I can’t believe this, I’m out of the United States for a little more than a week and all hell breaks loose. The one time I get the nerve to do something on a leap of faith and then some (creative expletive) decides to attack my country. If I were a more self-absorbed person this might be enough to give me a complex, but at the moment I just feel helpless.

When the news broke on Tuesday about the chaos unfolding on American soil I was sitting in the library of the British Institute of Florence, waiting for my Michaelangelo class to begin. My flatmate Franco and I were about an hour early.

Normally I would have been enjoying the sights and sounds of Florence, but after walking all day in the most uncomfortable shoes I own, my feet couldn’t bear to take another step. Next thing I know my classmate Bill rushes into the room to tell us that there was no longer a World Trade Center.

For a couple of minutes we just sat there in shock, not knowing whether to believe it or not. Soon after, many of my classmates began to arrive and we all crowded around what I believe may possibly be the only television in Florence.

For many of us the reality didn’t set in until we saw with our own eyes the footage of the events that had transpired up to that point. America – undeniably the most powerful nation in the world – was staring back at us from the television, wounded and bleeding. The catch phrase “reality TV” took on a whole new meaning.

During this time the usually jovial atmosphere took on an eerie silence. In the eyes of every American in the room was a look of terror and disbelief. Eyes grew moist and tears were shed as CNN newscasters told us what little they knew of the situation at that time.

Cell phone bills increased and hasty e-mails were sent in hopes of communication from loved ones back in the States. Our teacher, a New Yorker, offered to postpone our lecture for the day. And although the suggestion was very appealing, we chose to sit through it. I can’t speak for the rest of my class, but I know I didn’t absorb a word of it.

My thoughts were with my friends and loved ones back home. Outside the classroom, in the hallways and on the streets we were approached by strangers of all nationalities offering kind words of sympathy.

Even in a city where normal, everyday communication is a struggle, Americans sought out other Americans to find a sense of solace. And the kind words were appreciated, but along with them came a sense of distance.

On the way back to my flat, I stared out the window of the bus. I watched the tourists flock like pigeons toward the Duomo, each anxiously waiting to set foot in the sacred cathedral, still pondering the detached feeling I’d had earlier.

It wasn’t until we crossed one of the many bridges that overlook the Arno and I watched couples embracing as they took in the beginnings of a sunset, that I came to a realization.

No matter how much other nations do or don’t sympathize with what happened two days ago, daily life as they know it will go on. And being here in Italy, so will ours. Football games will still run as scheduled here, flags won’t be flown at half staff, and airports may have increased security but flights will still go out. And so explains the distance I feel.

Many of us have not yet been able to phone our families because phone lines into America have been jammed with calls and trying to read an Italian newspaper is like trying to read War and Peace in one sitting – frustrating and not overly gratifying.

So we wait, relying on e-mail and the Internet to tell us what happens next. And the world around us continues to clip along at a fast pace, while back in America life seems to have grinded to a screeching halt.

Christy Steffen is a senior in journalism and mass communication from Ruthven.