London Screwed Me Over

I woke up today, looked out the window, and thought to myself, “Dang, I’m in London!” Okay, the realization came a bit late—I know. I blame it on jet lag. But now, I am fully and deeply aware that I am—we are—in London.

London has been amazing. It’s like a bigger, bolder, and sexier version of Melbourne.

Fafa is just as captivated by it. “It’s so pretty at night,” he kept repeating during the double-decker bus ride back to our hotel yesterday. We made a pact to stay out late once this jet lag finally wears off.

And all day today, I couldn’t help but wonder, “Did we mess up by coming to London?”

With that thought also came the inevitable “what ifs.”

I keep imagining how lovely it would be to be a student living in London. Who would I be? Where would I be if I had the chance a few decades ago? Oh, I would love to live in London as a wealthy old lady—or maybe just a wealthy lady.

There are so many pockets of London where I can picture myself getting lost—or living—and in the process, finding myself. Another version of myself—a bolder, probably more artsy version?

London makes me want to live life more fully—to do more things, explore more, and try new experiences more than anywhere else I’ve ever been.

London has captured my heart—and captured it completely. It reminded me of a few authors who repeatedly visited their “it” cities before eventually moving there for good.

And I want the same thing for myself.

I want to return to London and truly experience the city for a month—or a year—and I haven’t even been here for a week yet.

There are many things I wish for, and from today onward, living in London has become one of them.

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