I don't want to break up

Ever since I passed the halfway mark of my stay here in England, everything's been tinged with a slight shade of obsession. Every experience here has tasted oh so sweet, and since the halfway point, I've become even more obsessed with everything.

The past two nights, however, I felt truly, deeply sad about leaving. I've known the end's been nearing for a while, but I'm already missing what I've barely felt.
Last night, I went out with my housemate and his beautiful, free-spirited, angsty friends to Ruby Tuesdays at the Origins Bar on campus. Ruby Tuesdays happens each Tuesday, and it's the one night a week they play only indie/alt/rock music all night -- right up my alley. As I was flailing my arms about, dancing to "Go Your Own Way" by Fleetwood Mac (from one of my favorite albums ever), I couldn't help but throw my head back, smiling and wanting to cry. Every British or international/indie/hipster/angsty/'nobody understands me' kid was dancing around in lace-up boots, denim vests, indie band t-shirts, and freedom. I belonged. But at the same time, it felt like I was looking through a window at their world. I won't ever be a part of their world again, come two and a half week's time. This world was all I imagined a little British corner of the world to be. I finally got to live it, finally started finding my way around it. And now I have to leave it all behind. 

2.5 weeks. 

I'm crying- cue "Never Going Back Again"

And then tonight, out at Whetherspoon's, the cheap classic old student pre-drinking/hang out bar in town, drinking a sex-on-the-beach out of a paint can, admiring accents and fashion I'm not here long enough to have fully incorporated into my wardrobe, I felt myself peering in through the window again. 

I won't be here anymore.

This won't be my life. I'll never get to live these moments again. I barely started. I know I've lived the most of my experience, but I feel like I've barely started. 

I'm crying- cue anything from the Perks soundtrack (just watched it here, I didn't need anything else to make me a mess..)

Then there are my housemates, who've unobtrusively paved their way into my heart. My Swedish housemate and our deep talks, laughs, dreams- she's now my sister.  My French housemate, his loving ridiculous ways, his affection and unknowing humor- a brother. And the other two, the only freshman in the house, I've grown to admire their quirks, despite the fact that both of their cooking sends fumes into my upstairs bedroom, resulting in bacon-and-curry smelling clothing errday. These people are part of the stability in this British Uni life I've come to love. I can't leave them. AND TO THINK that someone else will be coming into my room, room D, and replacing me?? It's just absurd. I won't have it.

I've fallen hard and fast. I can't deal with this break up.

Chronicles of living with a French dude

• The cigarette smoke smell continuously billowing from under his bedroom door
• The fact that he always has a lady friend around, and never has trouble finding new ones.
• He bakes his own bread. In our nasty ass kitchen.
• His accent. Oh his endearing accent.
• The image of him running into the kitchen this morning, shirt unbuttoned, hair tousled, neck hickey-laden, and half-smoked cigarette clutched by his lips- with a bowl of risen dough in his hands, which he kept in his bedroom, now ready for the oven.
• He bought a desktop and computer circa 1998 because he broke his laptop on the train coming home from France one weekend. The same trip where he got lost en route to France, got stranded in the early morning at a god-forsaken train station, and was let into the closed ticket office by a janitor so he wouldn't freeze to death. 
• He has a band. 
• "You bring a boy to ze house until six-therthy AM and you don't have sex with him? Why, S, why."
• He is too cool for school. Literally. 
• He is a loving housemate, and I'm so happy to call him my friend. He also ups my street cred in these parts, so I can't complain. 

Damnit. But awesome.

Another one of those nights that ends up in a completely unanticipated way (not that most nights here don't turn out like that..).

Wouldn't have it any other way.

Oh except crap, I'm supposed to be done having this kind of sleep-draining fun, and working more. Damnit.

And how does a boy enter your head and take over your thoughts without permission, huh? I told my emotions to stay aside, and it worked... for a few minutes. Damnit.

Light-Bulb

"For example, Erikson believed that having a fully formed sense of self (established during the identity versus confusion stage) is essential to being able to form intimate relationships. Studies have demonstrated that those with a poor sense of self tend to have less committed relationships and are more likely to suffer emotional isolation, loneliness, and depression.

Erikson believed it was vital that people develop close, committed relationships with other people. Success leads to strong relationships, while failure results in loneliness and isolation."

This was me, for 2 years of college, up until about last month.

I'm still struggling with this concept though, and it takes conscious effort me to be myself, love myself, and know that I am worthy of being loved, uncertainties and self-doubts included.

I finally get that I may never have my epiphanic moment, lighting up a path that I feel my soul is destined to follow.

And that's just fine.

Again, as I'm pretty sure I've written about before, that path of mine is going to be a squiggly, dirty, mistake-laden, growth-filled one. I'll get wherever I'm going to get, but it really is the journey that's important to me: all the people I hope to help in the curves of my path, all the places I hope to give a piece of my heart to, but hopefully keeping it just as full.

