that I've noticed has to do directly with the hotel. In America, were bred on chain hotels. In fact, independent hotels make up only about 30% of the market in the US, whereas it's more like 60-70% in Italy. What does that mean for you? Don't expect to walk into a Ritz Carlton. The Grand Hotel Villa Serbelloni does not have a multimillion dollar chain backing it and setting service standards to make sure everyone receives the exact same, top of the line performance every time they stay. The Ritz Carlton has a $2,000 allowance, per guest, allotted for service recovery. That means that if something goes terribly wrong during your stay, any hotel employee from the general manager to the girl cleaning your toilet is empowered to spend up to that amount to make sure you leave happy. Why? Because you'll return. Probably for life. 

Small, independent Italian hotels do not have the means to implement such a policy. Guest expectations, however, dont always consider this incredible difference between the two types of hotels.

Next: Wifi

In America, it would be unheard of to go to a five star deluxe luxury hotel and be told at checkin that you get one free WiFi code, good for one device, and that if you would like additional codes (for, say, the other three people staying in your room) you'll just have to pay the small fee of seven euros per additional code. Not only that, but you have to re-enter the username (a six digit code) and password (a ten digit code) every hour or so. 

I can't impress upon you how many complaints I've gotten about the WiFi over the last ten weeks. But I don't like it either...so stop blaming me! What I have noticed, however, over my travels through italy, is that this is not an unusual policy. Proof that even I have to manage my expectations of what italy has to offer! 

One time I had to spend an hour alone in the room of a man who couldn't get the internet to work on his 1998 dell brick of a laptop and listen to him spout curses at the hotel and the country of Italy. 

"I've traveled all over the world and never had issues getting onto the internet like this before."

"I went to a hotel in Africa and was able to get internet. Africa!"

"This is why I never come to Italy. This is absolutely ridiculous."

All the while expecting me to diagnose and fix his computer. Do I look like the geek squad? 

I most certainly do not look like the geek squad.

Then, there was the rat lady. This has a little less to do with America vs Italy than a language barrier and a madwoman. 

Nevertheless:

Earlier on in the summer, Maria escorted a couple up to their room. She told the bellman the room number, and while she showed the guests some of the hotel amenities like our pools, restaurants and spas, the bellman went up to the room with the luggage. When Maria arrived, he was standing outside the room on his phone, talking frantically and making it clear that Maria should not enter the room. He went in and came out. The head housekeeper arrived, and went in the room. The wife turned to Maria and asked what happened. Maria had no idea, as they were speaking too fast for her to understand. Then the woman turned to the bellman, who spoke no English (which she highly doubted, thank you very much). They were permitted to enter, but the woman was apprehensive. She told Maria she thought there was a problem with the room. Was it a bug? A rat? Yes, a rat, she decided. 

<<Enter, me.>>

I was standing at the desk when a very nice couple walked up. The woman chatted with me a bit, and then asked me if I spoke Italian. Yes, I said I do. 

Oops.

She quickly stopped being nice, as she yelled at me and scolded me for what happened, said that no one would tell her what was going on, that Maria and the other person she spoke with were trying to hide something, and that I was going to find out what happened and tell her the truth. 

"All I want to know is what happened. I know there was a rat in the room, I just know it. But no one will tell me the truth, you're all hiding something from me."

Never mind what the housekeeper would have done with a live rat while the guests waited outside the door.

The exciting truth is that the bellman thought he saw the guests from the night before, who had checked out already, exiting the room. He called the head housekeeper because he thought the room hadn't been cleaned.

In other news:

-My parents arrive tomorrow

-I've officially finished work

-I'm going out to dinner tonight with a boy from work

-I have only two weeks left in this beautiful country and I absolutely do not want to leave. Keep a lookout for the stories to come about my travels around Italy with my parents, their friends Becky and Charlie and their son Chris. 

Feeling bittersweet, but enjoying every single second. 

Chapter Eleven: Le Squinzie

Have I introduced you to my Italian friends?

Well, there's Anna...

And Gloria (left)

Franci

Cristina

Clara

And Veronica

I knew we were going to become good friends when they started calling me their "American Pussy."

