"What mental health needs is more sunlight, more candor, more unashamed conversation." -Glenn Close

So my roommate Teagan is hilarious. Here's her blog, which could give a whole different perspective on our time here. SO FUN TO READ. And she's obsessed with food. FEED ME BEAUTIFUL

Okay so here's the deal. Italian men are unique. So unique. NOTHING like American men, can't even be compared. You can stereotype them and you can make generalizations about them, but the one thing that rings true, I think, for pretty much ALL Italian men, is that they aren't afraid to tell you how they feel. They think you look good? No hesitation. They're going to tell you that you look good. If it makes them look like a fool, they don't care. I'm actually not even sure if they notice. It's not a weird thing to see a beautiful girl in the street and say "You look beautiful" or something along those lines in Italian. Yeah, it can be super creepy, especially if they mutter it under their breath or include some sort of kissing noise at you as you pass them on the street. But to a certain degree its something that can be appreciated. If you're in a bar, and a guy thinks he likes you, he's going to say it."But I'm in love with you!...

  Restaurant seating in the middle of the street.   My straight-uphill walk to school every morning.   The Center.

  Hand-made Italian Pizza, done in three minutes, made with real mozzarella cheese, and shaped like a heart if the guy who made it think you're cute.    My school, The Umbra Institute. Oh and Ciao Ciao's the little alimentari underneath, with "un panino caprese" for 2.80 euro, the most delicious sandwich in town.   THIS. Need I say more? "I'll meet you at the fountain."   This girl.   THIS girl.   THIS girl. And boxed wine (note the tavernello box on the counter...1.75 euro at the priori store)

  Bidets. Which we literally never used. Except my roommate Crystal, who washed her feet in it. Oh and when we drank wine in the bathroom because its the biggest room in the apartment. Then it made for a great little drink table.   Buildings and streets like this.  MY FRIENDS.  Giant, old, graffiti-covered doors.  And trying to get them unlocked after coming home from the bars in the middle of the night.    ALL OF THE DOGS. They are everywhere and they are SO CUTE.   Just sitting on the steps, enjoying the life.   The trains!

If you're brave enough to leave behind everything familiar and comforting, which can be anything from your house to bitter, old resentments, and set out on a truth-seeking journey, either externally or internally, and if you are truly willing to regard everything that happens to you on that journey as a clue and if you accept everyone you meet along the way as a teacher and if you are prepared, most of all, to face and forgive some very difficult realities about yourself, then the truth will not be withheld from you. From Minneapolis. To Italy. New friends. Breath-taking scenery. New friends becoming old friends. Holidays away from home. Exploring Europe. December. The most incredible four months of my life.

So every Tuesday this semester, I participated in a service project for an organization called Unicef. Basically, every week, we met with this group of cute old Italian ladies, and we made dolls. Well we each made one doll, because it took FOREVER. It was so fun though. The ladies didn't speak any English, so we had to speak Italian to them, which was generally a super huge struggle, but also really fun. ACTUALLY, on one of our last days, we witnessed a big fight, all in Italian, between a couple of the women. It was really entertaining, because of their animated voices and huge gestures, and I was completely entranced in their words, trying to understand what was going on. All in all, once the woman who initiated the argument finally stormed out and slammed the door (all while yelling "ci vediamo!" aka "see ya later/we will see each other"...quite the dramatic exit...not..hahahha), the older lady who's in charge happened to be standing next to me. She was...