Coming home is the sweetest of the bittersweet moments. Home’s fragrant and warm and bright and blue skied, and London was grey and it was cold, and people stand in your way even if you have a suitcase, and you have to keep your purse close.
But it was an electrifying chill which woke you up and energised you, and each person held a culture and a story, and the bump and bustle knitted together a vibrant city.
Every corner turned in London found a building older than my greatest grandparents neighboured by one younger than me, and filled to the brim with ideas and inspiration and opportunity.
On my last night in London I longed for free movement as I hung my winter coat away and stripped my thermal layers away, for clean clothes and fresh air and sunshine, but I bid the city farewell with a solemn sense of loss, for its energy was mine, for a time.
Now I’m home and I’m excited to study again, and to see my family and friends, but once your world grows and you leave footprints in all new places, it’s hard to go back to stepping on the same prints each and every day.
Every day is an adventure, whether home or away. Home is like a heart beat, but nothing compares to seeing somewhere new each day, and recognising no face except your own.