In the United States, a hundred-year-old building would be considered old. In Rome, not so much. In Rome, there are no skyscrapers with ceiling-to-floor windows. No Time Square Plaza advertising the newest perfumes, or elevators with glass floors. Each building is a different shade of brown, from light caramel to dark coffee. They are usually equipped with arched windows, balconies, and vines growing up the side. Buildings line the streets of Rome, always with string lights connecting them.
The streets are more like alleyways, where you question if cars should be driving through or not. There is cobblestone instead of pavement, each stone hand-placed and skewed in its own way. It’s hard to know where you’re going without painted lines guiding the road, and without many street signs. Each turn of the corner presents something new – an artist drawing Mother Mary on the ground with chalk, a woman spinning pasta in a shop window, or an ancient theatre sitting in the middle of the city. Rome is like no other city in the world, which is why I chose it as my destination to study abroad.
View from atop the Spanish Steps in Rome
When I was 16, I lived in Costa Rica for two weeks doing mission work, which is the longest period of time I have stayed in a foreign location. At the end of my time, I felt fully accustomed to life there. The grocery stores, the language, the traffic habits. I knew the people and I knew who I was when I was there. Now, I am going to live in Rome for 18 weeks. Eighteen. It seems almost silly that I felt at home in Costa Rica. It was still the “adjustment” period. I wasn’t supposed to know what I was doing yet. I wasn’t supposed to be comfortable.
I am a few days into my trip, and I feel unsure of what I’m looking for. College has always been the plan. Studying abroad has always been the plan. Rome has always been the plan. And now, I’m here. I am detached from my school, my friends, and my family. In all of these institutions, I have a purpose: student, sister, leader, listener, confidant. In Rome, I have no purpose yet. Who am I supposed to be when I am in Rome?
When I landed here, I expected to feel immediately at home. As I scanned the city while driving from the airport, I couldn’t help but wonder if I chose the right destination, if I chose the right year, if I made the right decision to come at all. These streets don’t feel like home. They are narrow and dirty and dark. And they shouldn’t. At least not yet.
My goal this semester is to let go. To let things happen the way that they do – to eat, to travel, to worry less. Since I’ve been in college, I have unnecessarily overworked myself. I learned that it’s possible to care too much about the future, and that the result is useless stress. When leaving the United States, my parents gave me a few simple rules. Don’t date, don’t die, and don’t book a flight without checking for a coupon first. The “no dating” rule was more of a “don’t fall in love and move to Italy” rule, but if letting go means falling in love with an Italian boy, sorry mom and dad, that’s what it’ll have to be.
When eating at É Passata La Moretta, I asked my waiter if he liked living in Rome. He hesitated, and then gave the most profound answer, “I love it more than I like it. But it’s not the most beautiful place in the world. I mean, I have bags of trash outside my apartment just because no one wants to clean them up. But also, on my walk to work I see art and music and poetry and history. If you’re the kind of person who can find beauty in those things, among the bags of trash, Rome is the place for you.” I hope that Rome is the place for me, and in the coming months, I’ll see if I can make it my home.
