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the feeling of returning home after an immersive trip only to find it fading rapidly from your awareness.

Fin

It's Saturday as I'm writing this--two days before I'm set to leave.

Less than 48 hours separate me from a lumpy seat on a plane. From there, nine hours sit between both sides of the Atlantic. Another hour of interstate highways before I can open the door and take a deep breath in and finally know what my house smells like to a stranger.

Home.

It's a bit daunting, I think. Everything that I've been looking forward to has come and gone, everything that I sat and planned and wrote down in a planner has been crossed off and tucked away as a memory. It makes me wonder if time really does move this fast all the time, if everything is destined to become a simple blur of the past, if all this journey will become is a fleeting thought every now and again.

The reality of the situation is that I don't want to leave. But there's also the fact that I can feel myself curling inward from being away from home for so long; I can feel my body trying to cling on to something that has some aspect of something familiar. It doesn't make things easier, but I'm trying. I'm trying to make myself make a decision.

Stay. Go.

A part of my heart is going to stay here, nestled safely in the cracks of the footpath on Waterloo Bridge. Another piece will rest in the soft grass of Hampstead Heath--another in Soho, another on Great Dover Street, another at the O2 Arena. Bits of me will remain along the Thames, slowly sinking into the pavement where I've run over and over again. A fragment of my mind carelessly frolics along the cliffs of Dover, and still another will walk the streets of Oxford for many days to come.

I'm not ready for the onslaught of tears that I know is steadily approaching. I'll try to contain myself until I'm cruising over the ocean, and then I'll let the water flow from my eyes just as it flows underneath me. The wheelbarrow of emotions I've been carting along with me this whole time is dangerously close to tipping over, much to my discontent.

But even still, I'm happy. Really, genuinely happy--and this isn't the type of happiness that you get from a birthday, or a graduation, or a good grade. This is happiness that I feel in the deepest parts of my bones, happiness that consumes my entire body. Happiness that replaces the air in my lungs so when I breathe, I feel a warmth in my chest that has me walking on the tips of my toes and lifting my head to the sky. Happiness that echoes with every step I take, the sound filling even the emptiest parts of my brain. Happiness that shines a long-deserved light on the parts of myself I'm trying to renew, the parts that deserve better beginnings and move toward more fulfilling endings.

Like I've said before--I came to London for London. And London welcomed me with open arms, pulling me out of the rut I dug myself into in the last year and a half and pushed me out, exposing me to more of myself than I even knew existed. Everything about me is a little bit more retrospective, a little bit more calculating. These blog posts have allowed me to explore a more intuitive side of thinking--I can look at the world a little bit more poetically and find inspiration in even the most mundane situations.

So, I want to say thank you.

Thank you to all the friends I've made, the ones who have made this place feel like home. The ones who made it easier on the days where my heart ached, on the days when I wanted nothing more than to waste the sunlight away underneath my sheets.

Thank you to everyone who read this blog. It was a weird decision for me to make in terms of what kind of content I wanted on here, but I hope you all enjoyed everything you read. I hope the songs I posted made you feel things. I hope the words I've written made you think.

Thank you to every random person I spoke to, every stranger I smiled at who had the heart to return it. Every person who recognized me whenever I'd walk into a restaurant, every kind word that probably didn't mean much at the time but still comforted me for a moment or two.

And thank you to this beautiful city and its beautiful mind. Thank you for allowing me to learn you. Thank you for letting me lose myself and, consequentially, find myself. Endless, endless love.
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

"I still believe a connection like this--like ours--has no origin. It has always existed, but it only shows its face when we come together. We become the ones who arrive in a whirlwind of uncertainty and trepidation but leave so suddenly, only the promise of a return hanging in the air between us.

I will, I will, I will."

