Less because of the cultural differences and more because of the expectations involved in spending a semester abroad. “You’ll have the best time of your life,” everyone assured me. “Enjoy every second,” they pressed. And what if I don’t? I wondered. What if I find that studying Italian cinema for five months isn’t all I’ve ever wanted and needed in an adventure? Will I be able to sustain my love for a boyfriend who is four thousand miles away? What if I’m not one of those who finds herself while far away on some exotic journey? What will that say about me? I feared how the buildup would match its unfolding. And at first I was fine. The first three weeks of the semester were spent in Florence as an orientation period where we would get our feet wet in Italian culture and prepare for the rest of our stay—four months in Rome. There, in Florence, I nearly lost myself in culture lust. It was new and charming and the kind of thing I—or anyone, really—dreamed it would be.
What do You think about It Was Me All Along: A Memoir?
