the buzz

Clearly I'm in a reflective mood, otherwise I wouldn't be sitting in the South Delle (my dorm) computer room writing when my body is telling me to take a nap. I tried to write while I was home, but I really think my journey has come to a complete stop now that I'm back home in South Hadley (weird, right? Especially for such a New Yorker).

New York will be my home when I complete my undergrad educational journey. However, I'm closing my chapter on my jet-setting adventures.
I have taken a total of 18 flights this year. Word.

Between packing and unpacking all my crap (otherwise known as my life), I've gained a lot and thrown alot away (Erykah Badu says "pac lite"). I have a semi-knowledge of a foreign language. I've immersed myself in a foreign culture. Was it worth it?

My head has been spinning in a very good way these past few days. Returning to campus, I feel so much taller. Perhaps it was because I was forced to become a child in certain respects when I was in Europe--there were times when I literally could not speak. When I returned to an English speaking country for good (maybe?), I was like, "this is what I have to say, and I'm gonna say it however I want," (you know, with tact, of course).

Looking back, when people ask about Milan, sometimes I'm like "wait, I was in Italy?" It all went by so fast that I wonder if I'll actually be able to say that I was there. Part of the reason why I'm an American Studies major is because I feel so connected to where I'm from. "Returning" to Italy, if you will, wasn't quite how I imagined. I won't go into detail, but go to Italy for yourself and find out what it was like.

Here's what I did: I ate the best food in the world. I drank. I partied in clubs a lot. I struggled to learn the Italian language (we'll save witty banter in Italian for later. SIKE). My mouth watered over Louis Vuitton and Prada purses and Tods driving mocs. I rode in streetcars. I fell down the Alps. My breath was taken away by the Duomo in Milan (sorry, Florence). I felt the romance of having French windows in my room. I made some friends that I hope to have in my life until we die.

This is so mushy, and so unlike me. I had a wonderful time, but what's even better is that I have a little more of an idea of what it means to be American (charging just gum to your credit card and getting any type of food at any given hour. Clearly, these are the most important things about these United States).

My family might have come from Italy, and perhaps I have that fire inside me somewhere. But I do know from living so far away from home, from being so incredibly lost, is that I am American.