Romanticizing The Mundane

March 31, 2018

The chip on the corner wall of your flat in Kensington that you don’t want to fix because you want to remember it for all the imperfections it was; this time next year home will no longer be home but a permanent memory and a thousand miles away. Spontaneous brunch dates with girlfriends you haven’t heard from in a while and promising to meet up next week even though neither of you will remember but it doesn’t matter. They have so much to tell you and you probably haven’t wiped tears off your face from laughter like this in ages. Loose change cradling in the small pocket of your favourite pair of denim and the opportune buying of flowers for yourself. A dress from a date night that smells like his cologne mixed with a hint of nostalgia. Scribbled nonsensical poetry all over the study table among the myriad of carefully crafted law school notes. The look on their faces everytime you meet new people and you tell them where you’re actually from, “Why do you sound so American,” they’ll always say. Booking a trip to the Caribbean because the addiction is real. Wondering how the drifting nomad in you got tamed into settling for the calm life. Overpriced coffee infused with cinnamon in one hand, and a book in the other on a Tuesday at a hidden pavement café that you’ll most likely never be able to find again. The certainty in knowing you want to be with one person for the rest of your days. Soho strolls and a vegeterian burrito for one between work breaks. When you fail to remember the last time your day was stripped of a schedule; but that’s okay because it only is a matter of a few months until you are liberated from the woes of law school. The feeling of not having to layer up underneath your jacket because it’s twelve degrees outside; but don’t get your hopes up just yet, there’s going to be snow showers and minus temperatures towards the end of the week and that’s England weather for you. Acquiring a taste for wearing expensive Italian sunglasses on the underground just to avoid human conversation at all costs because that is the kind of jaded London does to you. Dark trench coats and waxed jackets and thick, condescending British accents. The absurdity of having fallen back in love with a city you never fit in nor wanted to settle in. Soon enough, you find yourself staring at passports that’s run out of pages and one way tickets back home so you tear up just a little bit inside knowing that this time around, you’ll be gone for good.

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