Little London stories: (part 5 of 5): Cutting the American cord

I'm flying back to the U.S. Sunday because I have had a lease in the States that doesn't end til January. I had also flown out there in October during Reading Week, ostensibly to pick up my cat, but I think there was a deeper reason. I think I might have been having trouble Letting Go.

When I got to King's College London, excited as I was, I was daunted. As I fumbled to find my way around the city -- somehow not as I remembered it from my last trip, in 2008 -- I dealt with harsh realities regarding the pound-versus-dollar (not as favourable as I'd thought!), lack of pet-friendly properties (bloody hell!), and exhausting trips to the doctor because I arrived with a thyroid condition (and dealt with frustration at having to start everything anew). Those first few weeks, too, were fraught with trying to catch up on reading, getting to know my classmates in my core class and related course on the Great Fire through Great Exhibition (it would have been too tricky in World Novel, an optional class with more students), and realising I don't like anything to eat in Blighty.

I had moments when I yearned for a burger and "Dancing with the Stars" so much my soul ached. I practically pounced on a Canadian on the tube thinking he was American -- by the way, not great to call a Canadian American -- and Facetimed my mom (mum!) at least twice a day. I was certain too, that I would never find a place to live or get through an entire novel on the module reading lists. Haven't done the former, but yes to the latter.

So now as I get ready to hop back on a plane to the U.S. I'm not only excited for the visit, but excited to tie this part of my life into a neat bow and bid it adieu. I will always be American, but whether I return in six months, a year, or three (I'm applying to get my PhD here), I no longer need the U.S. in the same way. True: I am going to salivate at every New York hot dog stand, delicious deli tuna sandwich, and Mexican restaurant I can run to that first week back. I will be glad that I don't have to hear every day, "What part of America are you from?" I will be glad that I can make a meatloaf with the kind of beef I enjoy eating and douse it with one of the types of ketchup I like. Mustard won't be too hot. Coffee won't be as expensive! I will be allowed to add my own cream (not milk) at Starbucks.

But I'm one of them now. As I sit here at the Waterfront Restaurant and Bar at King's, watching the puffs of silver and snow clouds fill the space like a watercolour, I'm reminded that happiness is made up of moments just like this. I've been trying to get here for so long, running for years, arguing with anyone who said I couldn't make it, and now I just want to enjoy it.

I will find an apartment in January, I know I will, and it will become my real home. I will learn to like the foods - well some of them! And I will find it strange that some people write favour without the u and say garbage instead of rubbage.

The author - (top to bottom) in her last class, World Novel, 15 Dec.; in the Strand Building, King's College London; and on a trip to London in August, 2008.