living abroad – ⋆ Second Gen Desi ⋆

Reading Time: 8 minutes

I don’t know what it is about the American South, but every time I make a trip out to Texas, I fall in love with it more and more…as much as my exhaustion with Italy grows and grows 😅.

Spring, TX, where the’rents currently live

My trip back home for Christmas/the Houston Marathon/a surprising event I can’t share too much about just yet 👀 was just what I needed after a mentally-exhausting fall. I was back in my country—with people who have known me for years—and bounced back to my “normal” self after a few days of jetlag-induced depression (anyone else get a kick in the pants from jetlag?). The quality time I spent with those I loved in safe spaces allowed me to be introspective and process emotions that have been eating at me for months…

The “surprising event” I had to prioritize last minute also got me thinking about where my life could go, and that the best opportunities for me, are indeed outside of Italy. I hope to share more very soon, but for now, here’s proof that I dressed up, got a $80 blowout 😬, and wore makeup after many years, just to make a solid impression:

I also decided I might as well tackle #23 of my 30 in my 30’s list head-on, if I was going to go through all the trouble of addressing my “appearance”. I went from nail biter at Christmas, to a full set of acrylic nails:

Deciding not to bite my nails on Christmas Day…

Every time I make a trip back home, I also prioritize the essential errands, like sending things off to ThredUp and thrifting, shopping at my favorite stores and trying new flavors of my fav perishibles (see below for my Olipop haul…bought at an unheard of price of $0.99 a POP!), and participating in care package exchanges with friends like Allie! I sent her a box of goodies from Italy (I hauled everything in my suitcase and shipped it all from Texas…because, no way to international shipping!!), and she sent me some of her Pittsburgh favorites as well as some general American snacks she knew I’d be missin’:

I also prioritize trips to Austin, because I definitely see myself buying a home there one day…for now, I am grateful it is my sister’s turf for the next few years, because it means enjoying all the fun stuff this city has to offer with a tried-and-true companion.

Thrifting. Vegan food. Beautiful lakes. Animal lovers everywhere. People who smile and wave when you go for a long run, and who don’t give you resting b*tchface. It’s wonderful, ya’ll.

But with even with all of these fun, unexpected/exciting things, the main reason for my “long” stay (3 weeks? Long? Not long enough!!) was to run the Chevron Houston Marathon, my 8th marathon!

I got cowboy boots…can I be a Texan now plz?

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The last time I ran a marathon was in 2019 in Los Angeles (it was my fifth consecutive LA). I remember feeling so burnt out by the distance and ready for a decent-sized break. Plus, Italy was already percolating in my mind as that’s when I was seeking out investigators and research Institutes in Milan to apply for my fellowship 😅.

Little did I know that the pandemic would be that break I needed..but it happened for a reason.

I failed at a marathon comeback attempt in Italy (my trip to Verona is bittersweet because of it…), and so I knew my next marathon would have to be back in America if I wanted to “succeed”.

After getting settled into a new job, I was able to focus on a new race goal and picked Houston because the timing was perfect (decent weather in January!) and I would be able to have enough time to prepare.

I met with a coach based in Houston in early summer, and he gave me weekly workouts to do while I was in Italy. I’ve had experience working with a coach before when I was in LA, but I was happier with this training cycle overall, as I preferred the coaching style of this coach compared to my previous coach.

Workouts included one speed workout, a long run, a steady run that would be held at goal marathon pace, followed by ALL the easy runs you could imagine. People often forget that improvements come from not how fast you go out each time, but how often your prioritize slow and easy runs…that’s when the magic begins.

My training cycle began in July, and ended mid-January (6.5 months) since the marathon was January 15th. In October, I ran a local half marathon (in Monza), but didn’t PR or feel too well because I was dealing with a horrible bout of anxiety spawned by an event that happened earlier in the month...I am so sensitive to my surroundings and my body internalizes way too much… the curse of an empath? 🤔

But even with that, I’m still happy with how my training cycle progressed from that point. I was hitting my workouts to a T, and seeing improvements in my speed interval pacing (doing sub-7:00 for 0.25 and 0.5 mile intervals!). About five weeks out from marathon day, my coach started having me do long runs over 20 miles. It got to the point I was running one 24 mile run two weeks out from race day, and a 22 miler just a week before race day!

