I want to go home

5pm on a Friday evening. It’s November. It’s bitterly cold; rain is drizzling, hitting my glasses and blurring my vision as I make my way up the hill back to my house after my lecture. The street lights brighten the night sky and the rain water glistens like crystals on the pavements. The roads are full to the brim with traffic, cars full of people heading home after a long day at work excited for the week end. I walk up and down this hill to uni every week. I stand at the traffic lights, waiting for the little green man and take in the sight around me. I see a National Express Coach pass by, with London emblazoned in orange across the front. This coach is going home. If I jump on this coach, in a few hours I could be in London Victoria Station, in the heart of the amazing city that is London.

I think of what it’d be like in London right then. I dream of standing in a packed tube with all my fellow passengers, standing on the big escalators in our amazing underground tube network seeing people of all walks of life all around me. I dream of walking across Westminster Bridge with the houses of parliament lit up ahead and the water of the River Thames glistening with the reflected light from the buildings. I think of walking down Oxford Street surrounded by the lights and colours of the windows of all the biggest retailers from all over the world, selling clothes, shoes, bags. I would see excited shoppers with their latest purchases… I could sit in Parliament Square behind the big statue of Winton Churchill who guided our nation through a world war and see the beauty of Westminster Abbey beside me… I could walk down the Mall lined with street lights, paving the road to the magnificence of Buckingham Palace. I could sit by the Victoria Memorial in front of the palace and watch the cars all around me, throwing a coin over my shoulder while making a wish and feeling like I was in the centre of the world. I could go to Hyde Park, feel the grass in my toes and the chill winter air. I could pop into a warm Starbucks or Pret a Manger and buy a wonderful cup of hot chocolate and feel it warm my hands and throat as I take each sip. I could buy some of their delicious cakes and muffins and devour each bite with not a care in the world of how many calories are in it. I can watch all the black taxis rushing round late revellers to their desired destination. I could stand in front of the giant boards at London Victoria and see it change every second as a new train was coming or leaving its many platforms. This is my city. This is my London. This is my home.

In contrast to the slog, slow, lazy city I am at university in, London is my home. It is where I feel safe and part of something. I see a red post box, a picture of Big Ben or hear the familiar cockney slur and am right there again, instead of being here. I decided to go to university in a city away from home for a new start. I was full of hopes and dreams and was excited at this new chapter of my life. A year later, besides my academic life, there is not much here for me and I long to go home. Life here is not what I hoped at all. I am coutning down the days to Christmas when I can go back home to my beloved London and see my family. I look forward to curling up on my sofa at home with my family and catching up in front of the fire watching films and the football with a cup of tea.  

I can’t wait to see the familiar streets of my home town, to see it glistening with Christmas lights, to see all my favourite little shops and local land marks. I feel safe there. I feel it is my home.