A love letter to London

As I write this I am sat on a train on the way to Exeter. My home for the next 3 years (with a year in Spain sandwiched in.)

It felt weird booking these train tickets. Having my parents and sister buy return tickets and myself only a one way. We haven't even arrived and they haven't even left yet but I'm already feeling like I've been thrown into the deep end. I'm more than capable of spending time alone and away from family- this summer alone I spent a total of 41 days without my family whilst I was away in different places. But actually living and studying alone in a new city feels strange. But this post isn't about how much I'm going to miss my family or even my friends. It's about how much I'm going to miss London. The city I was born in and grew up in and the city that has essentially made me into who I am today.

I'm so used to slating it; calling it a soul sucking and depressing place but as my days in the capital dwindle away I'm starting to realise how much I'm going to miss this place. I'm so blessed to call this place my home, to live in an area where Tower Bridge is a 10 minute walk away, 6 if I speedwalk, an area where I can walk to Covent Garden and Oxford street if I really wanted to and get there in under half an hour, the double deckered busses that have served me for the past 18 years and that I've never had to pay to get on, even that god awful Central line service. The Jubilee and Northern lines which whenever I get on, mean that I'm on my way home. The convenience of everything. On the day of the Westminster Bridge attacks, when all public transport was held and roads were blocked I simply walked home. It's been the only way of life I've ever really known- having everything at my disposable and as I count the days till I'm gone I truly understand a) why my parents decided to migrate here and b) the quote "When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life."

A few days ago I met up with my secondary school friends for the last time before we all parted ways to embark on new adventures from gap years to Biology at Oxford. We walked around Soho under the candy floss coloured skies as the sun was setting and I couldn't help but say "wow, London is actually beautiful." Covent Garden by night, a place that is usually full to the brim of tourists and locals alike was deserted, with a slight hum of people chattering from rooftop bars and alfresco restaurants. We walked around the cobbled streets and appreciated our last time together until Christmas. And that night, walking back to Elephant and Castle where we would all see where the next leg of the night would take us, with a bottle of Bacardi and a litre of coke in hand felt somewhat monumental.

Those who know me will know that I will defend South London till the day I die but walking over Waterloo bridge at night, a journey that would take us from the North side of the river back to our local South felt so bittersweet- as if we were leaving behind our new memories from that evening in central London and returning back to the reality of home. Home where suitcases are strewn across the floor in a failed attempt to pack for the 'big move' They say that walking over Waterloo bridge at night is an almost euphoric experience. Seeing the cities landmarks lit up and the reflection of those lights onto the Thames. I don't know. It does something to you.

So as I get ready to settle into a new city and start a new chapter of my life, I will mourn my departure from my beloved London. The place that I and my dearest friends call home.

-Dalal