A decade in London
Ten years ago to the day I arrived in London.
I’ve had some of my darkest days in this town. Days where I’ve felt the excruciating pierce of loneliness with an intensity that left me retching and writhing in the grip of panic. I’ve loved here and I’ve lost here, and it has hurt more because of this prickly place. This city is ruthless, unforgiving; harsh. It spits its rain at you, beats you up with wind…bites you to the bone with cold. It wraps you in darkness, pushes you deep down into the abyss. You have to fight it with light, one beam at a time.
And when you’re just about to give up on London, when you threaten to leave and never return, she lures you back in. She’ll show you her view as you cross the Millennium Bridge and it takes your breath away. London gives you the Tate Modern, the V&A, the Barbican. There’s Fabric and Koko and Roundhouse. And the Royal Albert Hall. It’s a free education, and you feel so grateful and you look, and you listen and you learn and you grow. And you promise you’ll never leave, because the entire world is in this one city and it’s all yours for the taking.
And you walk down Green Lanes and you’re hungry so you go to Turkey (with your taste buds). Or maybe Vietnam, because the pho is so good, and the summer rolls make you want to know more about the hands that made them. Did they come here, like you, to learn about the world? Or were they forced to flee, with no choice? Maybe they didn’t even know where they were going. Just got on a boat or a plane, or maybe even the back of a lorry.
I’ve met an entire world in this city. People from everywhere, and people from nowhere. I’ve learned about places I didn’t even know existed, and one or two times, even went to see them for myself. I’ve met Kosovans, and Poles, and people from the Caribbean. The first time I met someone from Jamaica, I told him I thought it was cool, and he asked me why, and I didn’t really know. I‘d just never met anyone from Jamaica before. And since then I’ve met people from Azerbaijan, and Syria, and France and Germany too. And we’re all the same, human beings, we’re just people trying to make our way in this world. And in London you can do that. Because it’s London, where life melds with love and walks a fine line between death and hate, and you realise that it’s all two sides of the same coin. And that’s comforting.
I’ve had my highest days in London. Cycling through Victoria Park, along the Regent’s Canal and all the way up to Primrose Hill. A view that most would pay for, there at my feet. I’ve danced until the early hours to music created by gifted souls who share themselves with anyone, who they lift up with their beats and their rhythm, laced with life. Music that makes you feel like you will live forever.
I’ve shared a kiss with a stranger at a bus stop at 2 in the morning. Just because I was happy and drunk and felt like I was riding a unicorn. I knew it was cheesy but I didn’t care because this was London and in London anything goes. I walked to the nearest bar and had a whisky and felt like Joan of Arc.
Sometimes I feel like a rat in the underground. It’s another world down there. People scurrying along to wherever they’ve got to be. Maybe it’s work, or maybe they’re hustling, or maybe they’re running far, far away. And nobody cares because you’re anonymous down there, in the under part of the underground. And I’m still not used to the black snot, or the perpetual tickle in the back of my throat. I worry about my lungs and the dirty air but it’s all part of the London experience.
I do miss the stars. I miss true darkness. Not the kind that wraps around you and strangles you, but the kind that makes you feel free and reminds you of your insignificance in this mysterious, magical galaxy. To see the stars is a privilege. If you can see them now, be grateful.
I met the love of my life in London. On Tinder. Because that’s how you meet people in London. We met for a coffee at 4pm on a cold February afternoon 3 years ago, and ended up slow dancing to dubstep in the basement of the Ace Hotel at 4 in the morning. That’s my London. That’s my love, and I’m marrying him in a couple of months.
Who knows if I’ll stay another ten years? It was meant to be just a year or maybe two, and I’m still here in a perpetual state of transience. I’ve never put down roots. I’ve moved house almost every year I’ve been in this city. I don’t have a lot of stuff and I kind of like it that way.
So London, give me all you’ve got. Let’s see how much more of you I can take.