Life has plans for me and I have plans for it.  They don't match up well.

BARCELONA:

Gaudi's Sagrada Familia

A mountain overlooking the city

Gehry's Barcelona Fish

I went to Barcelona this past weekend.  It was amazing.  Not only did I get to see some of the greatest works of architecture in the world (La Sagrada Familia, Casa Batllo, Barcelona Fish), but I got see people I love.  I had so much fun over the weekend that I found myself contemplating something that I've thought about many times before: why did I go to Rome?

About a year ago, I needed to make a decision.  And it was a pretty major decision.  One that would come to affect me in ways I am just now realizing it could.  The decision was, of course: Rome or Barcelona?  Since I was one of the lucky few that had the option of a choice, I was initially set on going to Rome.  But when it all played out and I was left on the "wrong side of the fence" (that is to say that almost every one of my close friends including my roommate picked Barcelona instead of Rome), I found myself doubting my initial choice.  I talked to my parents for awhile about it.  And, ultimately, I chose Rome.  I think I had this romantic vision infused in my brain about the city.  Rome was a dream and if my friends couldn't see that then it was their loss. 

I couldn't really tell you why I picked Rome over Barcelona other than this urge to chase the fantasy I had about it.  I fooled myself into thinking that I was interested in things like the Forum and the temples - things that are in ruins and shadows of their former selves.  But I was half-interested in them.  My whole heart wasn't in the thing though.  The fact that most of my close friends were either staying in DC or going to Barcelona gave me doubts.

And when I visited them all in Barcelona this conflict within me came up yet again.  Here I was, together again with my roommate and amongst some of my most beloved friends.  It didn't help that they live in a hotel with a rooftop pool and that everything was half the price of Rome.  At first it was like the universe was telling me: "You should've come here.  Why didn't you come here?"  I had one of the best weekends of my life there.

But after the weekend was up, those three glorious days, I had a peculiar feeling.  There had been constant comparison between Barcelona and Rome throughout the entire weekend.  I didn't have much to brag about.  But it got me thinking of Rome.  And by the end of the weekend I realized that I missed it.  I missed Rome.  I missed being in the tiny, jammed cobblestone streets.  I missed the closeness and the age of the city.  I missed the new friends I've made.  I missed almost getting hit by mopeds.  I even missed the apartment's lackluster water heaters.  

Why did I miss it?  I'm not sure yet.  But Rome has... something.   

In Barcelona, they live with everything (and sometimes even more than) they have in the U.S.  McDonald's is everywhere.  They even have KFC.  Everything is spread out.  There's a lot of new construction.  It's a younger city that's full of youth.  Rome is different.  Rome is old.  It's clustered.  There's no other city (at least that I've encountered) quite like it.  It's refined.

I still can't help but ask myself: "Why did you come here?"  I am discovering why.

While walking back from studio a little after 1 am, I was walking along the river near Tiber Island.  I was listening to "Runaway" by Kanye West, one of my favorite songs nowadays.  I looked up as his autotuned voice flowed over low strings to see seagulls gliding gently in a circle around the river, peaceful as the wind they rode.  Their white undersides contrasted with the clear black sky as the water tumbled many feet beneath them.  As I walked past the old trees along the river, I thought I caught a glimpse of something in the moonlight.  But I knew the thing I saw didn't exist so I continued my journey to the apartments, escaping the pleasant cold.

I am lost in the world, but I guess being lost isn't so bad.      

I'm lost in the world.

While wandering around the other day I came upon the Basilica of Saint Paul.  Within it lay the tomb of the apostle himself.  In front of the tomb stood two gargantuan statues.  They were big, imposing, bearded men holding books and making holy signs.  My eyes were at about they're foot level, as they were raised on stone pedestals.  I studied the one on the left, which happened to be Saint Peter, for quite some time.  His face was very stern.  He looked powerful.  He looked like he could be the first leader of the Catholic church.

Then I realized: he was just a man.  Saint Peter wasn't a god who made his followers cower beneath him.  He had no wrath- no matter how much the statue of him indicated it.  He was just a man like any other man.  He must of felt pain and sorrow and regret.  He wasn't immune to the passions of humanity.  In the end, we're just people.

I hate to pull a Batman quote but... it's what you do that defines you.

What defines me then?  I feel like I don't do much of anything.  At least anything of worth.  I am definitely not Saint Peter.  And thinking that someone accomplished so much astonishes me.  I look at these churches and basilicas- at some of the incredible sculpture and detailing- and I find myself wondering what I'm here for.  I am no master sculptor.  I can barely even draw.  And here I am amongst Michelangelo's paintings, the world's greatest works of art.  It makes me think of where I'm going in life.  I don't know where that is.  I feel I'm at a turning point but everything around the bend is still out of sight.

Definition.  I had that once.  Rome has muddled it even more.  I don't know if I'll ever have it again.  

Look at those statues, look at those billboards, look at that TV.  

They're just men.

People look at me and think I'm just that goofy kid who likes to sing stupid rap songs.  And they're right.  I am a goofball.  The world needs some goofy people out there.  Goofing off promotes joy.  And I'm a big fan of joy.  I'll admit that sometimes I feel looked down upon for being this way.  But it goes both ways.  Those who may look down upon me are in turn looked down upon by me.  Social paradox.

At the top of the Capitoline hill today I was reassured of why I was here.  That indescribable feeling.  Standing on the heart of the world I felt happy.

In the basilica of Santa Maria Maggiore I felt another feeling I came here to find.  Where is God?  This question I have grappled with many times in the past year.  I still can't answer.  But today, in that basilica, I felt something- something ethereal, something cosmic.  I sort of realized how tied in we are with each other and how tied in I am.  And that's beautiful.    

I wear the clown's mask. The mask is a burden and a blessing. Life is paradox.

This city makes me think of many things. It's brought up a lot of negativity in me. I see my mistakes and faults and force myself to dwell on them. I am by myself here. No matter how many people tell me I'm not, I am.  Maybe not physically or socially but on a greater level. I feel great liberation in this realization and also great sorrow. My mom told me shortly before I left that Rome was too far away and that she wouldn't be able to look after me. It's not that I need her to look out for me - I'm completely capable of looking out for myself.  It's the isolation.  People shouldn't be so far removed from their loved ones.  We all need someone who cares about us around.  Friends are one thing, but there is no way for a friend to give me what my mom or dad does.  And here I am out here in the world surrounded by foreign and strange people who don't care about me.  I am homesick and I am not homesick.

It's funny that I'm here walking through the Pantheon and Saint Peter's Square and all I can think about are things like this.  I should be planning day trips and walking around but I find myself thinking back to times in DC, looking at pictures of home.  Facebook doesn't help.  The initial luster of Rome is gone for me and I continue to be let down and find excitement in the letdowns.

So far it's been the best and worst time of my life.  I'll need to settle down into routine to change my outlook.  I have a tendency for overthinking things.  This is the cause of my greatest inspiration and struggle.  Is that bad? 

I know loneliness. But it's not the loneliness, it's the isolation. Life's a game.