Song of the Day

Leon Bridges - River

tip me in your smooth waters
i go in as a man with crimes,
come up for air
as my sins flow down the Jordan

Song of the Day

The Cinematic Orchestra - To Build a Home

when the gusts came around to blow me down,
i held on as tightly as you held on to me

Song of the Day

Gabrielle Aplin - A While

i've been trying to sleep for a while
there'll be nothing left to talk about
and no one left to hear

Seven

The impending feeling of separation anxiety and sadness is probably the only thing keeping me from actually starting to pack. But it's coming and it's inevitable, and sooner or later I'm going to have to deal with the fact that I'm leaving.

If you asked me a month ago, I'd already be in line at the departure gate with my carry-on bag, eager to get back to some semblance of familiarity. But now things are growing on me. The overcast weather is a joy. Rush hour is bearable. Tourists are a necessary evil. The constant, ceaseless noise is an old friend.

Though classes have already ended, there are still a few assignments tying me down to King's for a few more weeks. But as soon as those are done, my time as a student here will officially be over. In the mean time, the last week should be exciting. I'm ready to be truly and entirely exhausted from trying to see and absorb as much of London as I can before I ride the Tube one final time toward the airport.

Things are starting to pick up just as they're winding down. There are lots of feelings flying around, but I'm bracing myself for everything headed my way. One week to go.

Song of the Day

Hozier- Cherry Wine

the way she tells me i'm hers and she is mine
open hand or closed fist would be fine
the blood is rare and sweet as cherry wine

Song of the Day

The Kooks - Seaside

but i'm just trying to love you
any kind of way,
but i find it hard to love you, girl
when you're far away

Everything

There are many things to be thankful for.

I'm thankful to be able to spend some time in a place where I can step outside and be swept up in welcomed chaos for as long as I want. I'm thankful for the reflection of the sunshine on the Thames, the choppy waves splashing against the age-old bricks that carve a watery path through the heart of London. I'm thankful for the greenery that should seem out of place in such a grey, metallic city but finds its home in tiny, undiscovered nooks regardless. I'm thankful for the tiredness that consumes me after a day of walking, the fatigue in my bones acting as a sign that something is wearing on me in a good way.

I'm thankful for the people that I've come to love as family; the ones who treat me like their own, who lend me a hand and allowed me to infiltrate their lives for a short time. I'm thankful for those waiting back home with open arms, soon to be reunited after weeks of not being able to see the whites of their eyes and hear the laughs as they form. I'm thankful for the man at the register who spares me a smile on a dreary, rainy day. I'm thankful for the girl spending time in the park with herself and the words in a book, painting images in her mind with every turn of a page.

I'm thankful for the muddied boots and the frizzy hair, for the full stomachs and the heavy, drooping eyelids. I'm thankful for the delayed trains and the lonely passengers; I'm thankful for the second row from the stairs on the top deck of the bus, the seat right next to the window. I'm thankful for Polly's Tea Room. I'm thankful for all the Earl Grey's on Thursday mornings on Southwark Street. I'm thankful for the two missed chances and the heartache that followed. I'm thankful for the stay, stay, stay and the go, go, go.

I am thankful. For everything, for all of it. I am unequivocally grateful.

x

Song of the Day

Hozier - Jackie and Wilson

every version of me dead and buried in the yard outside,
sit back and watch the world go by

Song of the Day

AURORA - Runaway

and i was running far away
would i run off the wall someday?
nobody knows, nobody knows

Closing Time

Less than a month separates me and Terminal Four.

I don't really know how I'm feeling.

There's a part of me that absolutely thrilled to be going home. I'm ready for the bitter winter that North Carolina always delivers; I'm ready for the inevitable running hugs that my family will receive from me; I'm ready for my bed, my comforter, my pillow, my familiarity that I've missed over the last two months.

Sleep isn't really something that concerns me anymore, so I've found that losing myself in reading and writing and running along the rainy pavement of the Southbank is a better way for me to pretend I'm not a live zombie. Most of the time it's just me going through the motions - wake up (or just get out of bed, sleepless), go to class, hop on a random bus and find a cheap cafe to eat lunch in, and then go home. My schoolwork is just a steady stream of essays that seems to grow more and more intimidating the longer I put them off.

