I’m sitting in my class titled “The Medici Family, a Florentine Dynasty” located on via Corso dei Tintori, Firenze Italia. When my professor starts talking with her thick Italian accent and she says: “The room you are in is almost 800 years old.” That is more than double the age of my home country—and I start to think:

I have never been in love before. Of this, I am sure. I have loved and I do love my parents, for example, and my siblings. I have loved them unconditionally. I would have loved them even if God didn’t grant me the privilege of having them as my family since birth. I’m sure our souls would have connected in some way, and I would have loved them even so. But, this love is different than falling in love or being in love. I love them in the sense that I want them to be happy, healthy and safe, to live a life they are proud to live, especially for my siblings. I love them for all that they are—the good, the bad, the ugly. I love them for the way they impact my life on a daily basis and the constant faith they have in me. Have you ever heard the phrase, “I love him/her, but I’m not in love with him/her?”

Have I ever been in love? The answer up until now has always been, no. Being in love is so much more than simply loving someone, someplace or something. Falling in love is a process. It starts off slow, and you don’t really know it’s happening until one day you find yourself in awe over how much this person or this thing means to you. You start to wonder how you ever lived your life before this feeling. Falling in love happens to you. You can’t rush or force the process—it just happens like a leaf falling from a tree. When people say you have to love yourself, I have always disagreed. I found in my case that being in love with myself in all that I am is a process and that it takes time and effort. I believe you can’t love yourself like family; that falling in love doesn’t simply apply to another person but can apply to yourself or a place. Imagine my surprise when I realized I was falling in love.

I am falling in love with myself. With who I am and the life I am living. I wake up every morning, and each day I am happier at the reflection that is looking back at me in the mirror: my medium complexion, my dark brown hair and matching colored eyes. The fact that I am not the typical person people easily fall in love with. I am doing things that people dream of. I am living a life that someday I can tell my children I am happy to have lived. Most importantly, I am accepting that not every part of me is perfect, I still have insecurities and things that need work, but I love myself enough to know that not being perfect is OK.

I am falling in love with the city of Florence. This city is helping me fall in love with myself. It tests my limits and it changes my perspective, and I will forever be grateful. Falling in love with a city is possible—I know because I am. Each day, I walk around in awe that a place can be so beautiful and so inspiring. I can walk the same street 10 times and still find something new to love about it. Like a person, Florence has its faults but I choose to love it in spite of them. How can you not love a place where even your classroom has so much history? How can you not love yourself for the time and effort you put into making it possible to be here?

I am not falling in love with another person. However, I know it will happen someday. I am happy it’s not happening now, when I am just starting to fall in love with myself and the beautiful world that surrounds me.

I can’t wait for the day my children ask: Where did you first fall in love?

My answer will be: In Firenza, and I fell in love with myself.