Returning to your native country after spending a considerable amount of time elsewhere is a peculiar experience. Travelling, or more accurately touring, offers a fresh perspective. You visit numerous countries, small towns, and cities, have potentially life-changing experiences, yet often fail to fully immerse yourself in the culture and customs of a place until you spend a significant amount of time there.

I remember my first overseas trip in 2019, when a friend and I spent three weeks in Italy. We explored Rome, Florence, parts of the Amalfi Coast, and some small towns in Tuscany. We indulged in sightseeing, delicious food, and leisurely strolls, experiencing Italian life through the lens of tourists. However, we barely scratched the surface of the culture beyond the holiday glamour. It was a wonderful three weeks, filled with the best of everything packaged neatly into an easy holiday. We departed with fond memories of sunny days, seaside views, and plenty of pasta.

That holiday ignited an obsession with Italy and a desire to spend more time in the country of my heritage. Fast forward four years, and I finally had the opportunity for a more immersive experience, albeit shorter than I had hoped. Armed with 25 kilograms of luggage, a plan, and a long-held dream, I embarked on my journey. Living like a local, struggling through the language barrier (albeit with gradual improvement), and immersing myself in daily life, I savoured every moment.

In Florence, my favourite ritual was setting out on foot in the morning, grabbing a cornetto and cappuccino on the way, and exploring with joyful abandon. Perhaps I’d come across an unknown museum, a new hole in the wall bar (coffee shop) or bespoke stationery shop which would take all the willpower I had to walk out without buying yet another leather bound notebook. Each day, my Italian language skills improved, and I grew more comfortable engaging with locals, especially when it came to discussing food and drink. In the end I had a panino shop, two coffee bars and a restaurant where the waiters knew me by name. Notwithstanding the challenges, I started feeling at home, despite not yet finding a physical place to call my own (the only apartment which offered a glimmer of hope turned out to be a scam).

I resonated with the vibrant culture, where life unfurls at a more leisurely pace (a luxury easily savoured without the constraints of a job, it seems) and for the abundance of quality produce available to nourish myself with. Here, conversations about food are permeated with a contagious zeal, each detail discussed with meticulous attention, fuelling spirited debates that captivate both men and women alike. Meals aren't just consumed; they're orchestrated discussions that seamlessly transition from breakfast to lunch, and from lunch to dinner, each aspect meticulously scrutinised, debated, and ultimately celebrated. In Italy, food, family, and love converge as the heart of existence - a facet of culture too often overlooked or merely glanced over in Australia.

My brief immersion in Italian life, merely four months in duration, has seamlessly woven its essence into my very being, reshaping my perspective and aspirations for the future. The thought of returning to my previous reality feels surreal, a departure from the newfound richness that had become my everyday existence. Reflecting on my time abroad fills me with many emotions, a mix of nostalgia and reality checks. Those four months weren't all sunshine and rainbows. Away from my usual support system, every day posed new challenges. From struggling to find work to the constant hunt for a stable place to call home, it felt like a never ending rollercoaster ride of uncertainty. My faith? Put to the test. Hope? Fading faster than the sunset from Piazza Michelangelo. The desire to explore unseen cities and towns clashed with financial worries due to dismal exchange rates. On tough days, I found solace in anonymity, blending into the bustling crowds behind my sunglasses. Yet, the charm of anonymity faded quickly amidst clueless tourists, particularly Americans, who seemed to irritate me with their obliviousness and arrogance.

With slim job prospects and a scarcity of apartments, I found myself at a crossroads every single day. Should I opt for a lavish vacation, revel in the freedom of unemployment, and then buckle down upon my return to Australia to build a stable life with a place to call home? Yet, deep within, the desire to live my dream outweighed any rational decision. Day in and day out, I scoured for job openings and housing options, but to my dismay, I found none that fit the bill. Thankfully, I crossed paths with kind souls who offered a temporary home and connected me with their network in hopes of aiding my quest for employment. However, hindered by my limited language skills and the off-peak tourist season, suitable opportunities remained elusive.

Before departing Australia, I engaged in numerous conversations with individuals who had embarked on the expat journey to Italy in recent years—some just before the onset of COVID, others in the subsequent years following the reopening of borders. They appeared to have effortlessly settled into their new lives, a stark contrast to my own experience. Yet, in retrospect, I find a sense of gratitude amidst the challenges I encountered. Fast forward to the post-COVID era, and the landscape of Florence's long-term rental market has transformed into a daunting terrain, largely due to the influx of American students and then explosion of Airbnb. The scarcity of available apartments, coupled with exorbitant prices and prevalent scams, creates a frustrating dilemma. The irony is palpable: if one fails to secure a long-term rental prior to arrival, they're left with no recourse but to endure the inflated rates of temporary Airbnb accommodations until a permanent solution arises.

Having returned to Australia just four weeks ago, everything feels oddly alien. It's a sensation that's difficult to articulate - the feeling of returning to a place you once called home, only to find it no longer resonates as such. When I try to convey this sentiment in conversation, I'm met with bewildered looks, which in turn, confuses me. Perhaps they've never contemplated their own attachment to their surroundings, or maybe it simply doesn't hold the same significance for them as it does for me. Aside from the obvious ties to family and friends, I now find myself increasingly disconnected from the culture, disenchanted by the cuisine, and out of sync with the lifestyle. The notion of spending endless hours confined within a car, rather than traversing by foot or enjoying the convenience of public transport, feels utterly absurd. I've morphed into a stranger in my own land, gripped by an unexpected bout of homesickness - but this time, it's for Italy.

