Cara Milano,

The first part of my master’s journey is coming to an end, and I didn’t expect to feel so sad. There is a slow awareness that something in me has shifted. Moving to Milan wasn’t just a decision I made, it was a whole life that opened. From the moment I arrived, I felt myself soften into a version of me I didn’t think possible. My life has completely transformed to be more honest, simple, beautiful.

Milan is supposed to be hard. People say it’s cold, brutal, built for ambition more than belonging. But what I found here was peace. Of all the places I’ve lived, this one felt the most like me.

When I landed 5 months ago, I felt no fear only excitement for the beginning of something new. And what I found here has been nothing short of answers from the universe starting with the best Roomates I ever had. I walked into a home already alive. Five Italain roommates, all consultants (what are the odds), strangers who became familiar without much effort. Most nights we cooked together, sat at the table long after dinner ended, as they taught me Italian between laughs. And then there was family. My “cousin” Federica, an exchange student who lived with my uncle over 5 years ago, welcomed me into hers, and the love I felt there made me feel whole. Nothing monumental happened here and yet everything did. I felt so alone in Chicago the last 3 years, that building a life simply on love brought me home to myself.

Milan is a city for people who aren’t afraid to feel alive. It’s built for creators that don’t want to lose their humanity in the fight for success. Italians understand passion instinctively. They speak their truths and live inside their opinions. There is, very clearly, a right way and a wrong way to do things, and they care deeply about the difference. They notice the small details, they love beauty, they honor tradition, they cultivate art everywhere and caring this deeply feels, in itself, like a form of love.

What struck me most was how communal everything felt. Bars (Cafés) are not rushed, they’re places to gather around the counter and share a morning cappuccino on the way to work. Streets are made for walking, lined with cobblestones and small shops filled with their owners’ dreams. Parks invite you to sit, not scroll. People care about how things are done, about each other, about the small details that make a life feel full.

Even the way people dress carries so much intention. It matters how you show up for others. Walking through Brera, I always love to watch the older men in tailored suits move slowly through the streets, women wrapped in fur and big jewelry, and how each person has a personal style to showcase. There is an elegance without performance. A quiet understanding that the way you live is a language of its own.

The language mirrors that. Italian moves like music. Every word ending in a vowel, every sentence flowing forward, nothing abrupt, nothing closed off. Learning it feels less like studying and more inviting. It’s become something I want deeply. Not just to speak, but to belong inside. I am an Italian citizen, I have Italian blood, and maybe this was my welcome home. I can’t fully explain it, only that I feel deeply connected to this country.

And then there is the university learning. Here, education isn’t something to just get through. Classes are built around conversations. Ideas are pulled apart and rebuilt aloud. Exams are written by hand not to prove what you memorized, but to show how you think and why it matters. That question keeps surfacing in classes: why does this matter? Why does design matter? Why does art matter? Why does life matter? In Italy, these aren’t abstract questions. They’re meant to be answered. I know I am in the process of answering mine. I know the answers will change my entire life trajectory.

At the end of this month, I’ll leave for France. I know it will be beautiful, and I’m grateful for what’s ahead, but a part of me is already looking back. I want to return to the language, the rhythm, the way this place lives. Milan didn’t just give me memories; it woke me back up to the beauty of life. To the act of caring, to belonging, to trying hard at your passions. I love that I am becoming more free, more determined, and more conscious in every decision I make. I carry Milano with me now, and I know I’ll find my way home again.