I was able to get out of my head and just do what I needed to do. It was the first time I got past mental burn out in a long while, and the first time in a long time I was doing 20+ milers!

So with how the training cycle played out, I was hoping to PR with a 3:45. My PR up until that point was a 3:53:37, which I earned back in 2017. Even with these new goals, I knew anything could happen on race day… just had to convince myself that I put in the work and now I just had to let things happen as they should.

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I was able to go to downtown Houston with my dad the day before to pick up my race packet, and for the rest of the day, I tried to eat “safe” (no fibrous or rich foods that could get in the way of digestion, haha) and then ofcourse, go to bed early.

The next day, the two of us drove back down to downtown, and after walking around in circles for a bit, I found my starting place at corral B. I was able to make small talk with two other women as we waited, and fortunately it wasn’t too cold. At the same time, I wanted it to be, since I know I don’t do well in heat + humidity, which Houston is famous for.

Others on the other hand had no issue buying NWT clothing as “start line cover-ups” and tossing them over the fences when it was time to race. Talk about fast fashion* 🙄.

*The race organizers did say that any clothing left at the start would be donated to local shelters…but still…

By the time I made it to the start line, it was around 7:20am. I felt good at the start, but tried to keep my pace steady and not go out too strong. My per mile splits for the entire 4:06:39 (I know, I didn’t PR, but let me explain…) were as follows:

I was doing really well up until mile 15. I even found the 3:45 pace group from mile 6-mile 9 and they helped me push myself for that period. My legs were beginning to give out at mile 9, but I still maintained race pace more or less.

I also know that in the marathon, pain comes and goes…you feel horrible for some random miles, but then if you fuel and hydrate properly, you body suddenly forgets the pain and pushes through…until it feels the pain again 😂!

Around mile 17, I was starting to feel gastric distress, so I made a pit stop at a porta potty. It might have been in my head though, because…no movement? Haha, TMI!

From mile 18 onwards, I kept the “only two more miles till hydration” mindset. I walked through water/Gatorade stops and the method seemed to work well and help me push through. Miles 24-26 were HORRENDOUS. Funny enough, since mile 24 was the longest distance I ran leading up to race day. Even though it was “only 2 more miles”, my legs felt HEAVY.

I also started to choke up and feel emotional. I wanted to cry not from the pain, but from the fact that this was happening again…I was going to finish my 8^th 26.2, and even if most people in my life would not be able to comprehend how remarkable that is, it was enough for me to tell myself that I was doing something amazing.

I had enough in me to speed through the finish, and then crawl on through the finisher’s zone. I called my dad in order to find him at the family meet-up area, and yes I finally got a good cry out!

I didn’t PR, but I…

✅ Finished healthy and strong.

✅ Hydrated well (hydration was organized SO well on the course!) and fueled well throughout the race.

✅ Happily accepted the outcome of the race and praised myself for the feat I just accomplished.

I’ve been telling myself since 2017 that I’m going to get faster, that in this-and-that race I’ll PR again, but it’s been a long, winding journey with running since then…

This training cycle has been so helpful in that it has helped me realize that with the right support, I can achieve the goals I want to achieve. My coach and I agreed that a 3:45 is in me, and that for 2023, working on 5k/10k speed, followed by the half, and then a full in the fall is a reasonable plan.

I hope to be back in the US soon enough to tackle all this and more…whoops, did I say too much too soon 😮?

Well, life’s too short to not speak the truth, and chase dreams that take shape day by day…

Reading Time: 10 minutes

Before that night in late spring of my junior year of high school, I could not comprehend how painful a mental breakdown truly was.

I played singles varsity tennis that fall. I had been awarded the position of first chair flute in county honor band that winter. And that night, I had completed two regional competitions for Robotics as president of my high school team, bringing home an award for our website as well—-something that had been a personal project of mine finally received validation, yet it triggered my anger.