Returning to my hometown, the probability of bumping into familiar faces looms with every step outside. It's a phenomenon I've come to dread, as it strips away the veil of anonymity I cherished while wandering the cobbled streets of Florence. There, I was a mere ghost, recognised only by the regular haunts I frequented - a sense of anonymity that I now yearn for amidst the bustling familiarity of my hometown.

I made the decision to cut my trip short and head back to Australia sooner than planned. A distressing phone call informing me of my father's accident that landed him in the hospital and not yet knowing the long term outcome for his recovery, I knew I wanted to come back for my family. It's remarkable how being over 16,000 kilometres away, can suddenly sharpen your priorities, casting everything else into the periphery except for the well-being of your loved ones.

With no concrete job prospects on the horizon, my financial buffer was dwindling fast. Another month, perhaps, before I'd be scraping the bottom of the barrel. So, the choice to return seemed inevitable, almost as if fate had decided for me. And just when I had resigned myself to this course of action, a twist of irony emerged. Just after confirming my flight back, I received an unexpected offer: a teaching position in English, albeit for a modest 10 hours a week.

But fate wasn't done with its mischief. No sooner had I touched down on Australian soil than an interview request appeared, this time with the Principal at a primary school. The universe, it seems, enjoys its little games of irony and timing. The uncertainty of what that interview might have yielded weighs heavily on me. Would it have led to a substantial opportunity, enough to sustain a comfortable livelihood without the strain of juggling multiple jobs just to make ends meet? I can only wonder, as the outcome remains forever shrouded in uncertainty. Such missed opportunities leave a bitter taste, leaving me pondering the mysterious workings of fate.

As a perpetual overthinker who constantly replays scenarios and mulls over every detail, navigating this transition has proven to be quite the challenge. Each morning, I find myself grappling with a sense of disappointment at waking up in Australia, followed by a pang of guilt for not fully appreciating my father's well-being and the roof over my head. It's humbling to recognize how trivial my problems are in the grand scheme of things. I often scold myself inwardly, admonishing, "Angela, you're being self-absorbed. Pull yourself together. People are facing far greater hardships, struggling to survive." And though I don't literally slap myself, there's a figurative slap as I force myself to move forward. Recently, a friend on Instagram offered a poignant insight: grief takes on many shapes, and mourning a shattered dream is entirely valid. It's natural to feel deflated when something you've yearned for doesn't pan out as expected. Perhaps the toughest part lies in returning to a life that feels unchanged, despite all you've experienced.

Embarking on life-altering experiences often leaves a permanent mark on us, particularly as women (although I acknowledge this trait isn't exclusive to females; some men share it too). Upon my eventual return to Australia, I was acutely aware that I wouldn't be the same person who boarded that plane. A mere four months abroad had transformed me. So, in the spirit of sharing insights gained from such journeys, here's what I discovered:

• Material possessions, once cherished, now seem trivial. Amidst all my belongings, only my books, cherished photos and trusty Wonderboom speaker were missed.

• Surprisingly, people are far less observant than we imagine. As long as you're wearing footwear and shower, you're acceptable.

• Venturing beyond one's comfort zone is a blend of sheer terror and exhilaration.

• True resilience, adventurous spirit, and authentic selfhood emerge when self-absorption becomes a necessity.

• Financial preparedness is paramount; save three times the anticipated budget.

• Age seems to tighten the grip on living in the present, yet pushing past this barrier unveils encounters with remarkable individuals.

• Curiously, being unencumbered by children or romantic ties apparently shaves years off one's perceived age – a delightful revelation!

How to wrap up this depressing recap up? I turned 40 two weeks ago, and with that comes a new level of assessing where life is at, especially when it’s not going the way you thought it would. I had expected this birthday to be a sort of rebirth. A Renaissance style reawakening being surrounded by European culture offering a new outlook for the coming years. Whilst that hasn’t happened in the city I thought it would, I do feel that the uneasiness I have constantly in my belly is there for a reason (or I have a persistent stomach bug). Either way, as I navigate this period of transition back in Australia with a sense of displacement, I carry with me the lessons learned and memories cherished from my time in Italy. While the road ahead may be uncertain, I am trying to find a renewed sense of purpose and determination to live authentically and passionately, wherever that may lead. After all, the personal development books often say true growth often emerges from the depths of discomfort, and it is in the embracing the unknown that we discover our truest self.

In the end, my journey to Italy may not have unfolded exactly as I had imagined, but it was a chapter filled with growth, resilience, and invaluable experiences. As I embark on this new chapter back in Australia, I do so with a heart full of gratitude for the lessons learned, the new friendships forged, and the memories that will forever linger. One day, the streets of Italy will once again call out to me, and I'll heed their call with open arms and a spirit emboldened by the knowledge that, no matter where life takes me, I carry the essence of Italia within me, always.