Italy is taking up space in my Heart

I have so much emotion pinned up inside me. I keep thinking about my last month here in Italy and all that is still on my list of things to see and do.



I have dreamed about this year for so long--planning and re-planning--and now it is on the verge of being over. My time with YWAM. My time in Italy. I have achieved them. I have experienced them. They have changed me, and hopefully, I have done something to change them as well.



Life moves too fast for me. I am now twenty-one and I keep thinking about my short month I spent in the south of France with Sandra and her family two years ago. Could it really have been that long ago? I was eighteen and I hadn't started college yet. I hadn't applied for YWAM or Italy; they were still just dreams. I hadn't known Kat or Leah yet. I hadn't dated anyone yet. My grandfather was still alive and proud of me. Death was not a reality yet. My brother hadn't hit his growth spurt yet. He was still my 'little' brother. So much has happened in just two years. What will happen in just two more? Italy will be a memory, a fond one, but only a memory still. My five roommates will be spread out around the country. Time and distance will have their effects on us. How could that be possible? The girls I traveled around Europe with, the ones that will be spread throughout my scrapbook?



I'm not ready to give it all up yet. I am carefully balancing on the edge of a sword. If I am not careful, I could stay here forever. I can only romanticize about Italy for so long. The real thing is much better than my dreams. It is passionate. My experiences with Italy are never dull. One day I slip in a puddle of mud and get yelled at in Italian at the Post Office. The next I'm sipping a cappuccino with Francesco and listening to him talk about art. A week later I'm in the Uffizi at dusk watching as smoke rises from the villas across the Arno. The next day I am cursing Italy because her wireless connection is keeping me from talking with my family.



I love Italy. But I also hate her. I adore the sound of her language, but I hate that I'm not picking it up easily. On the train I marvel at her scenery--her diversity and lush greenery even in autumn. But I abhor that all trains to Venice are usually sold out making it difficult to get there and shortening my stay altogether. I love two of my classes--Hidden Meaning in Renaissance Art and The Italian Grand Tour--but the other two are a bit dry--Archaeology Workshop and The World of Museums. I am so thankful for our apartment and I love the family who owns it and works at the front desk. But it makes me sad that they keep up their formal fronts, even with us. They have made us pies, given us jelly and almonds, and licorice. I am going to miss them, but even more, I am going to wish that our relationship went deeper than them giving us our keys every time we come home. I will most definitely miss the pizza boy who waves every time we pass--coming and going to our apartment. But again, I will wish it was more than just a wave and the occasional, "Ciao Bella!" or "Dove andata?".



My heart is always happy when I'm in the little nook between the Uffizi and Piazza Signora when the guitarist is playing my favorite song. It is somber and sad, but beautiful. When it is cloudy above and puddles sit between the stones, and the Piazza is deserted except for a few locals and the occasional tourist; a couple sits on the loggia kissing while whispering secrets behind the music. The sculptures on the loggia glow in the setting sun, the Roman soldiers' passion and the women's pain are amplified in shadow. They have been here for centuries, they have seen every kind of tourist, they know so much, yet, here, in the Piazza when no one is around to witness it, they come alive and relive their experiences for us who watch closely.









"You can kiss your family and friends good-bye and put miles between you, but at the same time you carry them with you in your heart, your mind, your stomach, because you do not just live in a world but a world lives in you." -Frederick Buechner