Logically, I had nothing to “cry over”, yet the dark idea that it would all come crashing down triggered the tears, guttural yelling, and body slams against the floor of my parents’ bedroom.

My mom with her own mental illness, fueled the fire with her share of yelling and ridicule that I was the one that needed help. My dad, shocked at the scene going on before him and unable to stop my incessant crying and self-harm, threatened to call the police.

But this only pushed out more tears, and at one point, my body couldn’t take it anymore. I continued to lay on the floor listlessly while my parents calmed down as well.

The police never came, but Dad thought I should see a therapist. I was resentful, given the fact that my mother had not seen a doctor in years, but part of me felt the urge to see someone, with a sprinkling of curiosity.

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I have lived with depression since then, with it popping in and out of my life at varying intensities, depending on how kind my environment was to me.

An eating disorder was mixed in as well, sometimes making it unclear what was first to influence what.

The depression, along with OCD tendencies, popped up along my PhD journey as well, with one of my darker episodes occurring at a time when so many unknowns were at play… the biggest of which was the worry of how soon my first, first-author paper would be published, if I would be able to graduate, and if it was even worth all of the anxiety and emotional breakdowns I was going through.

It was around this time I decided to see my third therapist, but also consider taking medication for the first time. When I received the news that my paper had been accepted, that itself lifted away the weight of the world that was pressed so firmly at my shoulders for the past six months, but I still felt it necessary to seek out professional help.

Dr. S was an immense help through the first half of 2019. It may have helped that my environment suddenly turned friendly, but she helped me battle the ennui I was now experiencing as I inched towards a summer graduation.

At first I saw her once a week so she could get to know me better and monitor me as I started taking Lexapro for the first time. I was on 5mg initially, but was bumped up to 10mg. Beyond a few headaches and fatigue, the pill got acquainted with my body and lifestyle, although I personally didn’t feel any changes.

Especially since I still felt cyclical anger and irritability.

Dr. S was a trained psychiatrist, but would not continue writing prescriptions for patients unless paired with counseling sessions. I enjoyed our sessions in the beginning, since I was able to vent to her about my desire to start anew outside of SoCal. She knew about my plans to apply for a fellowship in Italy, and how I yearned to have the opportunity to meet new people and travel all over.

When my plans were starting to gel by November 2019, I began to grow tired of my sessions with Dr. S. Like with the therapists of my past, I had hit a plateau with her. I felt like I didn’t need her anymore, and that my depression had retreated once I received confirmation about Italy.

Of course with COVID in early 2020, my plans changed dramatically. I was “stuck” in Tulsa (although now I see it as a blessing I wish I could relive again). Being with my family definitely played a key role in mitigating stress. I was still taking my Lexapro, but popping a pill each day without knowing if it was truly serving its purpose was beginning to irritate me, to say the least.

Dr. S wrote me a prescription for 90 days to take with me as I settled down in Milan, but who’s to say if it got me through my two weeks of isolating self-quarantine?

Because my mind was already set on starting fresh and throwing myself into a different world, I felt ready to stop the Lexapro. I didn’t want to rely on medication to modulate my mood for the rest of my life, especially if it wasn’t doing its purported action in the first place.

Things seemed to be going wonderfully at work.

I was finally opening up and starting to date for the very first time in my life.

In fact, I was lucky to meet someone so early in the “game” who I clicked with instantly.

And with all of this new-found happiness, I wanted to see what my body could do on its own…in an environment where I felt in control and eager about navigating through.

So I stopped taking Lexapro in mid-August 2020. I informed my Dad and a close friend of my decision, both of whom knew of my recent depression history. My Dad, knowing the obstacles I have faced when it comes to doctors and their diagnoses understood why I chose not to wait until I found a doctor, but my close friend was more concerned. While I acknowledge it would have been helpful to see someone within weeks of arriving in Italy, I knew that with the painfully frustrating administrative system in place—especially in regards to healthcare—it would have been a nightmare to wait for a second opinion.

In my battle with depression over the years, I quickly realized that when it came to my body and mind, only I could be the one to decide what felt right for me.