~

In the interest of time, I've left out some of the random fun things that I've been doing over the last couple of weeks with these guys, but now seems like a good time to catch everyone up! Rewind two weeks:

For some reason while I was at work, I spent the entire day battling a really bad stomach ache. Maybe all the gelato I'm eating is making my pants a little tight! But late in the day, one of my coworkers brought in some sweets, and my other coworker mentioned (in front of my manager) that I wasn't allowed to have anything because I wasn't feeling well. Five minutes later I was sent packing! After going home and resting for a bit, taking medicine, and enjoying some hot tea, I  finally felt better. Thank goodness for that because I had plans that evening to go up to the mountain for dinner. Although I had expected to go to a restaurant, I was taken by surprise when we pulled up to a large house set in in a clearing on the mountainside. There were about fifteen people outside, but tables set for more than forty. There was a large fire going, several men taking turns chopping wood, and two huge slabs of some type of meet slow roasting over the embers they pulled out of the fire. Right after I arrived, the truck with the wine pulled in...over fifty liters. Although I opted out of drinking for the sake of my still slightly sensitive stomach, I'm so happy I was able to go. With classical Italian music playing throughout the house, the smell of the burning fire and cooking food, and a cup of wine in the hand of nearly everyone over the age of (my best guess) twelve, it was probably the single most classical "Italian" night I've experienced since getting off the plane in Milan two months ago. What a great night with great friends!

The following weekend, we finally got a break in the weather! I haven't said much about it, because frankly it's depressing, but there were about three weeks of either solid rain, or cold and cloudy weather. Finally, finally, last weekend we got some sunshine! Anna and I went to the beach to get some much needed sun. After we finished goofing off and taking selfies galore, I laid down for a couple of minutes before I heard Anna yell, "Franci!!" I looked up, and there at the end of the dock was Franci, smiling at us from his boat, holding out his arm to help us on. We went out for a few hours, stopped for a while in front of the Villa Balbianello to swim, then went around the only island on the lake, and finally stopped in Lecco before heading back to Bellagio for aperitivo at Lido. 

A few days later Gloria and I meandered over to the Villa Melzi to see some of our friends (including her dad) sing in a concert for the Festival of Bellagio and Lake Como, where the choir arrived via decorated boat and sang a hefty repotoire including their own rendition of "Kumbaya"...

Then, the next day, Cristina and I decided to have dinner together at the Sporting Club. I had risotto with some type of weird and expensive mushroom, and Cristina ordered a pasta that looked like tiny little maggots. It may be no surprise that the better part of the meal came when two guys we know from Bellagio came and sat at the table next to us, and treated us each to a glass of wine. I think Christina drank hers a little too fast though, because she seemed a little confused when our desert arrived. We each ordered creme brûlée, and it came with some fresh fruit and a small dish of chocolate gelato.When she finished her gelato, she picked up the small black dish that it was served in and smelled it. "It's chocolate!" she said. So, we both proceeded to try biting into these little dark plates. Little, dark, plastic plates. 

Me: "Cristina, this is plastic." 

Cristina: "No, no no no. It's chocolate! I'm sure!" 

She figured it out eventually. Over the next few days I would periodically look at her and say, "It's chocolate! I swear!" and we would both break down in fits of laughter. Sometimes hanging out with her makes me feel like I'm in middle school again! She brings out the kid in me. I'm looking forward to her coming to Cleveland in February to spend some time with me!

But the highlight of the week, obviously, was my 21st birthday! Woot woot! Although a little less exciting since I was already legal here, I had a pretty fun day. Here are the details:

I woke up early (ok, so I didn't get off to the best start..) and took the bus to Como where I finally got to go to the market! I left with my pockets a little lighter, but enjoyed a morning of shopping and eating. My arms full of bags filled with clothing and jewelry, I took the 1 o'clock bus back to Bellagio, arriving in time to shower, do my hair, and get ready for aperitivo. We went to a Campari party (a type of liquor I had never even heard of before arriving here, and frankly I'm only now starting to like it...) for pre-dinner drinks, and then to Trattoria San Giacomo, a great local place, for dinner. I enjoyed some delicious ravioli, red wine, and the best chocolate cake I think I've ever had. Afterwards we went to the sporting for a while, then took a trip to the lake to try and escape some of the intense heat that wouldn't go away even long after the sun set. Although out of the eight of us at dinner (everyone pictured above went with me) I was the only one who made it into Lido, I was greeted by all of my American friends as well as many of my coworkers. It was a fun night!

