If you were to tell me four months ago that I would be dreading leaving Italy, I would have laughed in your face.
Actually, I probably would have cried in your face, because that’s pretty much all I did my first week in Rome.
I’m not very good at change. I get too comfortable, and then the idea of having to leave or make things different is just horrifying to me. But I already wrote about being afraid to leave home.
Now I’m afraid to leave Rome. It hasn’t become “like” home to me the past four months, it was home. And, once again, I have to go.
(If being a real adult is just more of this- finding a place to call home and then leaving- count me out.)
In a way, I’m thankful to be afraid. It means I actually had a successful trip. One of the things I wrote about in every application essay I had to write before going to Rome; as the answer to every single “Why do you want to study abroad?” was independence. I wanted to prove to myself (and others) than I can manage on my own- truly on my own, not just a few hours away from home. That I don’t let my shy, quiet, anxious disposition control my life and keep me away from the things I truly want to do.
That’s something I’ve always been afraid of. I don’t think anyone reading this who knows me in person would be surprised to hear that I get nervous around other people. I don’t talk a lot in groups, or in class. I’m not particularly outgoing, outspoken, or social. I find things, people, that I like, and I stick to them like glue. And, like I said earlier, I’m not too fond of change. The thing is, I’m completely aware that I’m like this, which I think is the worst part. I know that I’m missing out on stuff, and I know that, usually, it’s my fault. I can normally assure myself that I wouldn’t enjoy myself if I did go out (I mean really, reading the above, do I seem like a party girl? Not exactly). But with Rome? There was no “I probably won’t like it there.” I knew I’d love it, I just had to, well, I had to make sure I didn’t let myself get in the way.
I do that a lot, get so anxious about stuff I’ll eventually convince myself not to do the thing I want to do. I very nearly did it with Rome- the first week I was about to get myself back to the airport, on a plane, and back home.
I’m glad I didn’t.
I’m really, truly happy I had this experience. I don’t think there’s enough words in the dictionary or time in the world for me to possibly explain how grateful I am for the past semester. I’ve gone places I never would have imagined, met people I know I’ll be friends with for years (or forever, if they’ll put up with me).
I’ve proven that I can fend for myself, and that when it comes to the big stuff- the real, life-altering decisions and once-in-a-lifetime opportunities- I’m more than capable of putting myself out there.
So one last time:
Ciao, Roma. Ci vediamo presto.