I felt “normal” for about a week, after which painful, throbbing headaches began to make an appearance on a daily basis. I was starting to feel easily triggered by what I would normally see as minor inconveniences. On my early morning runs, I would have to stop mid-run because I would be on the verge of tears…

Things started to feel uneasy at work. I found myself silently hyperventilating at times, and I often had to duck into the bathroom to let myself had a good cry.

I knew fully well I had nothing to be upset about. I stopped taking the medication because things were going well. I wasn’t too concerned about these symptoms arising because I was expecting them as part of the withdrawal process.

Everything would be better in a few weeks…

But it seemed as though things were slowly retreating and heading in the opposite direction. The throbbing headaches did stop after three weeks. I wasn’t crying uncontrollably everyday either, but my mood was no longer at the same elevated level that it has been in mid-summer.

And perhaps it was because my environment, the one I thought I had control over, was starting to become more overwhelming than I ever imagined it would be.

Having the patience to learn and speak Italian was becoming a stressful chore.

Work was becoming something I was slowly starting to dislike. I resented the idea that my position wasn’t as flexible as I thought it would have been. I felt like my skills weren’t being appreciated. And having these feelings woven through a five-day work week was an feeling that grew unbearable by the minute.

As fall turned into winter, I thought time would make things better, but with the rise of COVID infections, we were back in a lockdown in late October. I was resenting the fact that I had yet to travel outside of Milan or Como, and I was counting on the winter holidays to make my Rome trip a reality.

But that of course didn’t happen.

At least I wasn’t alone during the holidays, but my anxious thoughts and depression still would not leave me, even though I knew I had a full week off from work to take in the last of 2020 (although, what was really there to take in?).

I kept thinking about how I was “wasting” my time off because I wasn’t able to travel. Or ruminating over what experiments I should be planning my first week back at work, even though that was the last thing I wanted my thoughts to dwell on…

Castel Baradello hike the day after Christmas. It was a beautiful sight, but my mind was gripped with anxiety about my week off ending soon…

And with the arrival of 2021, things still seemed to not “feel” any better. Yes, I was finally able to move into apartment that wasn’t the size of a claustrophobic closet, and with a balcony (something that was a top priority), but I still felt unsettled 😔

I thought I would appreciate a long, cold winter after months of painful humidity and encapsulated heat, but I guess I didn’t know what I was asking for when it came to an Italian winter. The weather became piercingly cold, and the sky always seemed to match my mood—gray, dreary, tired, depressing…

I tried to keep my mind away from the gray by appreciating things I knew would bring me joy.

Like, (finally) buying a Nespresso machine so I could have coffee on my terms.

Or stopping for adorable cats that ‘meow’ back and don’t mind being coddled.

And even trying to shift back to daylight runs vs. the nighttime runs I had a habit of partaking in during the summer. Because every ounce of sunlight helps.

Work continued to aggravate me. I still felt like I was doing tasks that weren’t adding to my skill set, and that what I was doing had no relation to what I thought I had signed up for.

Looking back, I find it ironic that in the phone calls I had with my Dad during this time, I’d semi-joke about having a breakdown at work given all the emotional turmoil that had been building up for the past several months.

And, then it happened right on cue 🙃. Before I broke down into a solid cry that drenched even my blue disposable mask, I was having a meeting with my boss, during which she expressed her disappointment with how things were going (I would later learn that she had been described by others to push people to their breaking point in an effort to get the most work out of them). I didn’t have the energy to explain my situation, so I let my emotions do the talking.

She seemed to understand immediately, and offered help where she could. At least that situation got me into a doctor’s office for the first time in Italy 🙄. I knew counseling had helped me in the past, but this time, I already knew what my trigger was.

A stressful, overwhelming environment.

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Since my breakdown as a junior in high school, I have accepted that depression will always be a condition in my life, and that it may need managing from time-to-time.

When I felt out of control with where I would be going to college and troubles at home with mom, diving into an eating disorder was my solution.

When I felt deep anxiety about the fate of my PhD, and the paper I was anxiously trying to publish for a timely graduation, Dr. S and my willingness to try medication for the first time was my solution.

And I thought Italy would be a long-term solution. Especially for the irritability and ennui that popped up in recent years, but it turned out that Italy was an issue of her own.

