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Day One Hundred and Ninety-Eight:  And the History Books Forgot About Us

One of the most defining moments of my life was standing in King’s Cross station for the first time and feeling like I was on top.  Yes, I was overheating like mad and was starving and overtired and confused and overwhelmed, but it was just one of those moments.  I talk a lot about “making it,” I had finally made it.  But at this particular moment that wasn’t what I was thinking about.  I remember walking down the small side road between King’s Cross and St.Pancras with AJ on one side and London on the other and thinking I was literally legitimately looking at the entire world and that feeling has stuck with me since that moment.  It has almost been a year since then.

I miss London every single day.  I miss England, I miss Europe, but boy, do I miss London.  I miss the people, the roads, the air.  And I miss the feeling that I would get atleast once a day, that I was standing looking at the entire world and loving it.  That was the top of my life, the peak, the castle in the heavens, and I crave it everyday.  I struggle to not hop on a bus and head back immediately.  I think it’s that willpower that drives me to look for more and more possibilities of living there in the future.

I remember being there and in Notting Hill one afternoon my Auntie was visiting and asked if I could see myself living there.  I could, and I always say if I could comfortably, but I am starting to think that I might need to go back and live there for longer just because.  Just to have the experience of a crappy loft apartment with other British people and living off of wasabi once a week and tesco cheese and banana’s for the rest.  I want that experience (again) but I am ready for it in a new way.  I am ready to just be again.

I’m coming home, London, I promise.

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