There were four of us from my home university. We had rooms next door to each other and formed a little band. In the beginning, we went on adventures together all the time. However, as the semester continued and we made friends through classes we slowly stopped hanging out as a foursome. The last month we decided to change this and made an effort to go out to brunch or dinner together. One place we went was Nandos where I ate the most nommiclious bean burger in a wrap ever!
This place is so good that I took my parents their second night here. They enjoyed it as much as I did!
The last time I was sick (well, the time before the time before the last time I was sick, I’ve been sick thrice here in London), Boyfriend microwaved me chicken noodle soup and brought me ice cream from the dinning hall. He stayed curled up in bed with me and watched SVU and NCIS for days and days until I felt well enough to leave the comfort of my room. My parents used to take off work when I was a sick kid. They would bring me soup and sandwiches and pester me to ‘drink some water, finish half that glass.’ When you’re sick someone is supposed to take care of you, right?
Well, apparently not when you’re an adult. When you’re living on your own there isn’t anyone to take care of you. That means, even though you’d rather stay curled up in bed, you have to walk to the corner store and buy cans of soup. Then you have to microwave the soup yourself, standing in the kitchen with your feet cold against the floor and your nose running. You have to remind yourself to drink water, and take the cold medicine, and buy more toilet paper to use as tissues. Sometimes you have to call your work and explain why you can’t come in. You have to email your professors and explain why you missed class, “hi Professor, sorry I wasn’t in class today. I have a really bad cold and I drank NyQuil to help me sleep and then I slept through your class. Sorry.”
Normally I love that I’m growing up. I love the freedom that comes with working for my money and paying for my own things. I love not having to ask permission or to apologize for breaking rules I didn’t make up. But this past week, as I lay on the floor of my room and struggled to breathe through my stuffed nose and my needled throat, I would have traded all the freedom in the world to have someone telling me I would be OK and bringing me bowls of soup and glasses of cold water.
I know, once again I'm behind! If you’re interested, here are Looking Back: One Month and Two Month.
I have 29 days left until I fly home. I have 23 days left until I leave London. I have 17 days until my internship ends. There are 15 days until my parents arrive. I have 14 days until I finish my final fall semester. I keep counting all the days I have left. I am always counting down. It used to be I had months left, three more months, two more months. Now I only have weeks, although I find I tend to count in days. It doesn’t matter how I count it (four weeks or 29 days) the conclusion I come to is the same: there is not enough time.
I spent this weekend pouring over my guide book making my London ‘Bucket List’. I searched the interwebs for fun, quirky London adventures. I bought bus tickets to Brighton, to Leeds. I keep searching for that one thing to end this trip on. I feel like somewhere, just around the corner, if I just look hard enough I’ll find it–the London experience that will make me satisfied with going home. But it isn’t real. There is no one experience, place I can visit, tourist trap I can fall in, that will make me ok with leaving London. I am not ok with leaving London. I am not ready to leave.
Here in London I grew up.
In London I cooked my first meal. I discovered how to travel. I learned about taking care of myself, and my friends, and making sure everything worked out. In London, I flew solo for the first time in my life. It has been amazing. It has been wonderful. I am sad to leave. But luckily, oh luckily, I have four whole weeks, 29 long days left. After all my classmates and friends have flown home I still have days left in London. Then I get to explore Paris with my parents. There are so many adventures to be had and I am glad I get to have them. I am glad I still have time.
And London, it’s not going anywhere. I can always come back; I will come back.
Favorite adventure: Brighton, England
Favorite place in London: Anywhere in the City of London, which is different than just London.
Favorite food: Wine. Hey, it counts!
Favorite moment: Sitting in a little square reading F Scott Fitzgerald Jazz Age Stories (I totally recommend them) and looking up to see the ground covered in gold crunchy leaves. I realized then how at home I truly felt in this city.
Favorite thing I’ve learned: I love city living! I really do! There is something so amazing about walking to get your groceries, never having to drive, and having public transport that everyone rides (not just creepy, drunk people).
Favorite purchase: My ticket to Brighton. I had the most romantic day there.
Favorite thing in the upcoming month: My parents are coming in just 15 days and I get to show them ALL AROUND MY CITY!
Favorite photo: taken November 21 on the beach in Brighton.