COVID has been an obvious key player in this, and it’s hard to say how things would have turned out if I had arrived in Italy back in early 2020 as originally planned, and if the world had not been shaken by COVID.

But ongoing events have made me realize that the biggest trigger of my current depression “flare” is directly associated with the very reason I came to Italy in the first place. And how do you manage and cope when the very thing that is your livelihood causes so much distress?

Recently, I’ve been fortunate to have possibilities open up. Knowing that there may be a way out has put my mind at ease, but at the same time, there’s no guarantee that the solution to cutting myself off from the triggers here will help me somewhere out there.

That’s why I’m trying my best—with whatever ounce of energy I do have—to take things day by day. Making sure to sip my coffee, savor a relaxing dinner at home, and pet that furry cutie before each run…

When it comes to using medication to manage my mental health, I personally do not want to get near it ever again. I’m sure it works wonders for some, but that doesn’t mean it works favorably for everyone.

Managing my depression has led me to prioritize my happiness no matter what. I acknowledge that what I may constitute as happiness right now in life could change over time, but even so, I believe that if we make it a priority to live in ways that ensure balanced levels of happiness, we can encourage the same from those we interact with on a daily basis.

An infinite loop of happiness, wouldn’t that be nice?

Looking down on Como from Castel Baradello, two months after Christmas ❤

Reading Time: 10 minutes

Relatively speaking, living in Italy was on my radar much later, and more recently in my life.

When I began my PhD in August 2014, working abroad for my post-doc never came across my mind. I was too infatuated with Los Angeles, and pre-occupied with my obsession with nutrition, partially influenced by my controlling eating disorder.

But as the years slowly inched forward, I found myself on a healthier path, finally coming to terms with my body and oh, so troubled mind. With more fuel for my brain, I was able to focus on different aspects of life, and go beyond my tunnel vision of calories and nutrients.

As I made more wholesome relationships, began to network, attend conferences, and travel on my own, I realized I had a desire to grow beyond what I had cultivated in Los Angeles. I grew tired of the city, and as friends began to graduate and leave for other places, I grew tired of the people as well. I was aching for a change, and it was throbbing deep within my soul.

At first, Spain was on my mind as a potential location for “my next chapter”. When I came back from my first international trip/business trip/solo trip (3-in-1 😂) to Barcelona in September 2017, the next several months were full of daydreams that occupied my mind during my commute to work.

After getting a taste of what could be, I was eager to find a way back, even if I had to wait at least two more years to finish my PhD!

I downloaded Duolingo, and started “learning” Spanish. I found several post-doc fellowships to keep in mind of, and I had a folder where I kept all of their links in my Chrome browser.

As work began to pile up in my current position—especially as I entered into my fourth year—I put my Spanish daydreaming on hold. I was determined to make it happen, but I obviously had a PhD to complete first! Somewhere amidst the chaos, I realized that the only “decent” post-doc fellowship for a non-Spanish/non-EU citizen was in it’s last year—in 2018. I knew that it wouldn’t work out after all, but I was still eager to make it to Europe.

As if on cue, Italy popped up. A random Google search one day led me to a page for a fellowship program that offered funding to non-Italians for 3 years to do cancer research.

As one thing led to another, I found the perfect primary investigator (PI) to support my application. We began exchanging emails in March 2019, submitted my application in June 2019—a few weeks before my thesis defense actually 😉—and received the good news in November 2019.

When I realized Italy was happening, I was beyond ecstatic. I would become not only an Italian, but a Milanese.

And it was going to happen in late February 2020…until it didn’t.

As we all know, COVID happened. It allowed me to spend quality time with family, but the circumstances in Italy seemed dark and hopeless. I’d refresh the Worldometer stats each day to see if there would be a drop in cases, but every day of April 2020 just brought upon more and more anxiety.

I was honestly beginning to lose hope. I thought of back-up plans, and took a break from learning Italian. If I wasn’t so sure I was going anymore, what was the point?

