Sunday, May 25, 2014


I've been watching this show called Love in the City.  It chronicles the lives of four black women living in New York City.

They are all inspiring in their own way.

They've made me long to travel to New York. 

I never really feel like I belong anywhere in all honesty.  After living in several cities across the UK, and travelling...I don't know where I belong.  I have limited friends, or relatives.  I have no love interest anywhere.  I can move on, and won't really be missed.  

It's ok.  

My change of course at 'real uni' has expanded my studies of geography.  I previously wasn't aware that there were three Global Cities in the world.  Those are London, Tokyo and New York.  I consider myself a Londoner, despite my necessary estrangement from the capital.  I went to Tokyo when I was 17 for 10 days and loved it immensely.  I left swearing that I would return one day.  And now...I've set my sights on New York.  I've never really been to America.  I went to the Bahamas once, and we had to catch a transfer flight from Miami to Grand Bahama.  We didn't leave the airport, subsequently I don't feel that I have seen America.  

I'm really inclined, at this moment, once university is over (when will it be over??) to pack up and move to New York.  Leave this non life behind.  

It can't be cowardice.  It must be the desire for adventure.  

And so here comes strategy.  Honestly...

I don't want to do what I have to do, to get to where I want to be.  It's been too long, and it's been too hard, and I just want to be free.  But money, is a terrible thing to be ruled by.  Money makes everything tick, and I can't have any life without a serious financial contribution.  

Right now, I have an assignment due.  It's 6000 words of my debut novel.  I hate writing that now.  I hate acknowledging that I actually plan to become a writer, that this is what I'm trying to become.  It was so much easier when it was in the back of my mind.  Some quiet little notion that I could visit in the privacy of my own inner plans for myself.  But now that I'm preparing to undertake the next step...everyone's going to be saying this: Where is the manuscript?

Manuscript.  I had written five when I was fourteen.  But this for real?  Is this my first novel?  I don't know.  Novels are supposed to be something profound aren't they.  I don't know if my little nonsense anything yet.  Sometimes I know...that there is something here.  Other times, I just want to roll over and forget about it.  Unfortunately I can't.  Provided that I pass real uni this year, I have one more gruelling year of compulsory study left.  Just under four years ago, I wrote this post.  I had been through the greatest depression of my life, and I decided to fight.  I knew there was nothing left for me to do, but to keep moving forward.  And despite all the heartache, humiliation and disappointment I've suffered, I know that that is what I must still do.  

Move forward.  All I want to do is hunker down in my room, and plan, and dream and write.  However my tenancy ends at the end of June, I've quit my job, and, and, and...

Just too much.  

But there's still time.  A little. 

I hope I can make this work.

I hope I can move forward.  


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