on the other side of the pond
June 22, 2011
Perhaps this is how you write a blog post. Sitting on a suitcase at Gare du Nord. 50 kilos of bags splayed about you, a bottle of wine, a plastic cup, a sandwich au saucisson et fromage suisse sur pain campagnard, the voice on the intercom reminding you not to leave your luggage unattended and that it is prohibited to smoke on the premises.
Perhaps this is how you write a blog post. Completely knackered after a month of packing and planning and purging and saying goodbye and pining and trying to stay present and hoping for the best and wondering if you’re nuts, if you should have thought this through a little more yet knowing that the answer to that question is no.
Perhaps this is how you write a blog post. From the plane, after watching the sun rise in the 2am of your mind, knowing that you are heading towards that time zone, those 5 hours ahead, closing the gap with every mile.
Perhaps this is how you write a blog post. After a homeless man begs for a euro and everyone walking by seems to know what they are doing and where they are heading and you wonder where he is going to sleep tonight.
Perhaps this is how you write a blog post. With a few glasses under your belt.
Perhaps this is how you write a blog post. With the realization that this is the start of something new. This is not a vacation. This is both a departure and an arrival.
Perhaps this is how you write a blog post. Hours (HOURS) before seeing the man you love, whom you haven’t seen in far too long and maybe you’re a little nervous because maybe you’ve been thinking about this moment for months. The moment. When you see him. And your grin grows inches wide and he hugs you and you know that everything leading up to this was so worth it.
Perhaps this is how you write a blog post. After weeks of absence and not really having a clue what it is you want to say.
Perhaps this is how you write a blog post. With all the fear and the passion that is trapped inside you right now.
Perhaps this is how you write a blog post. Without thinking too much about it. Scribbling and letting go. Scribbling and letting go.
June 29, 2011
Here I am, 7 days later, in his flat, slowly making my way back down to earth after a whirlwind of… well, everything. It’s been a pretty constant flurry of activity since I’ve arrived, from this delicious woman’s wedding at this amazing countryside venue to long walks in Hampstead Heath, lying in tall grasses, picnicking on sandwhiches and sipping Champagne (or something like it), stripping down to my knickers and swimming in cold rivers, eating more bacon than I have in the past decade, attending the most random brotherhood gathering of drunken intellectuals and artists at the Art Worker’s Guild (it was all very Harry Potter, with just as many cloaks and a lot more wine), going to this Punchdrunk performance (best 6 quid I’ve ever spent), trying on hats at Noel Stewart’s Studio for an upcoming wedding (it doesn’t get more British than that), digging the domesticity, patronizing more pubs than I can count, sitting at the loveliest fairy lit table chez Miss Leonie and sharing a meal with this gorgeous Californian and the newlyweds. And sleep. So much glorious sleep. Seriously, I feel like I’ve fallen into a vat of liquid valium.
Life in London so far? Pretty damn awesome!
As for the British Boy and I, our love is different this time. We’ve ended one chapter and are entering a new one where I feel free to fully express, to fully feel my love for him because I know there is no end to it in 10 days or 2 weeks, that it won’t be followed by that insufferable separation. I try to live in the present, I do, but cells have memories and they remember heartache. Every time we’ve seen each other in the past, I couldn’t help thinking… one day down, only 7-6-5… left to go until one of us hops on a plane again. This time, the sweet is not tainted with bitter. I’m here… indefinitely. So now, I can let go.
I got spare keys to his place cut this morning. I have my Oyster card and a UK phone number. Check it out peeps… I’m blogging from London.
And so it begins…