One Month in London
And one thing I’ve learned so far
This article has been in my draft for a few weeks. I started to write, stopped, started again, stopped (I could repeat this for hours but you get the idea).
I really wanted to write about my first weeks in London but as soon as I started typing, the words didn’t seem right. They felt pointless and irrelevant.
I’m not sure what happened. Was it the dreadful writer’s block?
You see, the hardest things when you commit to moving to another country and change your life for the best is not taking the decision. It’s not booking the flight or contacting a removal company so they can pick up your stuff.
The hardest part is the days after. When you are in your new environment, surrounded by people you don’t know, listening to accents that are completely different, observing habits and cultural differences and wondering if you’ll get used to them.
First, anxiety appeared.
On my first weeks in London, I was on edge. I was extremely alert to a point I couldn’t imagine was possible. I was spotting everything, looking at every detail and memorising them. It was as if my mind thought I was in a hostile environment and it needed to look at any possible way out.
