I felt like England was just a dream. For the majority of my time back in the US, the memories I had of England seemed to slip between the cracks of my mind. I had feelings there, I had people there, I had beautiful thoughts there. All of that seemed gone in what was a state of frenzy and panic, my present self back at UCLA fighting to stay afloat in this foreign yet all too familiar landscape.
But with technology (this blessing and a curse which I've discussed quite often with people) I've slowly revived or maintained the relationships I had in England. With Skype, Facebook, and emails, I've been able to keep up with that parallel universe in which I thought I had dropped out of forever.
I Skyped with Tammie from Kent today. Then I Skyped with my housemate Rebecka today, for 2.5 hours, and we still had lots more to talk about. I was able to sit with her at my kitchen table, she in her bedroom (which is adjoined to my old one), and feel the distance between us shrink. Then, miraculously, the distance between that life and this life simultaneously shrunk too!

 I realize that that life was very much a real thing. It was this life. I was me then and I am me now, I was optimistic and positive and appreciate of the beauty in the world then, and I am, and can be now, regardless of external factors. Rebecka and I clicked in almost every respect, but greatest of all I think was our ability to enjoy every slice of life. My time with her and everyone else in England was a series of beautiful vignettes that I carry tucked away in my pocket. She's my Swedish sister; hey! I have someone I'm close to in Sweden! Oh hey and in Denmark! And France! Oh oh don't forget England! And of course Santa Barbara and Sunnyvale! I, for too long, (okay 1 1/2 months isn't that long..) had lost my memories of England, perhaps from being in denial of the fact that that chapter of my life finally happened and came to a close. That was cynical Sheila uprooting, the one that is much too externally motivated. Well, cynical Sheila, you're stupid. And that's not fair to yourself. You lived, REALLY LIVED those 4 months. And you were happy. And you deserve to keep that part of your life with you.

Those people and that world are but a few clicks away. This world is both so much bigger and smaller. Bless poodle.

A Christmas Carol

It's Monday of 12th week; went inside the historic Canterbury Cathedral for the first time. I was [this   ] close to crying. My heart is so bloody full.

It was the University Carol Service tonight, and I was surrounded by a couple thousand students and staff, all [attempting] singing Christmas carols (the notes were so dang high, my sick voice had to keep jumping octaves! -_- what else is new). We all lit candles at two points during the service, and they turned the lights off, creating the most spectacular cloud of light and Christmas cheer.

Happy Christmas season, from this beautiful, old, loving English town.

Just another manic Monday, er Wednesday

Chipotle in London somehow tasted like rebirth. I basically cried as I ate my first burrito bowl in over 4 months. It was that rad.

I want to be a British football fan. Went to a Chelsea Champions League game, and HOLY COW was it awesome. Cursing Brits left and right, "zigah zagah zigah zagah oi oi oi" chanting, and the thrill of the game. It rocked. Too bad I support Swansea ;)

It snowed. Oh bless, it snowed. I went to sleep to a green, clear Canterbury (or rather laid awake in bed for 3 hours to the sounds of my housemate and his friends having fun and getting high, despite my asking for them to be quiet please 3 times... too bad he's my friend), and woke up thinking I'd be tired all day long because of my lack of sleep the night before. Well I checked my phone as I turned off my alarm, and my friend Aaron texted me some variation of "SNOW!" to which I proceeded to have the lowest expectations ever as I got up to open the blinds.

But no.

It was freakin' glorious. So absolutely beautiful. It was snowing pretty heavily, and seeing as this was only the second time in my life I had seen snow falling from the sky, I was elated. Nothing could bring me down. I basically jumped up and down and grabbed my camera and posted as fast as I could to Facebook (because this was news I just had to share with all my loved ones back home). Then I got dressed for my day in London and played in the snow and took pictures before Genna, Rita, Aaron and I headed to the train station.

And today it's all gone, save for some icy patches on the grass and in the shade. I am so thankful to have experienced some snow in Canterbury before leaving in two weeks, as snow in December is not a sure thing.

I'm dreaming of a white Christmas.

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.

Pointless rant.

BALLS.

 I hate writing myself in circles. I spent so much time preparing for my essay, finding evidence and outside arguments, and outlining my argument. Yet I still end up contradicting myself. I keep thinking "wait, I don't think any of this is right, let me just scrap the whole thing even though it's due in two days!" I've lost my grip on writing about literature over the past two years to my psychology and hard science courses. I just plain suck at this now.

