I'm back home in America, finally. This last month has been crazy.
In May I was busy with revision and exams - a pretty uninteresting and cooking-free time of my life. It's been my best semester academically which has honestly been a relief on my ego. After three middling years in the English department (with yo-yoing dedication), it's pretty true that you just have to know what your tutors (professors) want to hear.
I spent a week in Italy after exams. It's weird what you expect to take away from traveling and what you actually do. I expected to frolic over the cobbled streets of Rome and Florence drunk on excitement and house wine, which I did, but more importantly I fully realized that I kinda hate cities.
|my dream home|
When I was 13 I visited my sister who was living in NYC at the time. It was right before high school. I had bangs and aggressive acne. It was the best five days of my life. My super cool city slicker sister was my biggest hero (and still is). I was gonna be a kick ass, globe trotting, successful independent woman living it up in the big city when I grew up. Totally glamorous. Totally cool.
Now I'm 21 and I cringe at the smelliness, dirtiness, crowdedness, and expensiveness of big cities. I get overwhelmed and tired at parties. I didn't like Paris that much. I'd rather stay in and cuddle on Friday night. In a sense I was more cool when I was 18 and that was only three years ago. How did I get so lame??
On the shuttle from Edinburgh airport to St Andrews, my heart squeezed at the sight of rolling emerald fields, their huge swaths of electric yellow wildflowers, and the rugged stone squat hobbit houses of Fife. I breathed in the clean, coastal air of St Andrews. My huge relief to be back was powerful and unshakable. It struck me again that I've become someone more introverted and domestic than I could have predicted. And I've really come to love and prefer a slower paced, small town life. I feel more at home out there than anywhere... and it genuinely makes me happy.