Reflections

Yesterday solidified the thoughts I've had about London for a while. Reflecting on the past 6 months that haven't been particularly happy, I had a quick chat with a Reykjavikian barista who'd lived in London for 6 years. And as he was talking, saying how ill and tired he felt there, the erratic pace of life, the shitty apartments and poor pay, I realised even better how I had come to London thinking I would love it (don't get me wrong, it is still one my favourite places in the whole world), refused to see what a negative impact it had on me, and ended up chasing someone else's dream. Sure, London had always loomed in the back of my mind since I was a 12-year-old wide eyed, idealistic little girl. It sounded glamorous, real, edgy. It sounded like achievement, like restaurant dinners and concerts. It sounded like something to brag about, something to write home about: 'see how far I've come!' But my 12-year-old self didn't understand how tiresome it could get, how frustrating. For the past 6 months my thoughts have been repeating themselves over and over: 'I want to stop and breathe. I just want to go somewhere where I can breathe.'

I refuse to settle and be unhappy - so even if I may not be as wide eyed as I once was, I sure as hell will hold on to my ideals. So in the new year, I think I'd like to be somewhere smaller, closer to nature.