A few weeks ago the GEFs had an open mic night at Second Wind Cafe; we got to know each other a little better, got coffee, and told stories.
I wasn’t exactly planning o going until Jaci suggested I go (translation: Jaci informed me two days beforehand that I was going to go and going to talk). But I did go. I met some of the new GEFs and I got a really tasty hot chocolate (because coffee is gross). But I had no idea what to talk about.
I had tons of stories I could tell: funny ones, melancholy ones, embarrassing ones. But none of them quite felt right. When it was my turn to talk, I still didn’t know what to say. So I started talking about Italy and i hoped something interesting would come of it.
The more I spoke about Italy, the more I got this weird feeling in my chest. I feel the same way now about Arezzo as I did in Arezzo about Oklahoma: I am homesick. It doesn’t really make any sense, I only stayed there for a month, but I am. I found myself trying to explain it to my fellow GEFs, but I’m not sure how well I succeeded because I don’t even really understand.
It doesn’t make any sense for me to be homesick over a place that I stayed for a month, a place where I could barely communicate with the locals. But I am. I miss everything about Arezzo: the food, the people, the atmosphere, the scenery. And, as hard as communication was, understanding people was easy. I keep thinking back to an older lady that I met in a cafe. I have no idea what she said to me, but I know what she meant. Maybe that is the important part.