Woe is me. lol

Nights like these

Nights (into mornings) like these remind me just how young and carefree I can be. And how I'm living my youth fully, yet being level-headed enough to not make choices I regret.

And it's not like I needed a cute boy to compliment me to remind me that I can be attractive, but it definitely does help bring back hope to what seemed like a dry spell in the boy department (well, amongst boys I'm attracted to back).

This is vague and sounding shallow, so I'll stop. But you remember this night at the Venue, girl.

No more complaining!

Finally made it to the library.
I've been productive.

I can do this.

And it doesn't hurt that I have the most pictaresque view from the 4th floor of the library, overlooking an Autumnal Canterbury, with hills and fog in the background.

So blessed. I shant e'er complain.

On academics..

I'm incredibly frustrating. I know what I need to do on weekdays when everyone's in class. I know when I should go to bed on weeknights when I'm not being productive and there isn't an event to be a part of. I know I should be productive in these rare times when there's nothing else going on.

But I can't! I just can't seem to work hard here. I can read a lot, I can work on a group presentation because the imminent pressure to impress my class and my partner and show my best is there. But when I have what presently seems like hours and hours to work on my essays (though I know putting things off will come bite me in the ass in like, two days), I just can't seem to stay focused for more than three minutes.

And I'm frustrating myself because I've been through this so many times before; I've been a freshman already, I have three years of university under my belt, and though I've never had this little class time and this much "independent work" (e.g. "Write us a 4,000 word essay on this topic you have almost no concrete knowledge of"), it's all the same. You lay out all the shit you have to do academically, you lay out all the fun things you want to do, and you plan out how you can do both, while still taking care of errands, sleeping, and leaving some squish room for spontaneity and the unexpected (which occur quite more often when studying in a foreign country).

But instead of following this simple little plan in prioritizing my time while abroad, my thought process is more like HOLY CRAP I'M IN A FOREIGN COUNTRY THIS IS SO COOL THERE ARE WAY TOO MANY THINGS I WANT TO SEE AND DO AND TASTE AND PEOPLE I WANT TO MEET AND BECOME FRIENDS WITH AND OH BTW I NEED TO GO FIND MYSELF AN IRISH HUSBAND OH I FEEL LIKE RUNNING THAT COUNTRY TRAIL THIS AFTERNOON OH WAIT SALSA DANCING TONIGHT YAYYYY I TOTALLY WANT TO GO OUT TO THE PUBS TONIGHT OH HOUSE PARTY SWEET FOOD MORE FOOD YAY SPONTANEOUS LIFE TALKS AND OTHER TALKS AND TALKING YAY TALKING LET'S PLAN ANOTHER TRIP SOMEWHERE. I can't possibly be bothered to work on anything academic now, right? What will I remember 20 years from now, all these experiences, or writing 12,000 words and reading 5 million books/journal articles?

Not exaggerating.

And this, my [nonexistant] friends [of this blog], is the struggle with studying abroad.

Can I finally become a runner?!

I went on a jog again.

This town is the best place to take a jog. I can not even fathom the amount of positive reinforcement my brain's received this evening from taking a jog here.

A friend of mine mentioned he found a trail from campus leading to Whitstable, a nearby seaside town, and so I thought I'd do the same. It was too easy to find, and before I knew it, I was jogging between meadows while the sun slowly descended, casting a dusk-like starry twinkle over the plant-life that was so vibrantly British (in my mind). There were farm lands and pastures, berry trimmed bushes, squirrels (of course), horse manure and tractor tracks. I also came across a historical church and graveyard site, apparently dating back to the 13th century, as being along a salt path that was used to bring salt to/from the sea?! That's older than 'murrica, y'all. 

 I'm in my Austen-ian dreamworld, and getting exercise while I'm at it.

This all made me realize a few things:

• I like nature. Well, I knew that before, but my time here has struck home the point that I need to have nature in my daily life down the line (as in when I'm no longer so young, and I'm settled down perhaps?). I do love the liveliness that is city life, don't get me wrong, but maybe not forever. 
• There's nothing better for your mental state than going outside, taking a walk or a going on a run, and breathing fresh, clean air. Ok well other things come close, like spending time with people you love and laughing with them, eating delicious food, dancing to your heart's content, and listening to your favorite music. But still, there's a lot to say about going out into the open world and taking deep breaths. 
• It would be cool if I could learn to grow stuff. My mom's good at it, and I want to be, too. But..I feel like that's way down on the list of things I want to learn to do, so maybe it won't happen... 

