A Farewell to Rome

I’ve been putting off writing this blog until the last possible minute. So here I sit on a TrenItalia train on the infamous line from Napoli to Milan moving towards a new destination: Florence. I’ve been putting off thinking about leaving. I’ve been putting off feeling anxious or sad—because it was always the next week, the next day, later that day. Reasoning instead that I will always have just a little more time.

Well now it’s here. Time’s up.

I may or may not have started crying in the cab to Termini. And by may have I mean that I most definitely did. Complete with my mom, well meaning, asking me whether I could believe that the four months were already over and my sister with her own question of, “Wait, are you actually crying?” Well, based on the fact that I had to move from my fingertips to a pack of tissues, I would confidently say that yes I was indeed crying, Meg.

I think it’s sometimes hard for people who haven’t studied abroad to understand why it’s so incredibly difficult to leave. I know it seems like a vacation, but it’s not. Just take a look at the term projects from the last week of my semester. But, it’s not merely about schoolwork. Just when you begin to minutely start to feel like a local you have to leave. Just when it really starts to feel like home, right when you know you understand things. You work your butt off for four months to know the best places to eat, the best hidden views of Rome’s skyline, and how to avoid the mobbing at Termini. Four months and then you have to walk away from all of that hard work. 

And I think that’s the thought that has upset me today the most: walking away now, may also be walking away for good. It’s the if. I don’t know when or if I’ll come back to Rome. And if I do, it very well could be in fifty years. That possibility, that uncertainty, is what scares me the most. Because I have truly come to love Rome. And by love, I mean hate. Which is the only way you can truly love her at all.

I don’t want to say that I left my heart in Rome today. I’m not into clichés. I can put my palm to my chest and feel it still there, feel life still moving forward. Instead of my heart, I’ve left her with echoes of laughter. The scuffs of boot heels against uneven cobblestone. Empty bottles of wine and plates of pasta wiped cleaned. At least three inches of my hair somewhere on a Balduina salon floor. My favorite pair of jeans and the soles of my best riding boots. I’ve left her empty Bueno bar wrappers. Foam-stained and empty cappuccino cups. Hundreds of dropped Skype calls. My waistline and a fortune’s worth of ATM and foreign transaction fees. But, most importantly, my footprints scattered across nearly all of her winding, cramped, and so beautiful streets.

Rome has changed me so much. I know everyone says that, but they say it because it’s true. I’m not the same person who left for an adventure in January, but I’m not a completely different person either. This semester has been messy and crazy and beautiful; I wouldn’t change it for anything. Not a single thing.

I had exactly 109 days with that incredible city, which is more than many would hope or dream. 109 days of laughter, clutter, and discovery. 109 days. And now? Today is Day 1. 

Ciao Roma. Miss you already.

xoxo

lauren