I went running this morning with my good friend Jess before going to the Italian consulate.  It was a beautiful day, though the wind was fierce.  We circled the lake a few times before heading back, feeling the pain that is earned after too much time in between workouts.  It was hard to imagine that anybody could be sad surrounded by sunlight and friends.  Then again, it doesn’t seem real here.  It is easy to forget the world in this atmosphere.

Jess took me to the consulate about an hour before it opened, as I like to get in line first.  I was so nervous that my stomach was clenched for a good thirty minutes before I noticed the pain.  Though I had meticulously organized all of my documents about 20 times before arriving, I let the pressure get to me.  I always get nervous when my entire way of life is hanging by the decision of one stranger.

Around 12:45, 15 minutes before the consulate was scheduled to open, the gentleman who always works the window opened the door asking if we were ready, because he was.  I like this man.  I have exchanged many an email with him, and seen him in the consulate several times before.  Today I put on my most charming smile and gathered my wits to begin the process of applying for a visa, in italian.  I think he really appreciates my communicating with him in his language, and is very kind to me.

He asked me why I was here, and was perplexed that the Questura would not let me extend my permesso di soggiorno from Florence.  He stated that the law says that I can extend it from there if I am continuing in the same program.  I sighed and told him that I didn’t know, but for months I had been trying to do just that, all to no avail.  I asked him how long it would take, and just as he was about to tell me to return next Monday, in a week, I asked if Thursday was at all possible and he changed the date.  Just like that, the kindness of a stranger and I will pick up my visa just 4 days after I turned in my documents.  And then I head straight to the airport to fly back home.

Home is an interesting concept.  I don’t know when it changes.  I don’t know when the place that feels the most like home in the world shifts.  I do know that I feel strange back here.  It’s like looking at the world through the bottom of a glass.  Everything is blurred and dreamlike.  I don’t feel like I’m here at all.  I watch myself from the outside like I’m watching a movie, and maintain a politely curious expression as if this isn’t my life at all.  Only when I prepare the journey back to my foreign land am I able to rub the fog from my eyes and feel alive again.  I have cut the cord to this American life.  It will never be the same for me.  My home is where I left my heart.  Bruised though it may be, I can hear the soft thump-thump that calls me back.  Peace, my little heart.  I will be home soon.