Zara jumper, heels, clutch; Mango trousers
My family helped me move all my luggage out of my bedroom into the car on a sunny mid-September morning. They would barely let me lift a finger, I just stood next to the open car door and waited. After all of the typical good-bye rituals, I buckled myself into the passenger seat, took a last glance at my empty bedroom window through the rear mirror and drove off to the train station. Destination: London.
It has now been three months since the day I first walked into my room in halls and unpacked my belongings. I had brought so much with me- three enormous suitcases filled with books, clothes, photos, decorative pillows, anything that would make it feel like home. And it did. Nevertheless, I must've spent my first day in London resting on my bed, trying to fully understand the fact that I've moved to one of the craziest cities in the world.
Oh, how I've come to love that craziness. The city, always in a constant state of rush, always moving and changing, has a raw kind of charm. While, yes, there is one colour to describe the entire city with the entirety of its streets, buildings, sky and people (grey, what a surprise), it feels alive. And even though being in massive crowds can be overwhelming, it is easy to feel like you're a part of it all. Truth be told, often the more people you are surrounded by, the lonelier you feel. I appreciate the time I have with my friends now more than ever- it feels great to have a constant group of people to come back to after a long day spent at the university's campus in Oxford Circus, where everything being frantic is the norm. I am lucky if I get home before half seven when I finish classes at six, due to the cramped underground stations; at rush hour, it's like the hunger games in there. But once you're back out into the surface, you just carry on with your day as if you did not just wrestle that man with an umbrella to fit on the tube. Go figure.
I am now back home in my sweet sweet (not jut because of the abundance of chocolate and waffles) Brussels for three weeks. Twenty-one days of nothing but pure relaxation. The attic has been converted into my own little flat, now that my younger sister took over my old bedroom. I now have a floor all to myself. I've been keeping myself busy with this new interior design project opportunity, gathering bits from all over the house in order to create a space that is welcoming and cosy. My attic is my own little oasis, my getaway spot. Here, Chet Faker is on repeat and time seems to freeze on the pages of a Salvador Dalí coffee table book, in between the dancing candle lights, for a moment just long enough to realize that you're feeling right at home.
