On Thursday morning, I woke up and nearly panicked. I’d woken up in full daylight, so clearly I’d massively overslept. I’m at home, and for such a long time I’ve only been here for Christmas, I haven’t seen daylight at 6am here in years.
I came to the UK first in 2010, for an internship at a magazine company. This week, at my dad’s place I threw away the magazines that listed my name under ‘Editorial Assistant’. That internship made me realise I wanted to work in publishing. A year later I started a publishing degree. After my graduation, I got a job at a publishing company not because of my degree, but because I’d taught myself HTML in my teens. I guess you’ll never know what’ll get you to the places you want to go.
Right now I don’t know where I want to go. London has tired me out, and each time I’m away from it I miss it less. It requires a lot of work to be happy there when you value certain things, like a nice living space, or time with your friends. It was the place to be in my 20s and I enjoyed it, but the closer I get to starting my 30s, the more I’m starting to wonder if it’s where I want to stay.
Being home in spring has been wonderful. It’s been years since I’ve seen my hometown in green and sunshine. On Friday evening my tram got redirected and went past the area I used to live, on my own, during my BA studies. It’s a quiet but well-connected area with a huge park in walking distance. I miss living on my own. On Sunday I ran a half-marathon along the riverbank in the blazing sunshine, soaking in the views and the atmosphere. I only have one more week left before it’s time to go back to London. I’ll do my best to enjoy them, aching legs and all.