The only thing I bought in Britain was this tea can­dle shade of the London sky­line, found in a shop filled with baubles and knick knacks where Mike and Emma took me. They had a feel­ing it was my kind of thing. Funny to think that they knew me so well already in those three days. I love watch­ing the shad­ows dance across the shade in warm colours.

I went through an entire spec­trum of emo­tions there. Through all the won­der and excite­ment were still moments of weak­ness, gid­di­ness, sad­ness, and inse­cu­ri­ty, because there are things you can’t escape by fly­ing to the oth­er side of the world.

I’ve since set­tled back into my old life. The trip did­n’t change me, not in any epiphan­ic way at least. It was more of an affir­ma­tion of myself and the way I’ve been see­ing things.

There were so many times that I was far out of my com­fort zone, thrust into inde­pen­dence, push­ing my lim­its, and that forced me to be objec­tive to keep my wits about me. In those objec­tive moments were objec­tive views of myself, where I began to under­stand that I was respon­si­ble for every­thing that was hap­pen­ing. For all the mem­o­ries and expe­ri­ences and footage and friend­ships.

And sud­den­ly, I real­ized, I like me.


  1. Ah matu­ri­ty. Isn’t this bet­ter? It’s great lik­ing your­self. You should. There are some ben­e­fits to grow­ing old­er, and that’s one. Decision.

  2. Glad you had a good trip. Neat can­dle to re-live the sun­sets with.

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