The muscle in my right shoulder burned, and I felt a bead of
sweat drip down my back, adding to the moisture of my already dampened
shirt. Heat, humidity, and
strangers filled my eyes. I try to
keep my composure and make myself seem appealing to the others. Everyone’s eyes are darting around. “Oh
my God, it’s so hot!” We finally reached the tour bus, and I surrendered my
heavy suitcase to smiling bus driver.
Within five seconds of entering the tall bus, I nervously looked around,
but my anxiety was cooled by the blaring jets of the air conditioning, easing
myself with relief and comfort.
After I took a seat, the program director stood in the front of the bus.
“Okay,
let’s do roll call… looks like everyone is all here! Well folks, Bonjourno and
welcome to your Rome study abroad!”
For
my first blog, I wanted to recall my
first few moments of my study abroad experience. From my warm, comfortable queen-size bed at home in New
York, I was overwhelmingly excited and more than ready to hop on a plane and
fly to Rome to begin my study abroad tour. There was no doubt in my mind that I would not be casually
walking the streets in a flowing dress and gazing into the Trevi fountain on my
way to meet some friends at a local trattoria where we would be served delicious
mozzarella, pasta, and sweet red wine.
That idea was glamorous, but
as soon as I felt the sharp pain in my body from carrying my 49.9 lb suitcase over
cobblestone sidewalks and the oppressive heat, which would not be complete
without tiny buzzing pests flying around your face, I soon realized that my
preconceived notion of Rome may have been a little far fetched.
I
was there, waiting for Rome to take me in its arms and make me fall in love
with it. Waiting… and…
waiting. Why am I not getting a
pixy cut and riding around on a vespa
with Gregory Peck??? Was it my idealized dream of Rome that failed me?
Or was it the reality of Rome that failed me? Either way, I was travelling. I was a foreigner in a foreign country. Things were different to me- the heat,
the cobblestone streets, even the Loyola students who were in my program. It felt like a simple flip of a switch happened,
and everything that was me
changed. I somehow felt the need
to figure out how to combat or to welcome these changes.
Applying
my personal account of the first day of Rome to Wendt’s Black Rainbow, the novel begins with a description of the
narrator’s daily routine.
Initially, the narrator’s routine is monotonous and simple. For example, he makes small talk with
his wife seemed forced, and he is always picked up by John for his sessions at
the same place and same time; the jogs seem like the most adventurous action
the narrator conducts. The
constant cycle of this uneventful routine seems almost painful for the narrator
to do, and it is evident at the end of Chapter 1 that his wife is clearly
irritated by their current state of living.
Once
the Supreme Tribunal grants the narrator his freedom, the goal in which he has
been aiming at for some time, the narrator seems unprepared and caught off
guard, similar to how I was caught off guard by the un-pleasantries of my first
day in Rome. The “scavenger hunt”
that he must perform after his freedom corresponds to the struggle that I
needed to endure in order to acclimate myself with Rome. He is accustomed to his routine;
although it seems that its monotony is almost painful, he is comforted by
knowing what is coming next. Facially,
freedom is a positive thing, and everyone wants it; it means sovereignty and
self-autonomy, and it is a virtue and ideal. When the narrator receives the news of his freedom, he
initially rejects it because he is overwhelmed with the drastic change and the
spontaneity of his new life. His
sudden freedom puts him in a state of shock, and, similar to my experience, he
is forced into making it work.
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