(Which is what I'm doing right now.)

That being said, I still can't bring myself to be excited to be leaving this city. I've seen things that I know I'll never be able to experience again in my lifetime. These last few months and everything I've seen and heard and felt have kind of solidified my hope to relocate here, either temporarily or permanently. In this lifetime, I want to call this place my home. In this lifetime, I want to feel homesick for this place.

ak

Song of the Day

The Black Keys - Little Black Submarines

treasure maps, fallen trees
operator, please
call me back when it's time

Song of the Day

Pink Floyd - Hey You

hey you, out there on the road

always doing what you're told,

can you help me?

Song of the Day

Neil Young - Down by the River

you take my hand,
i'll take your hand,
together we may get away

Song of the Day

Led Zeppelin - Achilles' Last Stand

it was an April morning when they told us we should go,
and as i turned to you, you smiled at me
how could we say no?

11.09.15

Song of the Day

Fleetwood Mac - The Chain

i can still hear you saying
you would never break the chain

What A Feeling

Been a while.

I'd say that I had a valid excuse for not posting anything, but I really don't. I hope this can make up for it.

Reading Week came and went. I ended up taking one more day trip to Oxford, which was equally as lovely as Dover. The city itself is pretty much comprised of a bustling center filled with university students and tourists. The University of Oxford (also known as my dream school once upon a time when I thought I could make a career out of English literature) is spread out over the city limits, each college having its own building. Additionally, there's the Radcliffe Camera and Bodleian Library, the latter of which houses the Divinity School (think the Infirmary from the Harry Potter films).

The Radcliffe Camera

I was sufficiently geeking out all day.

After lunch a little cafe (which was a pizza bagel) I continued along and went to Christchurch Meadows. It had that timeless feel to it; the history of the city practically radiated through the gravel path. A quaint river ran parallel to the walkway with athletic fields on the other side. It was clear that the city had created a home from the meadow, fully integrated into people's lives as easily as a morning commute to work. I didn't have time to go to the church itself, but the glimpses of the courtyard I caught as I passed the gates showed it's definitely worth a trip.

Christchurch Meadows

These day trips got me through the week but now that classes have started back up again, I'm feeling that itch to get home again. Not that I'm ready to leave London; I'm just at that point where I'm becoming comfortable with the idea that I've had fun and I still have so much to do and see, but I'm happy with the fact that I'll be home soon. The connection that I've developed with this city is unreal; I know that when I come back in the future it'll be like coming home again. But for now, I think I'm okay with cruising through this last month with the assured promise that I'll be back home in no time.

Song of the Day

Ray LaMontagne - Burn

yes, and try to ignore
all this blood on the floor,
it's just this heart on my sleeve
that's bleeding

Destination: White Cliffs of Dover

Saturday was my first official day of Reading Week. I capitalize Reading Week for two reasons: one, it's an official week dedicated to catching/getting ahead on assignments for students; and two, because it marks the halfway point of the term.

It's a bit surreal to think that something I've thought about doing since I was eleven years old is already halfway over. It's one of those things that you know is going to happen but you still expect it to just... not. Like graduating from high school. Getting married. Losing someone you love.

Reading Week can be a Big Deal for some - the majority of the people I've met are off traveling around Europe with their respective friends and family. But I'm still here in London, writing this post on a Tuesday morning. On Saturday, however, I made the trip down to Dover via train for the day.

Dover is a tiny little port city in Kent on the southeastern coast of the English mainland. When I told my friends I was going to see the white cliffs, they looked at me in confusion. They had never heard of them before, which in turn took me by surprise. Surely they'd seen the pictures, right? The white standing cliffs with the beautiful light blue ocean crashing against their resilient form, and the sky so close in color that the horizon blends into the sea? But no, they were clueless.

It takes about an hour by train and the views are beautiful; there was a moment when the train vanished in a tunnel under something but then reemerged into the cold, 9 AM morning to reveal a beautiful view of the seaside. It's one of those Very Beautiful Things in the Universe you can only really experience as a surprise; you never expect to be gifted with the serenity of the ocean, but then it appears and you're stunned into silence.

