Going home

Before going “home” to London I had tried, and failed, to imagine what it would be like. It had seemed like such a weird idea to visit somewhere I’d felt so attached to after not being there for six months. In reality it felt like I’d never left. From that side of the Atlantic it appeared that no time had elapsed since I left; as if the Pause button had been pressed. From over there the life in Philadelphia seemed like a sort of dream. The week abroad consisted of about 15 seconds of being with my parents, 15 seconds of drinking too much in pubs with some excellent friends, followed by 15 seconds of sleep on someone’s floor. Then I went back “home” to Philadelphia. Einstein was right about time being relative.
To summarise the emotions involved I’d say that while London is, and will forever be, my home, Philadelphia (together with Michele, the parrots and this house) is where I feel at home.
It’s just a shame that I didn’t manage to spend as much time as I’d liked with my family and friends. Sorry to those people I never even managed to meet. You can’t do too much in 15 seconds…


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