I have spent a lot of time reflecting on my life in London. I was there for two years, I built a solid base of friends, places I liked to go, great pubs, bars, clubs, a solid network of recruiters to keep me working. But due to visa restrictions I was not allowed to stay and therefore moved on.
Part of me is still there, and I think it always will be. But I do need to let go eventually and realise that the fun times that I had there are now just memories, nothing can bring them back, not even returning.
This made me start to think, and eventually come to the line of Shakespeare “‘tis better to have loved and lost, than to have never loved at all.” I look at the photos of myself just before I leave Australia for the adventure, I remember seeing life through those eyes and how empty the slate was. I then continue through the photos and remember all that happened in those two years, that now seem as though they have been condensed into a few hours.
There were friends, parties, hard times, relationships, broken hearts, blank memories, experiences that all happened and now only exist as photographs and memories.
I’m sitting at my desk in Toronto, and for some reason keep having flashes to when I was working in the dungeon at Libertine in London, it was a shitty stinky office but it was fun. I have the memory of finishing work late, putting on my thick sweater, leather jacket and scarf and making my way out into the cold streets of Soho. I feel silence around me, cold silence, it’s comforting, outside is cold but inside I’m warm. There’s a light snow falling and I put my hood on, I’m walking through the streets towards home. The lights are beautiful, the air is crisp, I can’t help smiling.
What would I be doing if I never left Australia, if I just did the regular “let’s get messy in Thailand” thing, then resigned to a life at home? Would I be happier? Hard to tell, really, especially since if it weren’t for the experience I would not have met the reason why I am here in Toronto. Life is funny sometimes.