It's weird to be sitting on my couch right now, writing this blog in the spare time I have before I head out to a movie with a friend. Yesterday was kind of a sleep-deprived blur, listless and heavy-limbed as I spent my day alternatively struggling not to take a nap and trying to slide myself off my couch. Today's the first day that I'm alert enough to write this blog, not stumbling over luggage as I make a beeline toward my bed or dialing the obligatory numbers to tell everyone that yes, I'm at JFK/Logan/home, I had fun/missed you/will see you soon, and the bittersweet feelings of Saturday's Romekids farewell ache even more-so because of that.
I think the weirdest thing of all is that it feels normal, for the most part, to be doing nothing but blogging on my couch. I didn't have to be up at 8:30 (though I was anyway) to meet up with everyone downstairs and from there walk halfway across Rome by noontime. I don't have to visit a small church or open space today, or even do anything, because for the first time in two weeks I don't have an itinerary to map out my day. Today is what I make of it, and it feels strange not to have any concrete plans except watching a movie—and it's not like I need to take a thousand-something pictures of a movie so I'll remember it in years to come. But this is what I did before I went to Rome, before I grew to love the Romekids who shared misery and laughter and partying experiences with me, and in some ways it's easy to just sink back into the routine. All I've had to do these past few days is sleep, eat, and talk with my mom and brother when I've had the energy. Tomorrow I'll go back to work, and Rome will start to fade little by little, until it's not so jarring to not hear Italian on street corners or nearly get run over by a motorino.
Right now, though, it's difficult to adjust. I miss the chaos and frustration, the culture shock, the difficulty of getting to know twenty-some-odd people when we have to parade through all the time periods of Rome in two weeks. I miss taking buses and subways, miss the adrenaline rush of fear I always got when a transport vehicle was so crowded you had to hockey-check your way in just so you weren't left behind. I miss damning the accursed 280 bus to a special vehicle hell with Carolyn, Alissa, Katie, and Guerry as we sat on the sidewalk, praying that we wouldn't have to make the half hour walk from Trastavere to Prati. Hell, I miss being able to tell where Trastavere and Prati are, feeling experienced as I walk back and forth between the Piazza Navona and Campo de Fiori, knowing that Termini is always, always our first stop on the subway, give or take an exception or two. I won't get to pass by the Area Sacra or the Colosseum or the Roman Forum or the Pantheon on a night walk or a bus ride. I won't get to waste my euros on shopping, because I won't want to go shopping here for the next few weeks. And when I go to restaurants, like I did Saturday night, it will feel weird to speak with servers, to see them entertain and over-exaggerate as they try to sell their selections rather than expect that we know what we want. I miss everything about Rome, from the blisters on my feet to the frustrations of walking non-stop through the eighty-degree weather to humiliating myself in a supermarket that first day.
And I miss our group —the friends I never really got to socialize with outside a classroom setting. I won't get to try to outrace Allan on the Circus Maximus again, or snuggle with Jordy, or room with Nicole, or complain about the Vatican with Emily and Erika, or laugh with Curley and the rest of the Romekids in a bar on Nicole's birthday. I won't get to see Dan and Jackie squabble while the rest of us look on less-than-secretly, wondering when Mom and Dad will stop fighting and if we somehow did something wrong. I won't get to walk down the street and order a sandwich and gelato from two different shops, loitering outside as I eat my lunch and talk with Carolyn, Alissa, Katie, and Maria. I won't get to see anyone until the spring, and maybe even a while after that, and it hurts to have loved everyone so much only to have to start all over again in a new country for an entire semester. I wish those weeks could have lasted longer, even if I was homesick and exhausted and maybe a little hung-over by the end of the trip. It may sound cliche, or trite, banal even —a million other adjectives for something that has been said too many times —but Rome was a gift for me. I know I almost didn't go, and I know I'm such a paranoid traveler, but I'm glad I gave myself this chance. That I worked my ass off for it, both to earn the money for the trip and to pass the course in general. Because once we got there, once I saw Rome as more than a high school memory, I truly fell in love with it. I experienced independence and friendships in ways I never before thought I was capable, and I'll always be thankful for that.
I think the weirdest thing of all is that it feels normal, for the most part, to be doing nothing but blogging on my couch. I didn't have to be up at 8:30 (though I was anyway) to meet up with everyone downstairs and from there walk halfway across Rome by noontime. I don't have to visit a small church or open space today, or even do anything, because for the first time in two weeks I don't have an itinerary to map out my day. Today is what I make of it, and it feels strange not to have any concrete plans except watching a movie—and it's not like I need to take a thousand-something pictures of a movie so I'll remember it in years to come. But this is what I did before I went to Rome, before I grew to love the Romekids who shared misery and laughter and partying experiences with me, and in some ways it's easy to just sink back into the routine. All I've had to do these past few days is sleep, eat, and talk with my mom and brother when I've had the energy. Tomorrow I'll go back to work, and Rome will start to fade little by little, until it's not so jarring to not hear Italian on street corners or nearly get run over by a motorino.
Right now, though, it's difficult to adjust. I miss the chaos and frustration, the culture shock, the difficulty of getting to know twenty-some-odd people when we have to parade through all the time periods of Rome in two weeks. I miss taking buses and subways, miss the adrenaline rush of fear I always got when a transport vehicle was so crowded you had to hockey-check your way in just so you weren't left behind. I miss damning the accursed 280 bus to a special vehicle hell with Carolyn, Alissa, Katie, and Guerry as we sat on the sidewalk, praying that we wouldn't have to make the half hour walk from Trastavere to Prati. Hell, I miss being able to tell where Trastavere and Prati are, feeling experienced as I walk back and forth between the Piazza Navona and Campo de Fiori, knowing that Termini is always, always our first stop on the subway, give or take an exception or two. I won't get to pass by the Area Sacra or the Colosseum or the Roman Forum or the Pantheon on a night walk or a bus ride. I won't get to waste my euros on shopping, because I won't want to go shopping here for the next few weeks. And when I go to restaurants, like I did Saturday night, it will feel weird to speak with servers, to see them entertain and over-exaggerate as they try to sell their selections rather than expect that we know what we want. I miss everything about Rome, from the blisters on my feet to the frustrations of walking non-stop through the eighty-degree weather to humiliating myself in a supermarket that first day.
And I miss our group —the friends I never really got to socialize with outside a classroom setting. I won't get to try to outrace Allan on the Circus Maximus again, or snuggle with Jordy, or room with Nicole, or complain about the Vatican with Emily and Erika, or laugh with Curley and the rest of the Romekids in a bar on Nicole's birthday. I won't get to see Dan and Jackie squabble while the rest of us look on less-than-secretly, wondering when Mom and Dad will stop fighting and if we somehow did something wrong. I won't get to walk down the street and order a sandwich and gelato from two different shops, loitering outside as I eat my lunch and talk with Carolyn, Alissa, Katie, and Maria. I won't get to see anyone until the spring, and maybe even a while after that, and it hurts to have loved everyone so much only to have to start all over again in a new country for an entire semester. I wish those weeks could have lasted longer, even if I was homesick and exhausted and maybe a little hung-over by the end of the trip. It may sound cliche, or trite, banal even —a million other adjectives for something that has been said too many times —but Rome was a gift for me. I know I almost didn't go, and I know I'm such a paranoid traveler, but I'm glad I gave myself this chance. That I worked my ass off for it, both to earn the money for the trip and to pass the course in general. Because once we got there, once I saw Rome as more than a high school memory, I truly fell in love with it. I experienced independence and friendships in ways I never before thought I was capable, and I'll always be thankful for that.
No comments:
Post a Comment