Can I marry places?

I'm back from London, with a refreshed desire to explore and travel more and more.

We (me, Aimee, Rebecka, Sarah, and Helene, all Scandinavian) stayed at a really cool hostel in a not so cool area, and met cool Australian girls who are traveling and trying to find work in England. Just from chatting over our scarce continental breakfast, I learned a bit about their open minds in relation to traveling, some social issues in Australia, and tips on the best ways to see Australia were I to visit someday.

And this is what I love so much about traveling: so much can come from any moment. You can get so much out of every interaction, every location, every food and building and person you come across.

I fell in love with London even more this weekend, as we explored Portobello Road, Brick Lane (awesome area open only Sundays), Camden Market, and Harrods [pick the one that doesn't belong with the others haha]. Oh and of course a pub in Soho Saturday night (where I furthered my appreciation for ciders in England. They are now my drink of choice).

Throughout the weekend though, I just kept thinking how I would love to share this all with my family. I recently emailed my sister about visiting me after my school term ends, as I think it would be a BRILLIANT idea to travel London for a week around Christmas time just before heading home for Christmas itself. Two sisters, catching up after 4 months, roaming the streets of this city that is just. so. alive. She just HAS TO COME (Lila, I hope you're reading this!).

I get so excited about food, too, in case people haven't noticed already. It's something I've come to integrate into my identity over the past few years, starting probably around the time I left for college. Finding delicious unique foods, full of flavor, love, and care, has apparently become a hobby of mine. I can't seem to go to a new city without trying to find some new specialty food to try- it's almost mandatory! And it's not that I overeat or spend loads of money on food either (well, that's arguable haha..), it's more that it can become a premeditated task (or not, in many spontaneous and delicious cases). I'm lucky that Aimee and Rebecka seem to be equally as in love with food as I (especially Aimee), and willing to put a good amount of our energies into food hunting this weekend!

I don't want to stop seeing the world, though I understand the importance of having a place to call home as well. I just don't want to become too comfortable or complacent (thank you, Oliver, for phrasing it that way) to stop finding reason to go pursue beauty in the world.

No one gives a crap.

For the first time in 3 years, I've had an Autumn without anxiety. That is, until today.

After speaking with a somewhat cute boy last night at Salsa, and being asked about my life and all these big questions regarding post-grad life, I had, again for the 32432048320th time, the realization that I HAVE NO DAMN IDEA WHAT I'M GOING TO DO.

And that's ok.

Like, seriously Sheila.

Believe it.

Today started off well and good, but I kept thinking about last night, and how I didn't feel confident or as if I  was showing my best self to this somewhat cute boy when we were talking about these big things. I had barely just met him, and yet already I felt like he saw something lacking in me, that I may not be driven enough or have-it-all-together enough. Which, firstly, is not true! And not important. Especially since he also doesn't know exactly what he's doing, either! Or even at all!

And who really does know everything they're going to do in their life? NOBODY. Yes, it is absolutely necessary for me to have some goals laid out, but in terms of knowing everything I'm going to do- not so much.

It's just that I've had this irrational fear for the past two years (probably since it took me a long time to become open to the idea of letting someone into my life) that I wouldn't be able to really get close to someone if I didn't have everything in my life figured out. The whole idea being that if I didn't know myself well enough to know exactly what I'm passionate about, and how I'm somehow supposed to link that to a stable, lucrative career, how was anyone else supposed to get to know me well.

And you know what? This thought process is so twisted. That last sentence up there, in the previous paragraph, is ludacris. It's just an unforgiving a thought.

So, after a chat with mama, my housemate Rebecka (who, though she comes from a different country and culture, can relate so well), and a skype with one of my best friends Kimi tonight, I feel better. Further from any bit of anxiety that wanted to creep up. Kimi, who just came back from studying abroad a few months ago, put this worry of careers/future/trying to be good enough for others, best: "No on gives a CRAP. Go live your life."

I will Kimi, I will.