Departing the station and finding the cliffs wasn't easy. It's about a 2-mile walk from Dover Priory Station to the beginning of the incline, but there's marked pathways and a beautiful scenic stroll just along the shore. I felt like I was inside one of those sound machines--the ones with the cartoonish seagull squawks and the over-exaggerated ocean sounds.

I made it up the cliffs with relative ease, albeit huffing and puffing as I climbed. But the views immediately made everything worth it. It's like, every time you think you've found the best view, you can keep walking along the edge of the cliff and you'll find an even more breathtaking spot. Everything is blanketed in a sea of the greenest, freshest grass imaginable just up until you get to the edge of the cliff. The white rocks of the cliff faces are such a stark contrast to the grass that you'd think someone painted them. But the cliffs give way to the stunning English channel that goes on forever in most places; there's a stretch of land just visible on the other side--that's the French coastline.

I felt like I was on the Edge of the World.

Now, I must put a disclaimer here that I was by myself on this trip; that being said, I encourage more people to do things by themselves. While the company of another person is welcoming (comforting, even), being by yourself only encourages you to be more aware of your environment. All of your attention is on what surrounds you. When that's the case, you can really see everything.

I stood on the cliffs for about two hours. This was my Big Deal, you see; this is what I came to experience. I asked a stranger to take photos of me--for aesthetic reasons, of course--and then I had a delicious slice of apple cake and a cup of tea at the visitors' center. Then I walked the two miles back to the station, got on my train, and headed back to St. Pancras International in London.

Song of the Day

One Direction - Home 

i was stumbling,
looking in the dark
with an empty heart

Song of the Day

Little May - Boardwalks

Somebody told me you were leaving town,
I swear I never thought you'd be the one who'd let me down

ignore this tbh

42 days.

I'm nearing the halfway mark in my adventure abroad, and it's slowly starting to seem less like an exciting journey of self-discovery and more like a meticulous balance between eagerness and exhaustion. You see all these people posting their photos on Facebook showing their trips to Ireland, France, Germany, and the like. I personally came to London for London itself. I've gained so much knowledge about the city and the people and the transport and the way of life for commuters. But what you see in pictures is only 20 percent of it.

The truth of the matter is that I'm tired.

Some days I don't want to get out of bed because I can't wake up to the sound of my family messing about in the kitchen. That's another 20 percent of my days. Another 30 comes from me actually wanting to get up and explore and go places that I've only dreamed about. And yet, I haven't left London.

Studying abroad seems like an incredible opportunity - and it is. I don't want to diminish its excitement for people who think this is something they'd want to do in the future, but the reality of the situation is that it's not all butterflies and rainbows all the time. I'm past the adrenaline rush and now I'm suffering from a severe crash in energy and motivation. It's life, I guess.

I have the next week off for Reading Week and I'm going to try to recharge myself and power through the next 6 weeks before I'm headed home. I'm going to the White Cliffs of Dover on Saturday; hopefully I'll return with a better outlook and a refreshed mindset.

ak x

Song of the Day

City and Colour - Northern Wind

i'm the darkest hour just before the dawn,
and i'm slowly sinking into the slough of despond

Hampstead Heath

Though it's only one month into my stay here in London, I've narrowed down my top three favorite places to be.

3) My bed. Because, obviously.

2) On a double decker bus. There's something about moving idly through London traffic while still getting to see so many different sides to the city that's oddly calming.

1) Hampstead.

I went to Hampstead again today, this time venturing a little bit farther north than I was anticipating. Obviously the area is huge, but I never imagined I'd be able to spend over three hours just walking around. I ended up going to Hampstead Heath, the park that spans over 300 acres and has some of the highest points in the city.

