Of falling in love with a country.

A black dress, pink cardigan and a pair of heels that haven’t been worn since they’ve been packed and unpacked several times in several countries since the middle of October. The weather allowed for a light spring coat despite the late hour, and I was ready to hit the town with two captivating Italian boys. Both aerospace engineers, I found myself feeling elevated just to be in the company of these multi-lingual comedians. The one thing I’ve learned to delight in more than Italian food is the good old Italian humor.

Sometimes I find myself falling in love with everything around me so that I’m constantly overwhelmed with passion, floating in a state of perpetual euphoria. Often times I catch myself, so caught up in my happiness, that my first reaction isn’t pleasure, but fear. What if I’m just absorbed in the blissful beginning months of a new relationship? You know what I'm referring to, those tragically misleading weeks that lure you into thoughts of everlasting happiness simply because you are helplessly engrossed within a bubble of ignorance. After all, we are so rarely the people that others intend for us to be. What if Italy has flaws larger than its defected postal system? (Is that actually possible?) But more importantly, is Italy even capable of loving me back?

But alas, until the mysteries of the universe reveal themselves, I will sit in a Russian restaurant across from two enthralling boys who bicker in that perfect Italian accent over pointless things like bridges and manners. These people that I’ve just met, I’m secretly in love with them too. I’m in love with them not just because they are positively contributing to my life abroad, but because they are completely and utterly Italian - a breed that manages to show love without ever meaning to.

When I exit any building, I have to grin widely wherever I am to outwardly show my gratefulness. The hidden truth is that I do the same thing with people, turning my head to hide my extreme delight to be in their company.  This community of friends is half the reason why I love this country in the first place. I love that Mario is eating chicken with spicy chocolate drizzled on top. I love that Daniele can’t stop using all the bad words he learned from South Park. I love that these heels echo every time they hit the cobblestones. I love that the tram is late and that we just missed the jazz show, that my drink has too much rum and that our taxi driver is beat-boxing has he drives. I love that there are two superheroes in my apartment, that it’s 2am and that I’m not tired. I love that every time I look outside my window, I see Italy. Italy, and it’s wildly enchanting Italians.

For the first time ever, there’s no where else I’d rather be.