Despite having fun, it really impressed upon me how much I missed home. I finally realized what I have there that I don't have here: the friends and family that make occasions like this truly special. Although it has been wonderful getting to know my Italian squinzie, it would have been really nice to spend this day with my family and friends in Ohio. At least now I know, after this amazing experience, that home isn't always where the heart is, but instead...."home is where your mom is." ...and dad, and dog, and best friends. 

22 days til home. Never in a million years did I think I'd be counting that down with even a hint of excitement. 

Chapter Ten: The "Handprint on my Heart"

Since beginning with the blogs about my travels and work experiences, I have received a lot of positive feedback about writing. The truth is, growing up, I was never a particularly talented writer. It was my brother, the literature major, who was constantly receiving praise for his writing abilities. Although I was always a huge lover of books, I just never seemed to be able to get a grasp on writing. I couldn't seem to find my voice.

The first time I ever received an "A" on a written assignment was my freshman year of college. Many of my friends have often heard me chastise my high school English teachers for being too hard on me, especially because since being in college I have not received anything but A's on written assignments, in any class. I have since learned that the difference in my grades had nothing to do with English teachers in high school being too hard on me. I still had to learn who I was as a writer. This, I think, is the most important thing. 

That first writing assignment was for a class called WRT 100, and the assignment was due within the first month of being at school, only two short months since The Day. Our task: compose a Literacy Narrative. We had to write about a time that reading or writing had affected us in one way or another. Little did I know then that this writing assignment would play a huge role in the literacy narrative of my life. 

Of course, I wrote about Grant. I had felt the urge for the two months prior to write, and that was exactly what the assignment was about. What made it easier was that I could see the accident happen in my mind every day since that morning. 

~

We met in the summer of 2010, after my best friend Nicole introduced us. The three of us spent a fun summer together, and I often look back on some great memories of those warm summer nights spent by a campfire, and a couple of Indians games we attended together. It was those two, Nicole and Grant, that I turned to when I greived over losing my first pet, tragically. We spent many nights together, growing closer as the summer went on. It wasn't long into the start of my senior year, when I became overwhelmed by my workload and my role in Phantom of the Opera, that he and I eventually stopped talking. Looking back, I can see the day that God entered our friendship. It was almost eight months later, on May 30th, 2011. I was driving to my friend Natalie's house on a Monday night. I remember because Natalie and I were getting together to get our weekly dose of Secret Life of the American Teenager (which I am more than slightly ashamed to admit). I drove past Blackbrook Golf Course, where Grant used to go golfing. I thought to myself as I passed how long it had been since we'd talked, and how I missed his goofy smile. 

I arrived at Natalie's house a few minutes later and sat down in front of the tv while Natalie made popcorn. My phone buzzed. I looked down, and couldn't believe my eyes. I handed the phone to Natalie and asked if she could please read the text out loud. She read, "Hey, what's up?" I asked who it was from, and she replied, 

"Grant." 

~

There is a lot that you learn from losing someone as young as I did. I know it can't be the same as losing a family member, or a lifelong friend, or a spouse. But at seventeen, it's a shock. For me, it inspired a rapid change that I am only now starting to recognize. I have known for a long time that I get along better with people who are older than me. I've been told by one of my family members that I understand things at my age that they did not understand until much later in life. Part of that was the the three days following his death. Part of it was going into my first year of college as the only person, seemingly, who understood the consequences of driving intoxicated. Of getting in a car without a seatbelt. One of the more complicated moments in my college life was when I stopped the car and had to ask my friend to get out and walk home if he would not put a seatbelt on. He thought I was kidding until I drove away. The friendship didn't recover, but the lesson was worth teaching. I don't ever want to lose another friend the way I lost Grant. 

~

After hearing from Grant after so much time had passed was a blessing. It led to some wonderful memories. That first conversation actually led to us going to an Indians game together. He loved baseball and my mom got us great tickets - right up front, between home and first. He was like a little kid, absolutely giddy, that day. Just remembering makes me smile!

~

In my Literacy Narrative, I told everything. I described the accident, the morning when I found out. I described what it felt like having to go to my senior piano recital that afternoon and perform in front of all of my family and friends...something for which I had been preparing for nearly three years. The next day was my graduation/birthday party, and then calling hours and a funeral the two days following my eighteenth birthday. People who read my story called me strong, but I wasn't strong then. Life keeps going, and strong doesn't just mean you didn't lock yourself in a room and shut the world out. Sometimes there is no other option than to keep going. But after that, when looking back, that is when strong comes. It comes with difficulties - being an outsider in college when you don't want to drink. Getting called "mom" condescendingly when you tell your friends to buckle their seatbelts. Strong is in the invisible scar I wear everyday. Strong is the woman I have grown to be, from the feeling of life that exploded within me after his death. As strange as it sounds, I never felt truly alive until I understood the fear of death; the fear I gained through that of my friend.