Please don't let yourself become stagnant. Please. Not until you're ready for it, not until stagnancy becomes your happiness. You'll know when that day comes, just don't think it has to come so soon, like you once hoped.

Porcupines

Last night, for the first Friday night since being abroad, I attempted to sleep early (ed: not true, I tried to sleep early when I had to go to London at 7am a few weeks back. Not important).

Anyways, the following simile went through my head, as I lay in bed trying to drown out the noise of Uni students who were having the fun I was supposed to be having (but decided against, because I was tired and needed to wake up early and work on my million word essays. Again, not important):

Attempting to sleep early on a Friday night is like trying to get a porcupine to wear a tuxedo.

Whaaeett?

And that, my friends, is probably why I chuckle in my sleep (which, according to the 4 roommates I've had in college, happens).

'Wine for the soul'

The first Thanksgiving, in 21 years, without family. Without blood relatives, that is.

Though unconventional, I'm celebrating with a group of UC students here at Kent, doing a lovely potluck for a group including our housemates, friends, etc. Our group's up to about 27 people as of this morning- all I can say is BLESS Lital for opening up her kitchen and attempting the turkey.

I don't know if I'm supposed to be missing home right now, but the weird(?) thing is that I'm not. I'm perfectly content to be spending this familial holiday with a new family thousands of miles away from home, giving thanks for the past few months I've had the opportunity to live. My mind can't seem to stop lingering towards the finish line of this chapter of life. It's rather depressing, but considering I still enjoy every day here, smile despite having 10,000 words to submit and an exam to study for, and find beauty in [almost] every thing and every one, I'd have to say I'm one lucky girl.

And that's what this day is about, right? Giving thanks for all of this, all of where I am now, rats living in floor boards, broken washing machines, and all. Because never once would it be alright to take this experience, or this life, for granted. As preachy as I know it sounds, I am so lucky. I am so lucky to get to live without the harrowing struggles millions face every day. My gratitude is eternal. 

So thank you, family, friends, everyone.  

P.S. My friend Asya posted this quotation from Rumi the other day (I too love Rumi): 

"Gratitude is the wine for the soul. Go on. Get drunk."

Dirty Dancing

It's 4:39 am. Just returned from the most glorious, feisty, freeing night at a club in London for their Salsa takeover night. I went with Kent's Salsa Society. I am officially in love and addicted to Salsa and Cuban dancing.

Don't ever stop, Sheila. It's such great fun. And considering it's all  "LA Style Salsa," I'm pretty sure I'll be able to find venues that host Salsa-ing back home.. lol

I would write more on this, but my body aches, I stink, so I need to roll on over to the shower then hit the hay.

Edinbur-uh

An incredible weekend. In love with yet another city, its expression of Autumn. The accents. The cold. The surface level experience I had with Edinburgh this weekend was enough to remind me, yet again, that I have so much love to give and accept from this world. 

"Forget safety.
Live where you fear to live.
Destroy your reputation.
Be notorious."
-Rumi

Note to self

It's been a while. I haven't felt as compelled to write recently, and I don't know if that's because I've been busy travelling and living, or if I'm just becoming complacent and too comfortable here. I hope it's the former, because I have feared the latter since before even coming to England. I do admit to becoming less excited about the every detail in my surroundings as I was at the start of my experience- but this was expected. It's only normal (and healthy, really) to become accustomed and adapted to whatever new environment you call home. But part of me wants the August Sheila to come back with a vengeance, and make the most of the 5 weeks I have left here.

I have 5 weeks left.

That's it.

If that's not the most depressing statement I could hear right now I don't know what is (ok duh obviously I could name a million and a half more terrible statements, but work with me guilty Conscience).

I think I fear complacency so much so because I've gotten over the halfway mark in my England experience without even realizing it. Granted so much happened in the first 6 weeks that so much can still happen- but I feel like the impending deadline is causing me to retreat a little from my typical bright-eyed, enthusiastic, willing self. And that would be such a shame. I need to consciously make an effort to continue building the relationships I've started here, and hopefully be more willing to start new ones. I can't give up so soon, that would be so much wasted time here.

I think this feeling of complacency also sprung up from talking with a couple girls from back home who are also studying abroad in the UK, as well as talking to a friend here at Kent. I eagerly listen[ed] to their tales and experiences, and somehow that led me to feeling worse about my wonderful experience. It's as if they highlight the things my experience has been lacking, as if I should be doing more of this or more of that. It's a terrible funk my brain gets into, especially because I've given my all (pretty much) to my time here so far. I've met incredible people, gone on ridiculously awesome trips, have had so much fun at society events and socials, and spontaneously meet and talk to people who brighten up and change my day. And simply being here, walking around, breathing- that gives my experience worth.

So, note to self: stop comparing yourself to others. If you are inspired by others in some way, then great. But if you are going to demean or undermine yourself because of your perspective of what you think someone else is experiencing, then just slap yourself in the face and give yourself a hug. Because you are worthy of happiness, and you've been working damn hard to attain it.