A long non awaited update.
I have landed back in the land of imperialism and consumerism. And even before I left, I knew deeply in my soul, I would miss London. I have lost and found different aspects of myself. I barely read, I barely write or make music—but as a person, I really feel I’ve grown—you’ll have to bear with me, I haven’t written in a bit, so my prose is a bit rusty. I’m at a peculiar bit of my life, things are ending, and many more things will end. When I first arrived in London my first dream was about leaving, finding myself in the airport, shocked that it all went so fast because I remembered nothing. I remember a lot, but it really does already feel like a memory. Being back in Maryland, it’s like the past five months didn’t happen. Every place I visit, I remember the last time I was there, and it feels like yesterday. Whenever I return home, the rest of the world feels so far away. It feels like Smith isn’t real or London isn’t real. I’m happy to be back. I haven’t seen so much green in forever, but still, I’ll have to grieve eventually.
I’ve been holding onto my jet lag because it’s the last gift I have from London. But my body is easily falling back into the familiarity of Eastern Standard Time
I am lucky because I did make friends who are amazing. Even luckier because some of them are American and won’t be lost by the act of me leaving—but everyone else…damn. The last time I wrote on here was before I went to Berlin (where many things happened and have fundamentally shaped my experience, the people I spend time with, and the people I miss). I’m being vague, I know it, about who I’ll miss, I think I refuse to fully examine it because I’ll have to confront all the ways I’m losing amazing and varied people. I’ll miss the Germans: Max and Vivian (with her stop making sense neck tattoo), and the Brits: Dan, Sophia, Declan, Anthony, (too many of them to name).
Maya, not the one who’s been brought up many times on my Substack, another Maya, likes to describe being in London as being in a la la dreamland, her reasons are stronger than mine (she found a British boyfriend), but I’d have to agree. I’m not the me I usually am, and the people don’t act like I would’ve thought they would at one point.
I’m in this really precarious position where my usual view of myself isn’t reflected in my perceived personality. It’s always hard for people to believe me when I say I’m on a journey to become more extroverted. Apparently, I’m already there. I’m so used to not being able to say much, even if I wanted to, or racked with a weird sense of anxiety and embarrassment. Especially at Smith, being in conversations with people I wanted to like and sitting in my silence because my brain refuses to synthesize thoughts. But I’ve realized that’s less of a problem with me and more of I just couldn’t fit into those pieces I wanted to. Smith College will never be enough for me, and it sounds a bit mean to say, but I’m appreciative of what it could give me, and in other ways, it would never be enough. I’ve come to terms with not feeling wanted there, feeling overextended, trying to be around people who I’m not sure we have much of a future together. My last year at Smith this coming fall will be many things. I expect to have no romance, because that’s the nature of my beast. I expect to spend less time with people, because I’m sick of the uncertainties when I’m sure I know the people who want to be around me, and that’s enough. And most of all, I expect it to end. So I have to enjoy it, because I’ll be happy to leave it, which is a crazy thing to say, because I have no clue what I’ll do after I graduate.
Stuck in my back and forth between the two majors I’ve chosen because there’s not much of a middle ground between Astronomy and English. But I know, no more small towns for me, and no more predominantly white lesbians. You remember how I said this was going to be my whore-mester, well like yes, I was over exaggerating and overzealous. I’ve been normal, I have kissed more people here than in my entire Smith career, which is why and how I know the problem is not me. Which is why I’m going to be in New York for the summer. I’m disillusioned enough not to count this move as a romanticization. New York is a place. A place where I can have my summer freedom, my 21st birthday with people that I like, an internship that will hopefully give me insight, and the stimulation of things that I know Maryland or Smith can't supply for me right now.
I’ve recently been so secure, it’s nice. I have this year, many times over, caught myself in a moment where I realized that I might be loved (is that too strong of a word?). Immense gratitude was felt when Vivian, Max, and Zoe helped me move my luggage down the stairs, when Declan (Brit) took the things I couldn’t throw away, and my calculator, which I hope he returned to Amazon. Obviously I’m still a person and I have doubts and insecurities—am I too loud right now? am I making sure people are comfortable? am I being considerate?—but I’m never worried about who does and doesn’t like me (until I am), it’s so great! to not have that wondering of words and actions not aligning. I’ve deeply learned to take people for what they are, and for the first time in my life, I haven’t experienced fomo, even in being alone.
Zoe really wants me to spill tea on here, and I would argue not much tea to spill, but I would kind of be wrong. But I won’t talk about the guys that I kissed, the grueling sickness that gave me an inhaler, or the interesting brits because I have nothing profound to say about it. Coming to London, I was set on this mission to get better at interacting with men (I’m fine with gay men) because Smith has severely messed with my socialization skills. I would like to say I succeeded, but I still accidentally find myself objectifying men and inadvertently flirting with them. Vivian likes to point out that I constantly sound like Amelia Dimoldenberg. Zoe doesn't like to believe I’m as into men as I say that I am, but it’s all whatever.
Speed run of things I did: I saw mannequin pussy again, and was at barricade for Kneecap, downloaded hinge and went on like three dates let a bum sleep over while I was traveling to Spain, promptly deleted hinge. Did karaoke, did not go to classes, went to many open decks with Zoe, did speed and ket for the first time (was supposed to do MDMA with Maya, rip), watched as my friends got interview by a tiktoker, poppers (again, but never again), Spain, Portugal, only got like throw up drunk twice, drunk texted, and gained like so many insta followers of people I might never see again.
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But wait, we did see King Krule on the overground last month and it was the best and worst thing to happen to me. We didn’t talk to him because we were arguing about whether or not it was him. I spent many of the remaining weeks praying and actively trying to run into him again. I watched his saxophonist’s show, Galgo, and the girl he’s seeing (who is fine as hell) now follows me on insta. I met Kit Young at a pub (none of my friends but Sophie, who was there with be knew who that was) and went back to an afters at his friends place where I watched him and someone else do some glorious British drugs, I did the smallest amount—I felt nothing, he also follows me on insta now too. Arguably, the saddest part of my time in London is not seeing Kit Conner </3.
Anyways, tomorrow I will be leaving again, packing another bag for another city. I hope it goes well, hope it is a swell summer. Most of all, I hope to write about it, to have something to write about. Writing is fun when I don’t wait months and have huge thoughts that can only be stated generally, instead of as a funny anecdote. I’ll have to pick up habits I lost again. Writing music, journaling (writing 23 pages about Berlin burnt me out for months), and reading. Pray for me!
Hey! thanks for 100 subscribers, this is not the juicy post the news should be met with, but hold out until the next one (It’ll probably be a photo dump, don’t hold out too hard).
Felt this deeply because I am also starting to grieve London
I’m excited for ur nyc summer i foresee GREAT things