But things finally took a positive turn at the end of May 2020. I was receiving emails again, got the greenlight to return to LA to process my visa, the go-ahead to book my tickets and temporary apartment, and finally allowed to comfortably imagine what my new life would be like…

…beautiful buildings at every turn, friendly colleagues, warm Italians who spoke not one word of English and who would delight in my attempts to learn the language, making new friends, frequenting fancy aperitivi, dating for the first time…

And this new life began on June 23, 2020.

Seeing Milan for the first time, up in the air…

And my first impressions of the city were…wow, everything feels much smaller, and not as grand as I was thinking…

The most bizzare part was not going through a passport/visa check. My flight path was Los Angeles ➙ Paris ➙ Milan, and there was some paperwork I had to fill out between LA and Paris, but the fact that nothing was checked was very weird…especially during the age of COVID.

Still, I followed everyone out, hauled my three hefty pieces of luggage + my carry-ons to where I met a family acquaintance. My cousin’s husband (the folks we met in Dubai) connected me with one of his work contacts who lived in Milan, and she thoughtfully offered to help me get into the city and get some groceries for me since I had to complete a two-week quarantine upon arrival.

My temporary stay was in an Airbnb that I thought was affordable and a decent distance away from work—but there were definitely drawbacks. The small space in the not-so-gorgeous neighborhood of Cimiano did not help emphasize the idea that Milan was a gorgeous, fashionable European city…

When someone asks what you need for 2 weeks, it can be tough to answer. For me at least, since I only buy a few things at a time…but I was asked to give a list of everything I needed, so my mind went to the basics—milk, cheese, eggs, bread, fruit, veggies, pasta. Needless to say, my diet was very well-rounded in those 14 days

But I had to get used to these “cozy” accommodations because it was my abode for, at least, 14 long, isolating days. I got used to sleeping in late (10/11am for me!!), running in place to get my exercise in, having breakfast and lunch around noon, taking a nap in the afternoon (man, I miss those naps now…), and trying to keep myself occupied (and sane) until night.

Fresh fruit with a view (?) – I rarely go for oranges or grapes, so you know I did not get to picky with that quarantine shopping list 😅

Surprisingly, those two weeks did go by pretty quickly looking back.

The first thing I did to ease myself out of my quarantine was get used to the local park settings. Parco Lambro was only a mile away, and it has since become my go-to place for my weekday morning runs.

It was here that I met my first friends in Milan—the good ol’ topi muschiati

The muskrats of Parco Lambro. Doesn’t it look like a mother eggplant and a baby kiwi? 😂

As my end-of-quarantine day neared, so did my groceries. I was still a bit hesitant about going out grocery shopping in an Italian grocery store for the first time, but I put on my mask and walked 30 minutes to a supermarket when there was one about 10 minutes away from where I was staying 🤣

I was supposed to stay at my current residence until the end of July, but due to my Airbnb “host” not being cooperative with certain pieces of paperwork required for my Permesso di Soggiorno, I had to quickly find another residence.

The back and forth with Airbnb regarding this issue was an absolute nightmare, and honestly worthy of it’s own blog post. Doubt I would ever find the time and energy to rehash that experience here on the blog, but that experience alone has made me look to support other home-stay companies in the future…

Luckily, I did find another place in a timely manner, and my boss even helped me move—which was shocking to me, only because I’ve never had a boss who helped me with things in my life outside of work 😂.

As I settled into my second residence, I also began work soon after. It felt weird to work in the lab again after many months working remotely, but a new environment, new colleagues, and a new project was what I needed to feel productive again.

And knowing I had the following weekend to explore without quarantine restrictions was a sweet thing to look forward to.

I didn’t venture out too far during my first weekend of freedom. I stayed within the vicinity of the northeast corner of the city, with my main goal for the day being to order an authentic Italian cappuccino in Italian.

And I was successful, but I was too shy to ask for some dolci along with it. Let alone zucchero. But evern without the sweetness, I was happy with my warm cuppa from UpCycle Milano:

The end of my quarantine however also coincided with the start of unbearably hot summer temperatures. I ended up walking from the cafe, which was in the Citta Studi neighborhood, to only a few blocks south before turning around.

