I pride myself on being great at so many things: cooking, painting, making conversation with brick walls, writing, listening to albums the day they’re released — the list goes on.
It’s important to recognize your faults when you’re otherwise so amazing. So, I’ve identified the two things I am not so great at: driving cars and saying goodbye.
Being from Manhattan, it’s not really important that I don’t have my license yet — I’ll lock in and take my test when I get back to the United States, maybe. Regardless, I’m great at using public transportation, which is what I’m doing right now.
On this train ride back to Florence from Rome, I decided that I wouldn’t let myself listen to Tame Impala’s new album until I finished writing CST. It came out two days ago — I’ll get to it soon. I had a pretty good excuse for not listening on Friday, though: My parents were visiting!
I’ll be gushy in a few sentences, but first — I thought exploring Italy couldn’t get any better until I did it with people whose credit card limits are a bit higher than mine. In the past two weekends, I was able to explore Venice and Rome without considering if I could order drinks, appetizers or dessert.
Not for nothing, but if every city was Venice, I would be Superman — there are no cars. I guess that makes goodbyes my kryptonite here.
I get attached to people and places — even things — really easily. I guess this isn’t totally a bad quality. My heart is enormous and spilling with love to give, leaving plenty of room to receive. It makes navigating my daily life kind of difficult, though.
I can think of many strangers who were fixtures in my life for so little time but whom I remember fondly and wish nothing but the best for. In my fantasies, I host annual dinner parties for us to gather and update each other on our lives.
One invitee would be the lady who passed out the New York Daily News on the subway station I exited every day for two weeks during my middle school summer Minecraft coding intensive. Every morning I would take a newspaper from her that I wouldn’t read — present journalist Sylvie is cringing — and we’d wish each other a “blessed” day.
On the last day of the program, I greeted her the same way, not knowing whether or not to tell her I’d likely never see her again. It probably didn’t matter to her the same way it did for me, but this routine was precious and hard to let go of.
If I shed a tear on the subway that day, I still navigated it like a champ. See? Great at riding a train.
It doesn’t matter if the person is a main character, a sidekick or an extra — I am fond of my cast and wish we had more parties. I wish I never had to say goodbye knowing I wouldn’t say hello again.
I’m dreading saying goodbye to my professors in Florence. Don’t get me started on the guy who works at my favorite pastry bar here.
Earlier today, I said goodbye to my parents, which, relatively speaking, isn’t my most difficult goodbye. The most precious exchanges are the goodbyes where the “see you soon” is guaranteed.
I feel secure knowing that barring any freak occurrences, my parents will be ready and excited to greet me back in the tristate area.
But I still cried the second their car pulled away for the airport. And again walking into the metro station. My eyes might be a little damp still.
Now I have to say goodbye to you, my sweet reader — at least I know I’ll meet you again next week — same time, same place.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s “Deadbeat” time.
Sylvie Slotkin is a Medill junior. She can be contacted at [email protected]. If you would like to respond publicly to this op-ed, send a Letter to the Editor to [email protected]. The views expressed in this piece do not necessarily reflect the views of all staff members of The Daily Northwestern.
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