It's a quaint area, filled with greenery and man-made bathing lakes that are occupied by various birds at any given moment. Patches of forest are as equally scattered as are sprawling fields of grass. You'll find dog-walkers and runners and couples and the occasional photographer toting bags of equipment for those picturesque views. I walked blindly, not really sure of where exactly I wanted to go. Similar to Primrose Hill, there's a peak in the park that offers a breathtaking view of the neighboring towns as well as the London skyline. But this one was so much more.

I spent two hours in Hampstead Heath. Taking photos, finding little nooks and crannies that may have yet to be documented on a map. My boots were thoroughly muddied by the end of it, but when I sat down on the Northern line train to go home, they were the least of my worries.

Song of the Day

Ben Howard - Conrad

We will never be the change
To the weather and the sea
And you knew that

North London: A Walk

There's a quotation inscribed at the top of Primrose Hill written by William Blake.

"I conversed with the spiritual Sun. I saw him at Primrose Hill."

Immediately after leaving the Belsize Park tube station in North London, I felt a calmness within me that I had yet to feel since getting here. Sure, the constant thrum of engines and voices filtering through my window is quite an intense difference between CH and London. But as quiet as it can get back home, there was something different about this silence. It had a natural sort of reticence; I was almost afraid of making too much noise.

After grabbing a tea from Chamomile Cafe (which is a definite must-try if you're ever in the Hampstead area), I set off. There was nothing in particular that stood out to me other than the intricacy of some of the buildings, but it was very evident that it was a very family oriented area. Relatively deserted for the most part, probably due to the fact that it was the middle of the day on a Thursday.

It was Eid-ul-Adha that day, and I was alone. I thought that my first time experiencing the holiday by myself would bring nothing but sadness. And as I kept walking I had a fleeting thought that maybe that would hold true. But then I saw the sign for Primrose Hill Road and something pulled me down that way. When I came to the entrance of the park - a modest little gate that sits just at the bottom of the north side of the hill itself - I kept going.

Climbing up wasn't a struggle, but I took my time. It was only until I saw the looking point with a few people sitting on the benches. Curious, I soldiered on.

You can see all of London from that hill. The Eye, the tips of Parliament, the Shard. It's breathtaking. It's ethereal.

After taking a few photos of the skyline I sat down. The quotation was stuck in my head - I found myself wanting to have a conversation with the sun. And then it came - no, it arrived. It made a grand entrance with supreme extravagance. And on a day that I was truly alone, I found warmth in the sunshine.

"I conversed with the Spiritual Sun. I saw him at Primrose Hill."

Song of the Day

Gabrielle Aplin - Keep on Walking

all that glitters is not gold,
from the bruises flowers grow

LFW and a New Start

The last week has consisted of running around central London trying to track down my fashion faves. Unfortunately I had no earthly means of getting into any London Fashion Week shows, but that didn't mean I didn't enjoy taking in the scenery and events that were going on. Having shifted from Somerset House (which was located directly next to my campus... not bitter or anything) to the Brewer Street Carpark in Soho, there was definitely a new aesthetic approach to this season.

Though there's an air of intimidation surrounding everyone, my first fashion week experience was quite exciting. It was interesting to see the actual changing trends in womenswear be displayed right in front of me. The majority of the people I saw were toting mint-green lanyards and heavily priced cameras, but the day I went to the Topshop Unique show I managed to see some familiar faces in the British Fashion Sphere™(think Alexa Chung, Poppy Delevingne, Bella Hadid, etc.). Later that same evening I went to the Louis Vuitton Series 3 Exhibition Launch, where I managed to grab glimpses of Tanya Burr Douglas Booth, Cara Delevingne, and Selena Gomez.

Needless to say it was an exciting few days.

But now I'm settling back into the routine of getting up and going to places that are actually important. Like school. Being an exchange student does offer a little bit of a different experience, but the students at King's College are very much similar to the students back home: sleep-deprived, anxious, and steadily unamused at the world.

I feel right at home.

