As most of you are watching your fall semester come to a close, some of us are trying to come to terms with the end of our semester abroad. Only, I elected to end mine two and a half weeks early.

Before you condemn me for being driven by obscene amounts of stupidity, here's why. Yes, I miss my family, my bed, Mexican food, WiFi, meat-centered meals, butter, drive-ups, showers that drain, and my car, but so does everyone else. Homesickness didn't drive me to book my ticket home on Sunday. Europe did.

Everyone always told me that my semester in Rome was going to be care-free, build independence, and take the anxiety out of traveling. It definitely did, but only up until the Greece trip mid-semester. Then we started seeing the migrants.

They are everywhere. They swarm major cities, sleeping on the streets and under doorways in huddles. Every major site in Europe can boast its own hoard of migrants; it's where the tourists are. Tourists are possible sources for donations. Ergo, sites equal donations. It's an easy equation to figure out, especially for the desperate. As a lecturer in Florence told me, "These people have seen things humans should never see. Be easy on them." We have tried to be as understanding as possible, but it's hard not to be concerned about your safety as a nineteen-year-old girl with an American accent.

On the first day of my travels, I bought a Swiss Army knife. I was traveling with three other girls and felt significantly safer with one on my person, even though I have absolutely no idea how to actually use one. Police patrolled up and down the trains as we jumped from country to country, waking us up to check our passports every few hours as they looked for stowaways. A friend said that she called her mom sobbing because their train station in France had a bomb threat. They were only able to leave because of their American passports. The situation got to the point that my female friends and I wouldn't leave our apartment in Belgium without a guy or one of us pretending to be one. It sounds ridiculous until you realize that the week before we were there, a man got stabbed just because he was drinking on a Muslim holy day.

Then Paris happened.

We woke up in Florence to dozens of texts from friends and family. My mom's message read something like: "I know you're alive, but just text me so I can be sure." That's something a mother should never have to say to their child. Dr. Hatlie's wife was in Paris at a convention, and he was rightfully distracted the rest of the trip even after discovering that she was safe. We finished our time in Florence and arrived in a very bleak Venice.

I had the opportunity to visit the Venice with my family previously; the city had completely changed. No street performers played on corners. No gondoliers serenaded their customers. Locals and tourists alike kept indoors or rushed from place to place. Many of my classmates said that they disliked Venice; I don't blame them. I wanted to leave what was previously my favorite city as soon as we arrived. The anxiety from the attacks had seeped into Europe as a whole.

When we got back to campus, rumors flew. Dr. Hatlie postponed our weekly until the next night. On Tuesday, he told us that they took the University of Dallas sign off of the front wall for safety. Stricter visitor rules were put into effect. He advised us not to go into Rome at all, and Father Brown recommended not speaking in public and giving away our nationality if we could help it. Dr. Hatlie said that the university wasn't going to restrict any travel plans, but that we would turn in a detailed itinerary of our trips so the school would know where to find us in case of an emergency. Then he recommended that we don't go to any major cities if we could avoid it. This obviously included Paris, where I had booked a flight and an apartment for Thanksgiving break back in September. He said that if any other attacks happened in Europe, our Rome campus would be closed immediately.

Then he gave us the option to go home as soon as we wanted. He assured us that we would get full semester credit; we just had to figure out finals with our teachers. By this point, I was running out of excuses not to take him up on his offer. I would get to spend Thanksgiving with my family as opposed to in the Mensa with a hoard of other people wishing they were home. My grandma had called, sounding very worried, and told me she started three prayer chains for my safety. My original flight took me through Turkey, which I was not excited about before Paris. Afterward, I was downright dreading it. I would only be missing two lectures in each class, and every teacher was very accommodating. I would have been staying on this tiny campus for three weeks, unable to travel without causing undue stress to my family, and unable to go into Rome without being hyper-aware and tense. Frankly, going to town to buy bananas and Milka bars doesn't really fulfill the adventurous spirit of the Rome semester.

So I did it. I booked my ticket. I have one day left to spend approximately twelve miles outside of the Eternal City. Of course, I've had an absolute blast. Of course, I'll miss Rome the second I step through my door. Of course, I'll miss all my friends, the ability to buy alcohol, gelato, and the jaw-dropping sunsets. But as Dr. Moran said, I've already had my Rome semester. It was glorious. It was everything I was told it would be and more. I dove off cliffs, met a princess, saw the Pope, and had the time of my life. What I'm living now is no longer my study abroad semester. Yes, I was technically in Rome for a semester, but what I'm living is depressing shadow of what it used to be. Rome was phenomenal. But now it's time for me to go home.