87 - A page from the diary

The UK is not as glamorous as I hoped it would be. It's hoped for, but also expected. And it's just as well. There is no need for me to get caught up in my foolish fantasies of a brand new sparkling study environment in England. At the moment, I can't say that I miss home terribly, but then again, I am unable to say that I am happy to be here either.

The trip was long, but not that I'm complaining. New Zealander air service is pretty good, very hospitable. Their meals weren't stellar or very filling, but at least it was tasty enough, and at least it was food.

I was admittedly too mindful of everything important to do with my time and my money and my traveling that I did not fully appreciate Heathrow Airport or the London underground. I wish we had the time for me to walk a bit slower, and to speculate on Britishness at my own pace, but the friend who welcomed me at the airport, and myself, were too time-pressed, and it was impossible for me to mentally gather my comments on every little thing. I wish we had the time to maybe surface to the streets of London and have a look around. I guess I'll have to find the time alone one weekend to explore London town.

But I really think I should start memorizing the Canterbury region first as best I can, like the badass motherfucker-rememberer I was back in Hong Kong.

The first thing I noticed as I stepped out of the Arrivals gate is that everybody is very English. I guess that's a stupid thing to say, as England is obviously going to seem very English, but it's a fact nonetheless that I took note of in my head as I was making my way to Canterbury. I wish I could put my finger on why that was so noticeable to me initially, but I think summarizing the entire British population's behavior in one specific description is too tricky a task.

Anyway, the dormitory room that I am staying in is really standard. There is nothing special about it, and it will need a lot of touching up in order to make it feel like home. At least I've got beer coasters from my first job, and photos of my family and friends, to pin to my cork noticeboard and remind me of where I came from. I miss my old bartending job. I suppose I will feel differently and a bit better once lectures begin and I can then focus my mind on a routinely focusable process once more.

This room needs books most of all. I can already feel my IQ dropping as I lie in this bare room with empty excuses for bookshelves.

I wish I had someone I knew with me to experience this with. I guess loneliness and acceptance of always being on my own will be something I'll learn really quickly, lest I might enter a state of depression.

Ultimately, though, I like the internal struggle I have going on inside me. It is difficult to be here, to have traveled here all by myself, to study and to live here, and to make a helluvan effort to meet new people and socialize, but it's all towards this bigger, more important goal.

I am not living in reality anymore.

I am living my dream.