Friday, 29 August 2014


America came and went.

The first thing I was really aware of when we arrived was that I had become slightly disenchanted with the trip - travelling to Chicago and New York is normally the highlight of my summer, even the highlight of each year. But at first it just seemed like a race to see each friend and family member, with much less time to just 'hang out' than I had originally imagined. From the start of the trip I was already acutely aware of how fleeting it was going to be. Even within the first few days I felt as if my holiday was already nearly over. 

The feeling decreased when we got to New York. Although we were still super busy, rushing around New York was easier to enjoy - even riding the subway felt like a special experience. We went to Baltimore for two days, and it was surprising just how segregated it was. Then last Sunday (has it been nearly a week already?) we went to the AfroPunk Festival, which was the coolest thing ever. People were dressed so well/awesomely/enviably and the music and general vibe was a much more profound adjective than I can think of right now. On the last day I was kind of in denial that we were really leaving and as we walked around Williamsburg in the comfortably uncomfortable heat I just felt really happy. On Saturday we went to the roof garden on top of the Met and you could see the entire New York skyline. Looking at all the buildings, a mix of the iconic and the unknown, under a purple-grey afternoon sky, I felt a sense of love for the city that I couldn't quite place at the time. I didn't miss London for a second during the whole trip. 

Another thing is we barely took any pictures. Pictures are proof that things happened, things you can look back at and reminisce about some memory. I think the lack of pictures somehow made the trip go faster. I feel like this year was lacking something it had last year, whether that is a sense of 'summer' or a feeling that the trip would never end, I don't know. I romanticise America unfairly, which is probably why I feel disappointed when the holiday isn't perfect.

After being in New York, which had perfect summer weather, we arrived in a rainy, grey London. I immediately felt a sense of loss, a sinking sensation that it's all over. That summer is officially over and i may as well hibernate through winter, just waiting until next year. I've been back now for a few days and feel as though I have accomplished nothing once again - summer is supposed to be a time of freedom and I was hoping I would do some writing, drawing, music...nada. Since we got back I have holed up in our house reading (finished Americanah by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, which i really enjoyed) and slowly doing homework, convincing myself that I will do something tomorrow, before school starts next week. I loathe this condition of perpetually doing nothing that I have every holiday. I guess I'm writing now, but what is this really? A whiny internal leaking of stupid privileged teenage thoughts that no-one's even going to read. boom.

I have been neglecting this blog for too long, partly because I feel there is nothing to say and partly because I am losing the faith/time/inspiration/energy to write. I say I enjoy writing but I never really do it, except for school. I'm going back in 5 days which is nothing but also forever. 


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