It was a cold February day in 2009 when I set foot on UK land for the first time. It was a nippy, wet evening by the time I arrived at my student accommodation. I assumed that days in the UK must be rather short in the winter considering it was only early afternoon and already dark.
As I was waiting for the train meant to take me to my new flat, I watched the raindrops gently slide across the windows of Heathrow airport and it was in that moment that I felt that I was finally home. All my past experiences, including the small town where I was born, were just loose chapters from an incomplete romance.
And there I was, everything suddenly starting to make sense: I recognized the redolence of the streets from my dreams. The wavering energy of everything I was, was in harmony with the city.
I couldn’t sleep that night. The heater wasn’t warm enough, and neither was my bedding. And no wonder, only three days earlier I had been living in a very hot beach town, in a house just a stone’s throw from the pacific shores of Costa Rica.
I thought back to that house with tenderness, it had been the last house I had lived in back in Cost Rica, where moving houses had almost become a thing for me. I had fallen into the habit of relocating every three to six months. I didn’t know at the time, but this was something that was about to change in London, or perhaps that time was bound changed as the years went by.
Have you ever had a similar first experience in a new country? How would you describe it? I would love to hear your story, let me know in the comments bellow.
Thank you once again for being my inspiration!
Tons of LOVE,