Being young is amazing. The opportunities presented to people while they are young are endless and incredible. But being responsible, a lot of people my age think, contradicts being young. Making smart decisions, making hard decisions, you can do those and be young. Young doesn't have to mean stupid. Sometimes young, and stupid, and irresponsible lead to things that young people refuse to think about. Sometimes young, and stupid, and irresponsible can turn those endless opportunities, like the chance to move to South Carolina to become a professional golfer at 21 years old, into ash.

The day after I turned eighteen I went to a closed casket funeral for a friend who died while driving drunk. 

Looking back, I know where I found my voice. I know where I found courage - and that may have been the most important thing. Moving to Mackinac, coming to Italy...before Grant, I don't think I could have ever done that. At some point, everyone will face a moment where their path is changed forever, for better or for worse. I have been praying, since that day, that during my lifetime I can impact someone's life for the better, in the way that Grant impacted and changed me forever. 

Who would have ever thought that one person or one event could change another's path so drastically as it changed mine. 

~

The morning of Grant's death, my friend Nicole opened her devotional bible. The first line of that day's passage read, "You learn more at a funeral than at a feast." 

I have carried those words with me for three years, and found a lot of truth in them. 

In loving memory of Joel Patrick "Grant" Furr. December 6, 1990 - July 16, 2011.

Chapter Nine: 27 Hours: The Story of Venice

For those of you who don't know, my time here in Italy is happening all thanks to my college, Niagara University. About fifteen years ago, our dean reached out to Luca Leone, the owner of the hotel DuLac, proposing this program where students from Niagara come to the Como area and work for the summer, and then students from the University of Insubria in Como come to Niagara to study in the fall. In exchange for working forty hours a week for ten weeks, we receive a semester worth of class credits. There was a hotel association in Como that decided to sponsor some trips for us while here, in addition to a private donor who gave us $15,000 to be used towards everyone's flights to and from Italy. All in all, for about $200, I got a roundtrip flight, a trip to Florence, and a trip to Venice. As if simply being able to come to Italy wasn't good enough!!

Because we went to Florence the first weekend we were here, we still had Professor Scarcelli, everyone's favorite teacher, to take us on a tour around the city. Because he was gone, the university had to provide someone to accompany us to Venice and make sure no one got lost, or fell in a canal. Our guide, Professor Arianna Grasso, was absolutely wonderful. More on her later...but first...

During my last seven weeks in Italy, I had heard two things about Venice: It is crowded with tourists, and smells awful.

Much to my surprise, I found that during the Fourth of July weekend in the US, Venice proved to be a calm and enjoyable getaway. The only fishy smell we encountered was on an occasional walk across some of the smaller canals. The streets and shops were all quite empty on Saturday and Sunday, so we pretty much had the place to ourselves.

So, you've all heard the popular saying "When in Rome, do as the Romans do." But, when in Venice, you go on a gondola ride. This was the one thing that everyone was set on doing. We actually found out that Professor Grasso, our guide, although having already visited Venice three times, had never been on a gondola. At an extra cost of about two euros for each of us, we decided to pay for her spot on the boat...partly because we found it hilarious that this native Italian, on her third trip to Venice, was going on her first gondola ride with a group of rowdy Americans.

The gondola itself was a lot more relaxing and photogenic than it was a thrill ride through the narrow canals of Venice. We had a lot of fun listening to the "drivers" for lack of a better word, speak in the Venetian dialect which none of us could understand, and watching them take the tight turns and ducking under the low bridges. When we laughed at the sight of it, our driver said,

"Duck or die."

That evening, after an exhausting and expensive shopping trip, we were ready for dinner. Although the majority of the group, on their first and perhaps only trip to Venice, chose to eat dinner at the Hard Rock Cafe, my small group (Jeff, Emily, myself, and prof. Grasso) decided to find a good local restaurant and try some of the dishes native to Venice.

Now, I understood going in what I was getting myself into. Venice is right on the water. It's a fishing village. Dinner would most certainly be fish. But I'm brave and I will try anything.

