Goodbye, London!

“The English language is like London: proudly barbaric yet deeply civilized, too, common yet royal, vulgar yet processional, sacred yet profane. Each sentence we produce, whether we know it or not, is a mongrel mouthful of Chaucerian, Shakespearean, Miltonic, Johnsonian, Dickensian and American. Military, naval, legal, corporate, criminal, jazz, rap and ghetto discourses are mingled at every turn.”
~ Stephen Fry, The Ode Less Travelled: Unlocking the Poet Within. 

I wrote the following in my notes for this last blog this morning: ‘My emotions are hard to hold on to – I’m just sort of fixating on the plane. Maybe that’s normal for repressing powerful emotions or maybe I’ve just gotten used to everything… I guess the measure of becoming a real Londoner is being used to it all. I mean, I suppose you can’t ever really get used to it all, but you come to accept its normalcy… Oops, never mind: I almost started crying in Costa…’ I think that pretty much sums it up.

Since the last time I wrote, I’ve been trying to repress any sort of extreme emotions by watching hours upon hours of British panel shows – which are clever and hilarious, if you want to know – but I’ve still ended up crying every single day. I can’t tell if the semester has gone too quickly or too slowly; I don’t know whether I’ve done enough or if I should have done more. So whenever each comedy show ends, I inevitably fall into a selfish sadness. As I’ve said, I have been taking my mind off of all of this by fixating on the plane. I worry that I haven’t matured enough to have checked in correctly or even booked the correct plane. I’m also anxious about dealing with my claustrophobia once I’m on the actual aircraft. See? Just writing that made me forget for a moment that I don’t even have twenty-four hours left in the city in which I honestly feel more comfortable with myself than I’ve ever been.

Of course, there is plenty to come home to. I’m excited to see my friends and family, and I absolutely can’t wait to hug my dog for the first time in months. I’m totally ready to start having regular tomato sauce again – no wonder Britons pronounce it differently; it tastes like a whole different fruit (vegetable? mineral?) here – and it will be nice to hear familiar hymns at church. My new jobs should be fun, and I’m happy to get a week’s vacation before I have to dive into work. I just can’t help but wonder if anything will be the same.

But how boring would life be if things didn’t change? What kind of messed up society would we be in if we hadn’t amended our laws to fit the times? (I’m looking at you, people who voted pro-Tory!) Change is always difficult, especially when you’re as ridiculously anxious as I am, but that’s what makes things fun. Things at home are going to be different because I’m going to be different, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing.

Here’s a little insight into this blog’s editing process: I just jumped forward to write the end, and I’ve decided I can’t be that sentimental anymore. I will just burst into a puddle of tears. So I’m going to take this opportunity to answer the two-part question my darling roommate Mashal – photo credit goes to her for this post, by the way – asked in the comments section of my last blog: What is the one thing you will miss most about life in Britain in general and what is one memory from London that you will cherish forever?

Well, I think I’ll miss the real sense of independence I have here. I actually think that it’s really exciting that I’ve been able to provide for myself – buy food, make a decently long commute to work and learn to deal with disasters. I’ve also come to really appreciate the atmosphere here. During the day, it suits my obsessive, work-driven nature, but it reminds me to chill out when literally everything aside from Tesco closes up early on in the night. The cultural norms also fit my personality pretty well; everyone shuts up on the tube, people put ‘sort of’ in front of every assertion to make sure they don’t end up being wrong and an overwhelming majority of people support the National Health Service. Oh, and I’m going to miss being surrounded by beautiful accents.

As far as the memories go… I think there are too many to choose from! But that’s a good problem to have, isn’t it? I think the moments of euphoria when I got an idea for a story were probably the best ones. Even though I’ve been sulking a bit lately so it doesn’t feel like it, I’ve had a lot of inspiration in London – I’ve filled up an entire notebook with ideas and snippets. That’s the first time that’s happened, as well. I got ideas looking out over a bridge or sitting in a quiet cathedral, relaxing in a park or reading a British novel. On a less serious note, I will always remember what it felt like to take the first bite of a Costa brownie. (Everyone I’ve made try one has been incredibly disappointed, but it’s the sentiment of the thing, really. That’s the last thing I’m going to do before I get on a plane is have my usual at Costa.)

If I’ve learned one thing in London, it’s that I need to learn to expect the unexpected. Everything that I thought I knew was turned upside down by the new perspectives I’ve gained, and my goals in life have changed drastically. So I don’t really know what’s coming next for me. Sure, I have some jobs lined up for the summer and classes lined up for next semester in New York, but who knows what new and exciting opportunities will present themselves in the near future? I only hope that I can approach them in the way that I’ve learnt to approach new experiences in London: with an open mind and an undying enthusiasm.

This is my last blog, at least the last one in the foreseeable future. Thank you all for reading, whether you read each entry or just clicked on the more interesting titles. I’ve really appreciated your (perhaps unfounded) support. It’s been an adventure… but, as J.R.R. Tolkien would have us believe, the most honourable part of any adventure is coming home.