What I’ll Miss About London

This post originally appeared on CAPA World Blog in December 2015.

Well, this is it.

My long-imagined semester in London, a three-and-a-half month taste of a different life that seemed like it would stretch on forever, has come down to a matter of days, and now — ready or not — I have to try to say goodbye to everything about this city that has gone from strange to familiar to loved.

In these past fifteen weeks, London has never stopped surprising me, and I have surprised myself by coming to understand it, adjusting my rhythm to its own, and treating it with all the combined wonder and ease and quirky affection that you feel for a home. 

And as I prepare to pack my new life back into the bags where it began, I realize that it's not the shiny, iconic aspects of this complicated city that I will miss — it's the little parts of London that have become significant to my experience by becoming my own. 

It's the rattling and motion of the tube, the hustle and bustle of the humming stations, the beep and whoosh of the train doors and the ticket machines.

It's the canal in Islington, the peaceful walk I made to and from my internship, watching the passing of bikers and swans, the ever-changing assortment of riverboats converted into cafes and bookshops and little homes.

It's the organic café where I ate my lunch on Thursdays and Fridays, watching the little European cars come to the intersection outside the window, staring down the calm streets with their rows of white buildings and multi-colored doors. 

It's the colors and scents of Hyde Park, the children racing by on their scooters, the geese flocking to pedestrians with bags of bread, the gentle sighing of the trees beside the raised voice of the city.

It's the warm scent of coffee and murmur of contented voices in the Costa on the corner of Turnpike Lane, where I spent many a Sunday afternoon writing papers and looking out the window, watching the changing flow of crowds rushing from the park to the tube station.

It's my homestay in Arnos Grove, North London, where I always had warm meals and comfort and affection waiting for me whenever I ended a long day, where I had tea and biscuits and laughter, where I had a family.

It's the street signs clinging to the sides of buildings, the red and blue circles indicating an underground station, the helpful maps dotting the corners of streets every handful of blocks - you are here. 

It's the ease I began to feel when exploring new parts of the city, the confidence with which I could get off at any stop, walk down any street, and know I would always be able to find my way back after the discoveries I made.

It's the way that no matter how much I saw of the city, there was always more to find, more to surprise and inspire me, more to store in my collection of memories, more busy streets and contrasting buildings and colorful restaurants and hidden parks.

I'll miss the relief I felt every time I arrived back at King's Cross after a whirlwind trip to another country. I'll miss the red buses and the umbrellas, the shapeless pea coats and leashless dogs, the chain groceries and retail stores and coffee shops.

I'll miss just walking my familiar paths and being who I've been here, seeing my life expanding before me from the folds of this thrumming metropolis, never knowing what will be next.

I'll miss everything that makes this city London, and I'll miss everything that makes London home.