It’s always tied to something personal: a sunset after a long day, laughter with friends, a quiet moment that stops you in your tracks.
The first time I felt that, it wasn’t in front of a screen. It was standing in front of the Colosseum in 2023.
After many years studying Ancient history — poring over ancient texts, writing about imperial propaganda, memorizing floorplans of Roman monuments — I finally saw it in person. And somehow, despite everything I knew, I didn’t expect the wave of emotion that hit me.
I stood there, blinking against the light, barely hearing the crowds or the tour guides or the traffic. All I could think was: this is it. This is what it’s all been for.
All those hours in the library, the crammed exams, the endless academic debates — it wasn’t just about grades or essays. It was about this: standing where emperors once stood, touching the stones I’d only seen in textbooks, feeling centuries of history press up against the present. That moment stayed with me long after I flew home. Every time I got overwhelmed with deadlines or questioned my path, I thought of it. I thought of how it felt to stand there and know — in a way no lecture ever taught me — that I was exactly where I was meant to be.
It's about remembering that the things we study, dream about, and chase from afar do become real
And now, in 2025, I get to go back.
This time, it’s not about proving anything or ticking a box on a bucket list. It’s about reconnecting with the version of myself who stood there last time — wide-eyed, overwhelmed, and completely at peace.
It’s about remembering that the things we study, dream about, and chase from afar do become real. That the pages of books and years of hard work can eventually lead you to moments that take your breath away.
So I’m not going just as a tourist, or even just a student. I’m going back as someone who knows what it means to truly arrive somewhere you’ve loved from a distance.