367

367 is the number of days I have lived in London. 367 days ago my heart broke as I said goodbye to my life in Zurich and began my new one in London… alone.

364 days ago was my 26th birthday, spent with complete strangers wandering through the confusing winding streets of West London, A-Z London map in hand checking out potential flats and flat-mates. 364 days ago my night was split being interviewed and me interviewing a late 20-something Aussie from Melbourne, a 30-something English guy, and a large household of also very large Aussie/Canadian girls. That was 364 days ago.

62 minutes until my 27th birthday. Now, 61 minutes. I sit on my bed in my little room containing everything I own. My friends and family have houses, apartments, cars, nice furniture…I have a closet, or actually closets jammed with shoes, clothes, handbags…and my memories. Memories of my experiences, travels, bad and good times, very random times..and memories of all the people who have both entered and departed my life, relationships made which had an impact on me without them ever knowing.

54 minutes. So, what has changed? Well, I have become much poorer, have a lovely ivory complexion, rounder curves, spell color “colour” and organize “organise”, picked up a slight British accent that only Americans notice, increased my alcohol tolerance, made new friends while missing my old ones, got caught up in the madness that is the global financial crisis, ditched the jeans in favour of dresses and tights, developed a love for English pubs, mastered the ability to note by a person’s body language on the tube when their next stop is to position myself for the steal, realised stuffing your body with vitamins and supplements won’t stop me from catching the viruses that go around in London nor offset the amounts of alcohol I consume, and added the words “rubbish” and “lovely” into my vocabulary.

42 minutes. I still miss my family, my friends, my sunshine. I am still alone. I still don’t know which path to take or direction to go in, but I know turning around is not it. I still love my running, which has turned into yoga after a long-term sports injury. I still have my rabbit-like eating habits, still love my trance, and still am terrible at responding to phone calls and emails (which doesn’t mean I am not thinking of you!)

36 minutes. I have no doubt that one year from now on, I will most likely still be all of those things, but I wonder what changes will come. We will see.