I wasn’t living in New York City. I was visiting my brother for the weekend while interning in Massachusetts. Besides visiting his office at Squarespace and going to Chinatown for dinner, I spent some time doing preliminary research for my senior seminar at the Center for Jewish History.

Thankfully, I had spoken with my assigned librarian about my plans to visit the Center for Jewish History before I went, so I wasn’t completely overwhelmed when I stepped inside and was confronted with stacks upon stacks of resources and books relating to everything and anything about Jews and their history.

I began by requesting five books that seemed relevant to my topic. They were brought to me, and I sat in the reading room, going through chapter after chapter, looking for relevant material to my topic. It was difficult– especially because I’m doing new research and a lot of my work is connecting sources rather than interpreting evidence already registered.

I managed to find some really great sources, including an annotated bibliography that proved to be tremendously helpful. But more so, I saw what my future might be if I pursue history and public history as a profession.

It was so much fun, to do research and read and find sources that might maybe work. It was like a scavenger hunt, but more fun and rewarding. I could so easily see myself, living in New York City, doing research and writing books and producing enjoyable history for the masses.

Each step I take in my senior seminar research, I get closer to writing my 25-page thesis paper. But I also grow closer to finding my future career path, and what history means for me and my future.

On Mother’s Day, I boarded a Delta Airbus at Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport and flew across the Atlantic for the very first time.

It was around 4 in the afternoon when I left, and 8 am when I arrived the next morning in Charles de Gaulle. It was my first time entering a time zone more than one hour ahead or behind Eastern Standard Time, and I was disoriented and exhausted, even though I slept fairly well on the plane.

Still, it was my first time in Europe, and even though I was only in France for a two-hour layover, I was eager to spend my time wisely. I practiced my French, ordered a massive cafe latte and a pain au chocolat.  Then, our group, about 20 in total, boarded an AirFrance flight to Warsaw. I spent the flight looking out over the countryside of Europe, staring at the beautiful, rolling fields. I was surprised by how much Europe looked like a flight over North Carolina or Georgia. 

Then, I fell asleep.

When I arrived, I was in Warsaw, the capital of Poland. The first thought I had was: wow, Polish makes no sense phonetically or grammatically. Then, I thought– holy cow, I’m in Poland. I had this thought frequently throughout the trip.

We didn’t go through customs as we were leaving the airport, which annoyed me because, now, I don’t have a stamp from Poland in my Passport.

We arrived at our hotel, the Campanile Warsaw, which was only a short tram ride away from the heart of downtown Warsaw. I washed up, and then promptly fell asleep again. Apparently, I am not good with Jetlag. This would have been nice to know before I traveled to Europe. After napping, our group went to dinner at a local restaurant.

After napping, our group went to dinner at a local restaurant. I am nearly 100% Polish. I was not aware of how apparent my Polish heritage was in my life until I sat down for dinner that first evening in Warsaw. For our appetizer, we were served a simple Chicken Noodle Soup. I took one sip and was blown away by the familiar taste on my tongue. This soup was identical to the Chicken Noodle Soup my mother makes for me when I’m sick– the same spices, the same broth, the same noodles. I felt at home and homesick at the same time.

I don’t remember much about that first dinner, except for watching Polish folk dancing and listening to Polish folk music. I was overwhelmed with how much I was reminded of my family’s traditions, especially my late grandfather, who passed away this past October. He taught me how to Polka. That night, I had tears in my eyes, thinking of him. His mother immigrated from Poland, and he never had the chance to go back.

Later that evening, I set out with two other girls in my group to find Sim cards, and we ended up at the massive Galeria Mokotów. This mall is a massive four story shopping center full of luxury brands like Lacoste, United Colors of Benetton, Adidas, Chanel, and more. I was in awe, as I had never been in a mall that nice, not even the Lennox mall in Buckhead.

I was in awe of the beauty of Warsaw. It reminded me of Pittsburgh or another industrial city that’s been given new life by its passionate citizens. Warsaw has risen from the ashes, literally, but that’s a story for another day.