Freedom to Practice in Rome, Italy

 

Although her eyes are full of tears, my mother smiles, waving me on and mouthing, Go!, as I walk away from them and into the security line. I really don’t know how to feel about a year studying abroad in Spain. Excitement, anxiety, uncertainty and a sense of disbelief all jump around in my stomach. My head is filled with questions as I walk toward my gate with my carry-on suitcase. Am I making the right decision? Will I get homesick? Do I know enough Spanish to get along in Santiago de Compostela? I shove all thoughts aside and go to grab something to eat while I wait to board.

Twelve hours later, my would-be roommates pick me up from the airport. I am to stay with one of their families prior to moving into our apartment in downtown Santiago. I inwardly curse my rash decision to come here for an entire year and live with people I don’t know. I must be crazy.

I spend almost two weeks with my new friends, exploring their rural Galician town before making our way into the city. After organizing my classes, I realize I don’t have any requirements – I finished all my graduation prerequisites back at home. This must be one of the perks of studying abroad as a final undergraduate year. My roommates don’t understand. If I’d already finished everything and wasn’t bothered about my classes, why was I here? To travel, I say. To learn.

It hits me now. If I came to travel, then travel I will. I book my first RyanAir flight for an impromptu trip to Murcia where I visit cousins on my father’s side. I hop on buses to Porto and Lisbon on exchange student weekend trips. I meet like-minded people and spend two nights with twelve other students in a single hostel room in Madrid. I find and take cheap flights to London, Zurich, and Barcelona.

The intensity of my freedom didn’t hit me until I begin planning my spring break trip. Rome. Florence. Pisa. Paris. I ask, Who wants to come? Nobody. They all want to go home for the week. It means I would be truly on my own for an entire week in the city of my dreams. It also means a week of selfies. My introverted personality blooms.

I scribble out a potential itinerary. Arrive on Sunday, Colosseum on Monday, Vatican on Tuesday, Florence and Pisa Wednesday, Paris on Thursday, back to Rome late Friday, Pantheon on Saturday. Easter Mass at the basilica on Sunday. Gelato every day.

I know immediately upon touchdown I am in the correct place at this time of my life. The independence I have is overwhelming and exciting. I don’t have to avoid certain restaurants because a companion is picky. I get a rush buying museum and tour tickets because I know I can do what I wanted and when. I never once feel lonely. I feel free.

Each night on my way back from my Roman excursion I stop at the pizza restaurant next to my hostel and pick up my favorite margherita pizza. I take it to my room and stuff my face with the entire thing as I upload pictures from my day onto my blog and call my family on Viber. I tell them I’m having the time of my life. They tell me they miss me. Just a little longer, I say.

I have things to do. Places to go. People to avoid. Freedom to practice.

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