"Eurydice" - Sue Hubbard

Located on the wall of the Waterloo underpass, this poem was painted along the walkway as a way for pedestrians to feel safe while they crossed underneath the street. It uses the analogy of Eurydice descending into the Underworld as a way to remind us that though we often fall into these pits of seemingly unending despair, there is always a light at the end of the tunnel. There are always stairs that lead to something higher, something better than where we are right now. The underpass itself is a brightly lit area in an otherwise grey part of London. There's a certain melancholiness to the poem; it reminds me that there are moments when life is beautiful and there are moments when life is sad.

Read more about the Underpass project here.

ak

"Eurydice" by Sue Hubbard

I am not afraid as I descend,
step by step, leaving behind the salt wind
blowing up the corrugated river,

the damp city streets, their sodium glare
of rush-hour headlights pitted with pearls of rain;
for my eyes still reflect the half remembered moon.

already your face recedes beneath the station clock,
a damp smudge among the shadows
mirrored in the train’s wet glass,

will you forget me? Steel tracks lead you out
past cranes and crematoria,
boat yards and bike sheds, ruby shards

of roman glass and wolf-bone mummified in mud,
the rows of curtained windows like eyelids
heavy with sleep, to the city’s green edge.

Now I stop my ears with wax, hold fast
the memory of the song you once whispered in my ear.
Its echoes tangle like briars in my thick hair.

You turned to look.
Second fly past like birds.
My hands grow cold. I am ice and cloud.

This path unravels.
Deep in hidden rooms filled with dust
and sour night-breath the lost city is sleeping.

Above the hurt sky is weeping,
soaked nightingales have ceased to sing.
Dusk has come early. I am drowning in blue.

I dream of a green garden
where the sun feathers my face
like your once eager kiss.

Soon, soon I will climb
from this blackened earth
into the diffident light.

Day 1

Our arrival in London is more than just getting here and getting settled in. I feel as though I've walked enough to cover the distance between home and here at least four times. But today has proved to be just a taste of what I'm going to expect for the next three months. I'm excited. I'm nervous.

First stop was to go to Paddington, which put us in the middle of all the hustle and bustle of the city. Nothing's really changed since I was here last, but there wasn't that sense of urgency that I'd always assumed there would be. Maybe it had something to do with the weather - a rare sunny day in an otherwise overcast environment. A little while later we emerged from the tube station Camden Town - London's eccentric side; the part of the city that people come to live and learn and forget. The buskers were lovely.

Now we've taken residence in Southwark, where locals frequent The Old School Yard in hoards of boozed-up twenty-somethings, ironically enough. It's midnight now, and tomorrow is the beginning of a lot of things.

Side note: my favorite bun shop in Bayswater is now closed. An unfortunate turn of events, but asi es la vida.

ak

5

"To enjoy life we must touch much of it lightly."

-Voltaire


There's a lot going through my head right now - lots of positive energy for sure, but there's still something else. Something's tugging at the base of my skull, but not hard enough to throw my head back in pain and lose my footing. But it's still there, pulling away ever so lightly. I'm curious to find out if it'll increase as the days go on but with only 5 days left until I leave, I'm not sure that I'm very keen on finding out.

It's a push and a pull, but I don't know which will give out first.


ak

The Old Smoke - a London series

I've always been drawn to the aura of big cities. There's something about the hustle and bustle of it all - the car horns blaring through the never-ending traffic; the steady hum of voices that seem to carry all the way up to the roof of the highest skyscrapers; the people, always having somewhere to go, something to do, someone to see. It's thrilling, isn't it?

London isn't a stranger to me. But I've never truly experienced the sentimentality of a place that practically drips with memories. Not my own, of course - aside from a few painful excursions with tour groups - but I want it to leave a mark on me. Not the other way around. I want to be embellished by what London has to offer. I want it to treat me like a project; an experiment, a shapeable, moldable figure that weathers the elements and comes out like a diamond that was once just sand.

I know I'm being overly ornamental with my words, but I'm determined to embrace my inner creativity that's dying to escape. North Carolina only holds so much for the writer and as picturesque as Chapel Hill is, I'm looking for something more. Hopefully this journey across the pond will give me what I want.

ak