Who says you can’t go home?

Oh Bon Jovi, if only… I’m 3000 miles away from the place you’re talking about.

But that’s ok.  I’m still back in the land of digital cable and Dunkin Donuts iced coffee.  I spent Easter with my parents and I couldn’t be happier about it.

Due to a week-long bout with various types of illnesses, I did not get to update before I exited my beloved London.  Nor did I have the opportunity to party like a rockstar before my departure.  I didn’t even leave my room during my final weekend- a sad epitaph indeed.  Papers, dissertation proposals, and presentations rooted me to my computer and the confines of Roehampton’s wireless access.

I’m happy to report, the final hours were somewhat uneventful.  Mark was good enough to supply some blush wine for my final evening in Willow House, and we all sat around like real broke college students, playing poker with paper clips and stuffing ourselves full of MSG-laden products.

I said goodbye to my professors, flatmates, and friends and loaded my three huge suitcases into Gemma’s car with far more ease than I anticipated.  No traffic on the early morning ride to Gatwick, no more than 90 quid for the extra suitcase, no freak snowstorms in Vegas and no flight delays.  I called in my Barclays transfer at the gate, spent some time on the phone with close friends, and happily informed my mother that I’d be arriving as scheduled.

Somehow, the 10 hour flight was over in 8 hours flat.  I don’t know how they managed to fly so much faster, but it was the most pleasant experience I’ve ever had in the friendly skies.  Satiating red wine to wash down my Valium, Gu pudding, Twilight on loop (squee!), and a group of gorgeous men sitting not too far from me.  They were more than happy to help me reach my carry on luggage which was sitauated  far above my head, and showed real admiration when I managed to lift the 32kg jolly green giant suitcase from the luggage belt straight onto my cart all by myself.  All that working out must have paid off.

Then as soon as I cleared customs, I started stripping.  Off came the coat. Then the scarf.  It was HOT OUT!!!!  Sunglasses were immediately excavated from deep within my bag.  I really did forget what it felt like to be warm.  I packed the coat and scarves away, I won’t be needing them for awhile

I must admit, however, I miss UK produce.  Cucumbers and tomatoes just don’t taste as good here.  And I can’t stop saying “cheers” to people, at which point they just half-grin at me as though I’m slightly mad.  I don’t mind.  I’m happy I took my year in London and didn’t sell my soul to the grind too young.  It’s high time I figure out my life, but I’m going to do it on my terms.

This time last year, I would never have expected I’d leave London willingly.  I also never expected I’d be able to pack up and move there in three weeks flat.  Somewhere along the line, I conquered any fears I ever had of failing. Sometimes you just have to be impulsive, and I will never consider anything about this year a mistake.  Earning an MA is not small potatoes.   But that’s not how I’ll remember my year at Roehampton.  It’s the year I learned to cook, the year I discovered I really am a writer, and the year I internalized what my family truly means to me.  I found out that despite my best efforts I just can’t fake it, no matter what “it” may be in any given situation.

For the first time in maybe forever, my life feels totally real.  Maybe that’s because it’s in a slight state of disarray, but that leaves room for rearrangement.  In closing this blog, it’s more of a Sopranoes ending than an Alias finale.  Whatever comes next will just require another chapter.

Advertisement