March 9 - As of today I have been in London for a total of 149 days, which have whizzed by in a haze of faces, essays, clubs, beer, noise, and motion. Suddenly, I stop and realize I have a part-time job, am interning at a publishing company, and know a good portion of the subway system by heart. And wasn't it only last week that I thought I could never get to the end of this year?
Time plays games in my head, condensing months into moments - nights when I toiled in English literature or days when my unruly umbrella carried me away like Mary Poppins. It expands spectacular days into weeks - when I traveled across Great Britain or showed my boyfriend around London.
When I applied to go abroad, a year away seemed insurmountable. Now I sit at my computer in a city that feels like home, reminiscing about my boyfriend's visit that ended only yesterday, and realizing that in one week, I shared 149 days with him. This city holds nearly half a year of my life. Spending a week with a familiar visitor from abroad revealed how long I have actually lived here, and how comfortable I have become.
When I left London on a train to Scotland in October (scared for my life due to railroad fiascoes in Britain), I realized that in returning home, I would be returning to London. At moments on the trip back, I was convinced that the train would glide into Boston, and I had to snap my mind back to reality.
Five months later, with my boyfriend's inevitable return to Boston, I begin to uncover the magnitude of being here. I have worked so hard trying to find a niche. And then I turn to look ahead and see what I have left to travel, and how much of my time here remains.
Will the next three months flood by in a flash of European cities and train windows, or will the pace slow down enough to let me at least consume some of this newness around me? It has been six months, but it has also only been a day, and I continue to be surprised.
Last week I danced in the University College London Dance Society's annual show. It was called "NRG" (get it?). I rehearsed for two months with a hip-hop group, walking each Tuesday night through London to a dingy gymnasium to dance. As I walked to and from rehearsals, I couldn't help but muse over the fact that I had auditioned for a show in London, got in, and stuck with it. The show ran for three nights, and after performing, I walked home in the quiet after the noise of the crowd. Weeks of work ended in what passed like seconds of bright lights and loud voices.
And time continued to pass. After an amazing week with my boyfriend, he left and I continue muddling over time and distance, and kicking myself for not truly relishing the time I have spent here.
In three weeks I leave for Easter holiday. As of now, the plans consist of visiting Budapest, Prague, and Vienna, then to Barcelona to celebrate a friend's 21st birthday, then to Italy, and finally to Greece. It seems too much to cram into one month, but I doubt I will ever again run away to Europe, in search of starvation and subsequent artistic inspiration. And I won't ever be willing to avoid responsibility so wholeheartedly again.
So off I go, with a few precious articles of clothing - basically my home, in my pack - and trek over unfamiliar ground. In contemplating the coming weeks, I'm recognizing that home is transient, and time has a tendency to pass quicker than it should, but I can plot the trail as I choose. The obstacles have been numerous - the language barrier, the American stereotype, the exchange rate, and lately, Socialist income taxes - but these trials make my willingness to continue and my dread to leave even more exciting.
