After rereading my first blog post, I’m surprised that I’m writing this particular post this early in my journey. In reality, I never expected to write this. If you know me well, you know that I love a few things of this world very much: my family, my country and my school. Over the past two years, these things have more or less made up my definition at home. With that being said, I’m shocked to now be able to call London my home.
You see, everything I hold dear, everything that I really care about, and everything that is comforting and normal to me is across an ocean. I can’t feasibly talk to my family on a regular basis, I’m the furthest removed from the University of Tennessee since I began my time as a college student, and I live in a country that worships the furthest thing from American democracy (the British Royal family). Essentially, I never thought I’d truly grow to feel like I belong here.
I realized how wrong I was for the first time on my return trip from Munich. I didn’t miss Tennessee, I didn’t miss the Red, White, and Blue, and I didn’t even remember how much I missed my family. I missed 99 Great Russell Street, my home for this semester. I missed the Bloomsbury neighborhood, the fact that I can see glimpses of the entire world in a thirty-minute walk, and I missed the culture that I’ve grown to call my own.
At first, I dismissed this newfound paradigm as a one-time occurrence. After all, I’d definitely never felt any attachment before that moment. Since then, however, my love for London has only grown. From meeting random theater students to seeing world class shows from the front row, this week has been full of adventures that have shown me reason after reason to call this my home…for now at least.