Of saying goodbye and entering new places.

I looked outside of my aerial porthole and the blackness of an early morning atmosphere looked back. I had lost sight of the country a long time ago, but I knew it was beneath me in the way I know it is within me. Germany has immortalized itself within my heart. The last twelve hours had happened so fast and I cried so often in the seclusion of my room that it's impossible to remember how I got myself to move forward. Have I survived the long string of goodbyes?

When the kids came home the day before, I ran upstairs and cried when they hugged me hello. Everything stood still, except for my heart which was slowly breaking apart. At night before bed, I hugged them goodbye trying not to look at their smiling faces. They didn't understand that I was leaving for good and it was that innocence that tore me apart. Like a dog, I ran away to my empty room and curled up in ball, nursing my wounds by letting out tears.

Saying goodbye to Hong was much more emotional. How do you part with the person who personifies your strength, your courage, your endurance and faith? My backbone, my fortune cookie, my mother figure, my foundation, it's been the one loss that I can't bear to relive.

The Dad hugged me goodbye and left me with three suggestions: "Practice, practice, practice."

It should have been harder to say goodbye to Kate - the very best friend I could have made abroad - but 2am wake up calls deter the heart from mourning. Instead, like the amazing person she is, she packed me a banana and a homemade muffin, hailed me a taxi and hugged me a hug that didn't feel like the last. We would meet again, and that was the only thing that made letting go of her possible.

Being a Western girl, I naturally packed half of what I owned when relocating to Germany. Being a Western girl, I naturally spent half of what I earned on clothes. The consequence of this is having to kart around three 50-pound suitcases and one large purse all by myself through empty train stations, bus stops and airports. I may be tiny, but I was determined to have every single skirt and panty by my side when I arrived in Italy. Unfortunately, the price of this is equal to 7€ per every kilo over the 23 kilo (50 lbs) limit. I ended up paying 182€ for the luxury of every skirt and panty, teaching me the hard lesson that Western mentality is an expensive one.

The upside to being robbed by the airlines is that my excess baggage had earned me a new friend - a German fashion model named Julia who helped to drag my luggage off the train. Coincidentally, we also had the same early flight into Milan where she was scheduled for a photo shoot. Being three hours early for a 6:45am flight, we naturally stuck together and wandered around the airport, talked over coffee (twice), dealt with complications during check-in, created our own two-person cafe right before security (as we both suddenly realized we had unconsumed food and beverages aboard), got patted down and searched after setting off the metal detectors, and discussed zoos, male models and exboyfriends before boarding. The early morning trek, and parting with Germany in general, was made that much more bearable with the gift of sudden friendship.

Once in Italy, we waited for each other as we exited the plane and helped the other fish for luggage as it came around the conveyor belt. Together, we navigated the new terminal, acting as a pillow of security in a time of sudden newness. Before we parted, we hugged and kissed goodbye in that endearing European way before rushing off in opposite directions for buses that were heading towards opposite towns. I continue to hope that she and I will meet again, and in a world full of wanderers, I wouldn't be surprised if we did.

My bus seemed to be waiting just for me as we pulled out the minute I stepped in. Nestled near a window seat, I polished off my first book of February while the Italian countryside sped by. The weather was dismal, but it was nice to know that I was arriving past winters midpoint. Spring would push its way through in sooner time than it would take for winter to leave. True to form, it was the last cloudy day I have seen.

As we entered the city, I stared in longing at the lengthy, shuttered windows and the elaborate metal fencing that enclosed roman balconies. Green and white stripped awnings jutted out and draped in semi-circle fringes, flapping in the drizzle. I imagined a balcony garden on summer days. I imagined old friends paying homage to a traveling comrade. Cafes and pasta, wine and gorgeous nights out in Italy, a country of possibilities.

I hold on to the faith that it all has happened for a reason. I have survived my first week in Torino.

The Shift

The sad news of the day is written within this post. Though daunting and sudden, we are all trying to be optimistic and supportive towards everyone's losses. Indeed, we all have lost something.

I am moving. Not now, not tomorrow, but soon. It's as unexpected as it is shocking, and our hearts are all the more broken for it. The news was delivered to us on Wednesday. I was in the kitchen eating raisins, waiting for The Mom to return home with the gift of promised pizza. The garage went up, her car pulled in, she opened the door and said, "Nicole, we have to talk."

The truth is that the economic crisis in the US has managed to indirectly affect me here in Germany. The Mom's sister lost her job last week, leaving her with no alternative to pay for her Manhattan apartment. With no one to work for and no other family to take her in, The Mom's sister phoned Wassenberg and asked for refuge.

When it comes to family, nothing else comes first. In essence, I've simply been displaced.

I cried. Not because I, too, was losing my job, but because I was leaving my family. Hong, my backbone; Kate, my best friend; Vincent and Gracie, the two souls that taught me patience and encouraged me to love. Just yesterday I was walking down the stairs thinking, "this is my home." I am leaving that as well.

But faith has never left, and when everything in front of me falls away, something larger comes into view from the debris. New experiences, valuable lessons, chances to grow in different directions. I am adopting a new setting, that's all. Chin up, heart strong, breath deeply.

Nix is moving again, and she's aiming for Italy

Oh, hail no.

I had just returned from my daily run (which was extra dangerous on this particular day for the high winds and sporadic weather left me with a small bump on my head and a leaf in my mouth) when The Mom sat me down to have our daily lunch. Our habitual seating arrangement has me facing the window, so when abnormal looking rain drops began to fall I was the first to jump up and declare that it was hailing!

"Girl, the sun is shining. It don't hail when the sun is out."

"Mal-func-tion. I don't know anything about hail," I told her, "tropical island, remember?"

A little disappointed, I sat back down to finish my meal. Ten minutes later, after nearly giving The Mom a heart attack, I was screaming and dancing in ice cubes. (Even robots can tell when rain is frozen).