Professor Grasso told us about this native Venice dish called Sarde in Saor. She explained what it was, but I didn't really listen because I had decided I was going to try it no matter what....the best way I could describe it to you would be this: the largest whole sardines I have ever laid eyes on, covered in sauerkraut. And holy vinegar! I'm still cringing just thinking about it. Luckily. Jeff and I split that as an appetizer, and I still had my entree coming. My entree, however, turned out to be a bunch of fried something's, mixed with fried fish, heads still attached, and plain polenta. After the sardine incident, I did not have a strong stomach for whole, tiny fish, and ate very little. How fortunate I was that there were free refills on bread and plenty of wine.

Probably the best part about dinner was that we were sitting at a table outside facing the canal, and a boat rode by, filled with musicians playing live music all the way down the canal. They weren't begging for money, or overly seeking attention. Honestly they just looked like they were having the time of their lives. We loved it, and, as Emily said, "I want to throw money at them!!"

The next day we had a walking tour guided by a very nice woman who knew a lot about the city and made our two hour hike to St. Marks square interesting and fun. My only complaint was that there were a lot of things that she started telling us about, like the shape of gondolas, that she said she would tell us more about later and never did. We did learn how they built the entire city on the water though! It had something to do with thick clay, wooden boards, and seven layers of really strong rocks. See, I was listening!

St. Marks square was without a doubt the single most crowded place in all of Venice. Very pretty, and very crazy.

We had a few hours left to shop and then it was time to go home. Although by the time we got on the train we had only been in the city for twenty seven hours, it was some of the most fun I've had so far. I probably say that a lot, but the great thing about being here is that every day brings a new adventure that is better than the one before it. How beautiful this life is! 

Anyway, after getting off the train in Milan, prof. Grasso left us, and I found out that everyone who lives in Bellagio was planning on foregoing their free train ticket to Como, and instead buying a ticket to Verenna, and taking a boat to Bellagio. Because it would have cost me more money, and because it meant another hour waiting at the Milan train station, I decided to take the route that was already paid for. The shitty part was that I had to take the hour and ten minute bus ride, fearing for my life the whole time, on my own. While riding into Bellagio, I heard from my Italian friends who were at the beach, San Giovanni, so I got of the bus one stop early and went to meet them. Upon arriving I realized that there was a full blown festival going on with hundreds of people, live music, and food everywhere. Turned out to be an amazing night with great friends. 

Who would have thought that one night without my American friends would have led to these amazing friendships and networks of Italians that I have been getting to know. I can hardly wait to tell you more about my adventures with these italian friends, but that will have to wait, in the interest of time!

That being said, with all of this time I've been spending with the Italians, my language skills have been getting better and better. Today at work I had a twenty minute conversation with the tennis instructor in only Italian. There is no better compliment than when I meet someone knew, and after talking for a while they ask me where I'm from and I say Ohio...their response is always the same. With a very quizzical look, they say "Ma...parli ben italiano!" With a question in their voice, it's easy to tell what they're really asking...why the hell does a girl from Ohio speak (near) fluent Italian?

The answer to that lies here.

Chapter Eight: Finding Beauty

In my last post, I began with a quote. I really liked what that led to, so I'd like to do the same today. 

I really love this.

"What's your favorite thing about your mother?"

"She loves life more than anyone I've ever known…recently she's had some health problems. And her health got so bad at one point, she called me and said, 'I was starting to wonder if there was any reason to go on. But then I had the most delicious pear!'" 

-Humans of New York

--

When I was in eighth grade, I had the most beautiful long hair which I absolutely loved.  There was this guy at my school that I had a huge crush on who never noticed me. 

One day I decided I was going to cut all of my hair off. Maybe then he'll see me, I thought. I've spent the last seven years growing my hair back out again…and every once and a while I think that maybe I will cut it again but am stopped by this thought…amen like women with long hair.

I have always struggled with my image. Worrying about what others think of me. Friends, strangers, family. I walk around constantly worried that I am going to upset someone. A lot of times I slip up, and that just makes me try harder. 

For the last week or so, I've been feeling a little left out from my group of friends. I was feeling hurt, and trying to figure out what it was that I did that could have upset them…then I realized that I had been removing myself without realizing it. In my head, I don't belong with these four friends who had been very close previous to my joining them here in Italy, and I let my insecurities get in the way of that. While I was drawing away, I blamed them for leaving me behind. After realizing what I had been doing, I decided to use that time to understand what the real problem was, and that lead to my new goal.

