Mind The Gap: How 8 Years of Living In London Transformed My Life.

Looking at the golden leaves from the trees on my street, I can see how October is back in London another year: the days get colder, my sore throat hits back as usual, and the time I leave the heater on gets a little bit longer.

Now I know how my body responds to the typical seasonal cycles of the London life I’ve led for the last eight years. And when October starts, I can’t help but reminiscing about the day I arrived to The Big Smoke. It’s a day I like to celebrate every year, just like a birthday.

This year was no different, and I had pancakes for brunch. It’s my favourite way of celebrating things.

Wrapped in a blanket, still recovering from my typical seasonal sore throat, I look at the golden trees through the window of the 1-bedroom flat I rent, and I can’t help but remembering the emotions of my 22-year-old self on that 10th of October, in 2013.

I was so scared. 

It was a Thursday, and I remember Mom and Sis took me to the airport. I still remember the tension I felt, and how much I wanted to relieve everyone. I still remember how tense the three of us were. And how much we were fighting to keep it together. To lighten things up.

I still remember the hug I gave to Sis right before crossing the security check, boarding pass in hand. 

I remember she broke down to tears in front of me, when I said goodbye. Mom passed her arm onto her shoulder and pulled her closer, in an attempt to soothe her tears.

‘I just don’t know when she’ll be back, I wouldn’t cry if I knew when she’s coming back. But I don’t know how long it will take us to see each other again’. She would say, as she sobbed. 

I remember I didn’t cry. Eight years ago, I would find easier to hide my sadness behind a smile instead of releasing it with tears. I wanted her to see me strong, brave.

I needed to keep it together for them. For me.

 I’m glad I don’t hide my sadness behind a smile anymore. 

 But, back then, I reacted as usual: smiling and giving the best-case scenario.

‘It’s only London! I’m sure I’ll be back soon, you’ll see.’

The truth is, I didn’t want to see the worst-case scenario. The truth is, my stomach was completely closed, my chest felt tight and my mind was constantly questioning what had I just done. I had no job, a thousand euros in my pocket and a one-way ticket to Gatwick.

But I was following my heart. 

That is what led me to London on that 10th of October in 2013. I was 22 and I was in love.

I had bought a one-way ticket to the city I had always dreamt of only two months before, as a result of a few conversations with the boyfriend I had met earlier in the year as an exchange student in Austria. 

The truth is, it was a decision I didn’t take long to take: I had just finished my degree in Translation and Interpreting, the boy I loved lived in London and I had no plans for the near future.

I was 22 and he was opening the doors to a new adventure, away from my hometown in southern Spain. 

My head was clear. I didn’t see the point in staying, and all the points signalled me to leave to uncertain London.

And even though my heart gave me the impulse, and my gut knew that was the step I had to take… for some reason, my gut also knew London wouldn’t be an easy ride. 

 At all. 

The Boy I Used To Love was finishing his final year at uni in London. He was keen to start a life together and the plan seemed easy, although deep down, my gut told me the relationship wouldn’t be that easy either. 

 But my learning style is pretty kinaesthetic, and I need to experience in order to learn effectively.

So I got on that plane hoping that the knot on my throat would disappear as soon as I landed at Gatwick airport that evening. I hoped to be my most adventurous self. I hoped to be as happy as I had pictured myself when I dreamt of living in London in my teens.  

My gut, my throat and my stomach were right, though. 

Little did I know that that day I would start a chapter of inner strength. Of resilience. 

Little did I know that I would learn very well the difference between loneliness and lonesomeness. 

That I would feel, suffer and understand both very well too. 

Little did I know I would begin a soul search that would take me 7 years to find. 

London has been my Saturn. My strict father. And for many years, I would refer to London in my writings as my ‘marriage of convenience’, my ‘implacable trainer’, my ‘strict teacher’. 

The city that doesn’t contemplate your suffering. 

For many years, I couldn’t see the joy in London. And I got very close to hate it. It would take my energy, my happiness, my light. It would make me feel small and lonely. Clumsy. Lazy. Lost. 

London can be so impersonal that it became a clear, transparent reflection of my emotional state. 

A blank canvas.

The good thing of London, though, is that it forces you to take every single bit of your strength to grow wings you never thought you had. After hitting rock bottom, I started to work relentlessly to figure myself out. I studied, wrote, drew and painted. Went to therapy. Worked on reigniting what made me feel alive.

I was eager to find my colour in that blank canvas.

And the best thing of strong wings is that with skill, they can fly very high. 

It wasn’t until I left the relationship with The Boy I Used To Love, when I discovered how wonderful London could be. 

I had to be alone to understand that my resentment and bitterness towards London were brought by a deep sense of loneliness.

It wasn’t until then when I feel for London again. When I felt comfortable enough to call it home. 

And even though I was alone, London didn’t make me feel lonely. 

That was the main reason why I chose to spend The First Lockdown alone in my room of London. Because, even though I was away from my family, I felt at home. 

Spending 2020 locked in London made me rediscover my concept of family, love and health.

And I’m so glad London was the city that saw my rebirth.

I’m so glad that I found in London the soul I thought I had lost. 

Looking back, London has always been my haven. Even when I thought it was my hell.

Eight years later, London means family. 

London means home, a home where all sorts of emotions are welcomed.

Eight years later, London tastes sweet, smells like cinnamon and feels as warm as a hug.

London is the storm and the rainbow. Darkness and Light.

Just as life.

And I’m grateful of having stayed long enough to create a beautiful, resilient and wholesome memory of a city that forced me to love myself to the core.

A city that forced me to believe in my strength, even when I thought I didn’t have it. 

That forced me to grow into the person I am today. 

I don’t know how long I will stay here, but my gut tells me London will always have a special place in my heart.