It's All Good Really
Well here I am. Mulled wine in hand (and belly), Nina Simone on the stereo, lights down, heat on, and nothing else to do, except enjoy the evening. It's a pity the cat is on heat again and won't stop presenting her bottom to me, but aside from that; it's all good. I don't understand this cat. I had no idea they could be on heat so much. It seems as if every other week she's on E. Just rubbing herself on pretty much anything that is stupid enough to stand still. If furniture had feelings, I'd have immense sympathy, and I'm sorry to say, but also some empathy for it.
Today was a good day. I handed in 4 pieces of coursework, which have taken me - wait, actually, they've not taken me so long. I am no good whatsoever with the concept of being given the coursework at the start of the semester, and told it's due in 10 weeks later (where have those 10 weeks gone!). I can' t do it. I have to forget about it, until the last week, have a short panic attack, and then just sit, read, and write. I went to bed at 1.30am, and was up at 5am today, to finish. The thing is; I love it. I love the early, early morning. You have the whole world to yourself. It's so quiet, and there is nothing else to do but work. There's not even anyone on Facebook to chat with. It's great. I'll never understand people who will spread something out for weeks on end. Bit by bit, day by day. Oh my God I'd go insane! Anyway, so I handed in all this coursework. Suddenly, the past week has hit me, and I realise I've had about 12 hours sleep. But the best thing is that now, I can sit with my drink, warm and safe in the knowledge that I deserve this, and best of all; I can enjoy every, single second of it. No bad conscious. Fanbloodytastic.
However. Things were different, sort of, about an hour ago. I was walking back from school, and it suddenly occured to me that that was one of the last times I was going to walk through Greenwich Park. OK, not last times ever, but still. Isn't it funny how when you're going to leave a place, you suddenly develop this overwhelming love for it. There was that amazing winter sun, making London, stretched out before me, bask in a glow. The Eye. St.Pauls. Centre Point. HSBC. Battersea Power Station. The Isle of Dogs. Even the bloody Millenium Dome, I'm sorry; The O2, looked beautiful. My class (in which I had a presentation, which I actually got a whistle for when I finished. Who the hell whistles after a presentation? It wasn't that good. But it was (for me), very interesting. In fact, you should read the book: Space, Place and Gender, by Doreen Massey), had finished an hour early, so I decided to take a long detour, and walk around the park. I visited a bench, that had been put there in honour of my best friend's Granny, which was oddly emotional, and set me off thinking. It's incredible what you notice when you actually start to look around you. Stupid things like the shape or size of trees. The lay of the land. The view. They say you can always tell a tourist because they look up, but have you ever looked up? Do you realise how much you miss? I won't go into too much detail, suffice to say there's a part of me that can't bare to leave. Even though I know I can come back, and I remember all the times I've moaned about being here, but the grass is always greener on the other side.
Did you know that nostalgia used to be classed as a disease, so powerful it could be. Isn't that funny? But we all know how heavy it can be. It's peculiar. I've not even left, but in under a week, I will have, and I already have this terrible feeling of...I want to say 'loss', but it's so dramatic. What will I really miss? The ridiculous pace of life? The feeling that you're always missing out - there's always something better round the corner? The enormous expense of living here? The lack of peace and quiet? The lack of solitude? The noise? The polution? No, of course not. What I will miss is the anonymity. The fantastic range of things to do and see. The excitement. My friends. My family. My roots. The English language - everywhere - not just the fact I can understand it, but the sound of it. The use of it. The accents, the terms, the very Englishness of people. I'll miss the people. I'll miss those moments when someone does a good deed, and it restores your faith (although that's not necessarily a good point...). I'll miss the smells, the sights the sounds. The rare, rare moments, like the one I had, where you can look at London from a distance, and it looks peaceful, and beautiful. That's the thing about London; it looks good from a distance (something, that has actually been said about me, more than once...hmmm). Up close; it's dirty, it's smelly and it's loud (thankfully, this has not followed the previous sentence when said to me, although right now, I'm sure that some of you are making a mental note).
Coming here was the best choice. I've found out what I wanted to. I love England. I really do. But I don't know if I belong. Maybe I do. I'll have to go back to where I came from to find that out. And I can't wait to get back.
I think I might have promised myself too much before I arrived in London. And I don't want to do the same when I return to Denmark. I've decided what my New Year's resolution will be; no more promises to myself. I resolve to not resolve (hmmm). I want to stop trying so hard; and let life be what it is. Take it as it comes. If something is going to happen; then it will. And I'll just deal with it, if and when.
I love England. But I miss Denmark. Whatever happens in the next 6 months, is going to happen. And there's nothing I can do about it. So bring it on, and I'm sure, I'm positive in fact, that it'll all be good.