Here is what my soul searching revealed to me:

There is something incredibly beautiful about individuality. When one of my friends looks cute, and I acknowledge that to them, it doesn't occur to me that they dressed the way that they did in hopes of my appreciating it. Individual styles, choices, and tastes are part of what make being abroad so fun. I am here, in part, to learn about a different culture and people. I've learned their language, I've eaten their food, and awed in front of the country that has lain before me so beautifully. Why then should I be worried?

I want to live for myself. 

"When I was twenty, I made a plan to get a good job and be secure. Now i'm thirty-five, and I need a plan to be happy." -Humans of New York

I am twenty years old. I have a plan to get a good job and be secure. I don't want to be thirty-five and searching for a plan to be happy. 

Saturday night, I left work at ten and headed home to get changed and go to the Sporting Club, with no plans to go out afterwards. When I arrived, I knew no one there. I found out after arriving that Maria and Claire had gone to Milan to see One Direction in concert, and Julie and Dani arrived, but left shortly after. Then, I was introduced to some Italian girls, and we immediately hit it off. I spent the night playing calcetto (foosball), drinking a bit, and then headed to the Lido, after some convincing. 

My first time, pretty much since being in Italy, without a single English-speaking-crutch to be had. I forgot myself (not due to the drinking) and had the best time I've had since being here. For the first time in my life I let go, had fun, and danced the night away with a great group of girls.

For me.

And it felt really good.

And that guy from eighth grade? He never looked twice at me. 

Beyond myself, the only affirmation I seek is that of God. Earthly impressions are gone as fast as they come. Plus, I'm in Italy. The clock is ticking, and it's my time that the hands are counting. Besides, sometimes enjoying life to the fullest is simply about appreciating the little things…be it a perfectly delicious pear, or pear and walnut gelato from the gelateria down the street. 

Chapter Seven: A Home For My Heart

"Everyone is just walking along, concerned with his own problems, his own life, his own worries. And we're all expecting other people to tune into our own agenda. Look at my worry. Worry with me. Step into my life. Care about my problems. Care about me." -Sharon Creech

I can't speak much to what life was like fifty years ago, I wasn't there. All I have known for the majority of my twenty years, eleven months, and four days on this earth has been distorted and transformed by the emergence of technology. It's happening here, but it's nothing like it is back home. Facebook has become this tool that people use for everything, good and bad. The moment something happens, everyone you've ever known learns about it instantly. From sharing sorrows to happiness, worries, triumphs, sickness, bad days, good days, problems or promotions at work, travels...

Why then is there no further sense of unity between us and our "friends?" Congratulations and condolences in the form of likes and comments rarely turn into cards or phone calls for our "friends" triumphs or failures. 

Bellagio is a small town. Everywhere I go people are talking to each other: standing In a shop and talking, walking on the street talking, sitting and talking. If you walk down the street and someone you know passes by they stop their car and catch up with you. It's not like the superficial neighbor-talk we experience all too often in the US - I made eye contact with you and now I have to ask how your kids are doing. There is a community here. Everyone knows everyone, and if they don't know you, they want to. Shop owners look you right in the eye and say, "Ciao," every day, and when you finally go in and start a conversation, it's almost impossible to leave because they want to know everything about you....where you're from, who you know, where you work,  where you learned Italian, when you leave, and are you coming back? Just imagine walking into a coffee shop in America and having your barista treat you this way after seeing you for only a second time....and not just that,  but giving you a ten percent discount for coming in a third time. 

I feel more at home here than I ever have in Ohio or New York. 

The closest I've ever felt to this community was in Mackinac...and oh, how I miss it!

The inspiration from this post may come from my location of writing this afternoon...

Enjoying a lovely day off at the pier, and although it's a bit overcast, I'm surrounded by the beauty of Lake Como. As I look out over the largest mountains I've ever seen, framing the small towns built into the hills in a way only Italy seems to have mastered, I can almost hear the clock ticking. I've been here over a month now, and the six weeks I have left seem flimsy and fleeting. When I say I never want to leave, it's much more than just a summer of fun that I don't want to only have as a memory...I feel as though this little village and their way of life has made an imprint on my heart, and quickly become home. The thought of having to ever wake up and not be able to walk through these charming, cobblestone streets for a cappuccino before a day of fun, adventure, friendship, and truly raw joy, has me in tears right now. How could I even think of leaving?