Politecnico di Milano was my turn-around point

So I didn’t trek through much in that first weekend, but I was able to plan for the next weekend properly. I pretty much explored “most” of Milan within this weekend, as I made it a point to get out of the apartment and check out as many neighborhoods as I can, even if I was feeling a little lonesome and homesick.

At Parco Sempione, I was able to meet up with a fellow runner for a hot evening run.

We haven’t met since, but it was a nice excuse to get some miles in in a new place.

From there, I fell in love with Brera, probably my most favorite area of Milan.

If I could find an affordable place in Brera…wow, sign me up!

Now this was what I was thinking ALL of Milan would look like 😂.

A stroll through this beautiful neighborhood eventually led me to the cuore of the city, the Duomo:

Funny how even in the middle of July, the “crowds” were not much!

Oh, and the galleria next to the Duomo made me speechless…

So this made for an eventful Saturday (evening), yet I wanted to do some more exploring on Sunday.

Stumbling upon Piazza Duca d’Aosta during my stroll on Sunday

I was met with unsurprisingly empty streets. Since I had arrived in the peak of summer, when people were weary and relieved from the passing of the first COVID wave, I expected that many Milanese would leave the city for the countryside. I wanted to appreciate the fact that the city was all mine, but I was definitely having a huge case of FOMO.

A perfect example of “New vs. Old” in the city

But I did stumble upon more people as I neared Piazza Gae Aulenti, one of my favorites in Milan because it’s next to the “plant buildings”, or more officially known as Bosco Verticale.

The perfect place to be in the summertime.

I spent a good hour here walking up and down the paths, watching people passing by and sunbathers on the many lawns scattered about. There was something about all the lush greenery that made me feel okay with slowing down and not “rushing to get to the next place”.

After spending a while among the fresh greenery, I made my way to Porta Venezia. In an attempt to find ways to socialize and meet people outside of work—and after 14 days of isolation—I scheduled a spot in a walking tour. How pathetically touristy of me 😉.

Since it was a HOT Sunday afternoon, it was just me, a volunteer walking tour guide (a sweet woman) and another expat who was actually from Japan and Germany!

The three of us managed to spend two hours together, though I had silently hoped it would only be one…my feet were killing me at this point, and I suppose it was the fact I did too much walking before the actual tour 🙈.

The buildings were pretty and I agree, the architecture was gorgeous, but the heat, my feet, and FOMO were getting to me again. I couldn’t concentrate on the walking tour guide’s voice because I was too pre-occupied with the idea that I felt like the same ol’ girl that left LA—wandering aimlessly through city streets all alone, unsure of if she’d find groups of people to actually have fun with, or even just a decent boyfriend to spend her days with.

This going out to do solo stuff was getting tiring, but I felt guilty for having these thoughts because I had just moved to a whole new country! Why couldn’t I just take a deep breath and appreciate it more?

Some of that gorgeous architecture in Porta Venezia

When the walking tour was over, I made my way back home. Of course I stopped for gelato along the way, I at least deserved that 😂.

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It’s been about 4 months since moving to Milan, and it has been a surreal experience, to say the least. To think that earlier in the year, things seemed dire and impossible, to now, where I am writing blog posts in the comfort of my monolocale in the northeast corner of the city…it’s unfathomable. And despite the eeriness of COVID that still looms above us, I have to be grateful that given the situation, life has been good. I’ve had my ups and downs (and towards the latter half of my current stay, I’ve been battling what feels like more down days than I would like), but I try to be thankful because I eventually did make it to Italy, and I have a chance to create a life of my own choosing.

I’ve realized that Milan is definitely not my city, nor is it the la città più bella in all of Italia, but I can’t complain about it’s comfortably small size and excellent safety (especially when compared to Los Angeles). Overall the people are nicer than in LA, but they certainly lack the pazienza I wish they had when it comes to my current struggle with learning Italian. I can see why it’s not much of a destination for tourists, but it is a cozy place to call home.

We’ll see where this city takes me…hopefully it will have some more good things to offer me in the future ✨

Home Is Where the Heart Is… Which Happens to Be Houston 😂 (+ Houston Marathon 2023 Recap)

Day by Day

Benvenuti a Milano