I never thought I'd Essay
An essay contest that I didn't win, but thought was well-written nonetheless.
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I never thought I’d spend three years studying Creative Writing in London.
It started with a vacation that my friend and I spontaneously decided to go on when we were a mere seventeen and nineteen years old. That would be fun, we thought. Who doesn’t love a bit of tea and fit accents to wake up to while ringing in the New Year?
That vacation became the seed that planted a dream inside of me. I felt it grow deep roots when we were on the airplane to come home, and I decided right then and there I was going back, and I would live in London. I’d be the American girl living in London. That was my new dream.
Two years after our perfect vacation I boarded an airplane for Heathrow Airport once again, only this time my passport was carrying a student visa that was valid for three years. I’d meet one of my best friends that day; we both were coming from Virginia and lived thirty minutes from each other, but had never met until we landed on British soil. We were both taking the same Creative Writing course, and we both lived in the same dorm. It was nice sharing my dream with someone from back home. It was comforting, and I’d need my dear friend one night when I broke down from homesickness and admitted that I couldn’t bear the loneliness any longer.
My dream, as Charles Dickens poignantly wrote, was the best of times, and most certainly the worst of times. It’s the best of times that I like to remember, and I linger on the memories of me leisurely lying in Richmond Park with my iPod watching the deer slowly surround me while they grazed on the lush grass. I integrated myself into everything English. My accent changed. The way I dressed changed. I was becoming a local. I discovered where the best shops for vintage were at a decent price; I learned which train routes were reliable, which buses would get me to my destination faster, and wasn’t afraid of wandering the streets with no sense of direction. I’d eventually find my way.
I made friends at my university, and we molded together like melted candles left burning all night. They became my new London family, and they taught me proper English grammar (twat, gaff, knob), and how to make English delicacies with funny names (toad in the hole and bangers ‘n’ mash). Everything we did, we did together, and our university bubble was a life I never knew I craved until I lived it every day.
Those were the best of times.
It was the worst of times that buggered me in the end. I lived, as my mom would say, “outside my means.” I was engulfed by the nightlife and all of its dirty temptations. London Town’s scene was far too addicting, and while I was smudging my grimy fingerprint on every club and bar in town, I lost myself.
I suppose it was bound to happen sooner or later. Wasn’t that the cliché I had fallen into? Small town girl from America moves to the big city and flounders while trying to figure herself out. It sounded like a typical movie script that would star Alexis Bledel, with a depressing soundtrack full of Death Cab for Cutie, and angsty guitar chords from The Weepies.
All of my bad habits caught up with me in the end, though, and after a two week break back home during my final year over the Christmas holiday, I knew it was time for me to come back stateside and sort myself proper, as they say. I remember standing at the kitchen sink looking down at the frozen pond behind my house, and knew – just like all those years ago when I knew I wanted to move to London – I knew I wanted to come back home.
It wasn’t a hard decision to make to return to Virginia. My student visa was almost expired, I didn’t have any work lined up for me to stay in the United Kingdom, and my heart was emptier than my Barclays bank account. No, all good things do come to an end, and my time had finally come. I spent my last few weeks slowly saying goodbye to the city; goodbye to the café that served me my regular tea and pan au chocolat for so long; goodbye to my sidewalks, my Double Decker buses, my tranquil parks, and the little old lady who would top up my Oyster card. I cried hard when I said goodbye to my friends, and made immediate plans to come visit as soon as I could. I would miss them all the most.
But how would I say goodbye to my dream? It was such a huge part of me now, and I felt distinguished by this new person I had become. This was all I knew for the past five years, and now it was ending? How was I supposed to cope?
Well, I didn’t cope, at least not for the first year after I came back home permanently. I was in denial up to my eyeballs, and my depression consumed every last drop of motivation I had to move forward in my life. I had built this fantasy in my head that I’d move back within two years and pick up exactly where I’d left off, which was hopeful, but unrealistic. I was unemployed for six months, living back at home, and wondering what I was supposed to do with this new diploma that had arrived in the post with my name on it. Was I supposed to just go and be a writer now? How does this adult stuff work anyway? Waking up in the middle of the day and strolling down to the pub by 2p.m. was no longer acceptable, so now I needed to figure out my new role post university.
My new role – or the one I have determined through counseling – is to just be myself, which I didn’t realize is harder than it sounds. Nearly two years have passed since I was in the city that weaved itself in and out of my heart, and I can honestly say that I’m doing okay. I may not be living out the life that I painted for myself three years ago, but I don’t have many reasons to complain either. Yet my dream of London still floats in my head and whispers to me, maybe one day I’ll go back. Maybe. Or maybe the dream will manifest into something new for the future.
And so that leaves me with a door wide open and a blank check written out to My Future. I have gained a great tale about when I moved my entire life to a different country with high expectations, only to return to the beginning to start anew, and I have zero regrets. I have a lot of student debt, yes, and I get remorseful from time to time, but living in London and being part of that life is one of the greatest decisions I’ve ever made (right up there with trying gymnastics and participating in a ropes course). The lessons I learned still unravel themselves when I'm not looking, but I think the one thing that stands out most for me is that I know now I can do anything if I want it enough. Anything is possible.