Missing my heart-land, away from home

There's something about being away from New York that makes me miss Italy more fiercely. It doesn't seem like those two should be so intertwined, does it? How does leaving New York relate to missing Italy? They're not the same!

And yet, somehow, being in the city, walking the streets of Brooklyn, glowering at the tourists in Manhattan, it has this ethereal quality to it, this thing I can only describe as a feel, that makes me feel at home and reminds me of Italy. And so I miss Italy a little less, because I'm distracted by New York City.

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There's so much to distract you in New York. There's a fog of exhaustion that seems to float behind every step, compounded by the stress of public transportation as the only means to get anywhere. There's a level of striving in everything, a tension that doesn't leave your shoulders at all, because every month this niggling question hovers: will I make rent for next month? I breathe a sigh of relief at the end of every month when I pay my roommate the allotted amount to give me 30 more days in the city.

And there are people, new faces to observe, new oddballs to dodge, something different on every corner. There's a job, 40+ hours a week on my feet in almost constant motion, serving other Brooklynites their coffee and panini, and yet, despite the countless time I spend working and charming people for tips, I'm barely scraping by and looking to pick up side gigs for a little extra cash flow.

There's constantly something on my mind in New York, and that combined with the Europe-ness of the city means I don't have time to think back on Trieste...

...To think about long and lazy morning walks seven miles down the waterfront, ending at the castle I love so much I tattooed it on my body...

...To think about the gelateria where the hot chocolate is so thick your spoon stands up on its own, leaning in close to your best friend from childhood and giggling, giggling, giggling...

...To think about standing on the edge of the pier, staring out at the Adriatic Sea as its waves ripple the streetlights, this feeling of peace and serenity flooding you and overtaking every synapse...

...To think about home, with its creaky floors and warm-pumpkin walls and the bed you've had since childhood that's still your coziest retreat...

When I sit down to try and write about Italy, about Trieste, about all the things I love from my hometown and my adopted country, I find I don't have the words. The English language falls flat at my fingertips, unable to convey the depth of emotions I have toward that place, unable to truly translate to you the beauty of it, the beauty of its movement, language, of the ethereal feel it has that just wraps itself around me and holds me close to its heart.

I think I'm lucky, so lucky, to have found two places that I love beyond words. And when I leave one, I find myself craving the other desperately.

Processed with VSCO with f2 presetI'm in South Carolina at the moment, sitting in a comfortable chair in my parents' beautiful home, a home I'm simultaneously jealous and afraid of. Because it's small by suburbia standards but large compared to my place in Brooklyn; because nearly every inch is coated in soft carpet I don't recognize from New York (or Italy); because mornings are slow and the sun seems to blink its eyes open as lazily as I do, rather than darting awake like it does up North.

Things are different in the South, it's true, and a big difference is that down here there's less to distract me and less to satiate my craving for Italy.

So I miss it, with a passion. For the first time in months I've found my fingers itching to buy a plane ticket to Trieste, I've found my stomach collapse at this longing that just eats at me, I've found myself blinking back tears and a lump in my throat because I'm here and not there, here and not there...

I've been asked so many times this weekend why I refuse to move back to South Carolina. There are reasons, one of them being that New York is home now and I don't want to leave it, but a big one that I'm just realizing is that I miss my Italy-home more fiercely when I'm away from my New York-home.

And so, I stay safely cocooned up North, where the people are plenty, the smells abound and the Italy-missing is less intense.

 

Surviving the one week mark

Can you believe it? I know I can't. I've been living in New York for over a week. That's right. I've spent eight nights in my new home, I've attended church, I've met up with college friends who live in the city, I've made new friends from my program during an orientation program we decided to skip out on and I've been on several solo adventuring trips. I've worked nearly 10 hours for my job, experienced multiple subway incidents, and have a bag that smells like tea because I spilled water in it and the teabag started seeping. I've walked, on average, 4.5 miles every day, I've done laundry in a real live laundromat and I've gone grocery shopping by myself.

In short, I've settled in. Or started to, at least. I still haven't fully settled into my morning routine and I do have to walk the streets with my handy-dandy arm extension, Citymapper, turned on at all times. But I'm getting there. Show me a subway station for the "A," "M," "R," or "J" and I can get myself home just fine, thank you very much. I've even memorized the last few stops on my journey home!

I still haven't made friends with the people at the grocery or the pharmacy — in fact, due to an incompetent employee's screw-up, I am the farthest thing from "friends" with my local Rite Aid — but I have had the opportunity to blow off one entire evening talking and laughing with my roommate while spending another one walking Battery City Park with one of my first Asbury friends.

My worlds are colliding. This dream city is becoming home. It's becoming — dare I say it? — almost mundane.

Ok, mundane it isn't. It will never be guilty of that...

I just laughed at myself for calling New York "mundane." I take that back. It's still a foreign world to me. But it's a world I'm slowly acclimating to, one that, I hope, is beginning to accept me.

I'm no longer one of those people on the ferry bubbling about all the things I want to see and do in my three days in town; I want to see and do the same things, but I have so many more days available.

I don't know how long it will take for me to be able to consider myself a "New Yorker." I'm thinking by the time graduation rolls around I might have earned that moniker? But today, I'm a definite "New York-liver." I most definitely live in this city.

My new friends!

I'm thrilled beyond words. On Wednesday I woke up and cried, feeling lonely. Since then, I've met three people from my program and have plans to meet up with them tomorrow and again on Monday to hang out, explore and get started on this adventure called grad school.

After a full week in New York City, I finally feel like I've made it home. And I'm going to be okay.