I left home at 27, and it would be a minute before I returned to it.
photo: me & kc doing things... I left home at 27, and it would be a minute before I returned to it. I arrived at Heathrow in August, excitedly like a child after a sunny day at the pool. I stepped off my Virgin Atlantic aircraft, thinking of the dreams and hopes I had for my new life in England, which I'd only read about as a child. I'd grown up imagining myself dining in her rich ancient castles and taking a tumble on her lush green landscapes, rolling hills, and grassy marshlands, all waiting for me to express my fondness for places such as England. Looking back at my journey and arrival, I know now that I should have held back on the 'this place is amazing' wonderment I shared with everyone who chose to listen. I should have instead spent moments looking for a manual on 'how-to-live-and-stay-sane as an immigrant ' Or one not as dramatic that would read 'welcome to England; it's cold, still, and testy - enter if you dare'; a guide not a...