Since I had the day off today, I found myself a bit bored and decided to do some organizing. Yes, I am one of those compulsive organizers that gets a high from having her pens and pencils perfectly sharpened and all aligned at a perfect 90degree angle from largest to smallest. And yes, we have established the fact that I am a big dork, but I am happy in my dorky ways.
Moving along. As I was cleaning a drawer full of old papers and memorabilia that I have collected throughout the years, I came across an old journal of mine from December 2004. I am not a diary/journal keeping type of gal (that's why I have a blog, ha!), however, this journal was first intended for educational purposes and as the days turned into weeks, I've discovered that what transpired between my journal and I was more than just mere note taking, but a comradery. My innerworkings, some laughter, and even some reminiscence of a ketchup stain can be found amongst its pages; definitely, all leftover evidence from a wonderful trip that changed my life.
As I opened my journal for the first time in many, *sigh*, many years, I took a deep breath and found out that there is still a linger of that old-London town smell. And as strange as it seems, I find it comforting and at the same time unbelievable, that something so insignificant can have such a significance in my life. I was immediately taken aback to that 27th of December as I boarded the plane from McAllen headed to Houston with its final destination being Heathrow Airport. For a whole month, I was a resident of London. For four weeks, I called Harlingford Hotel my home and Russell Square my last stop. The city of London was my playground and I was a very happy child running around its streets and playing amongst its theaters. I remember every morning looking out my window and watching that infamous fog rising above the rooftops as the people commenced their morning routines. Although there did seem to be a lack of monetary funds, I wouldn't trade that experience for anything in this world.
The following lines are found on the first page of my journal. They were inscribed into my companion five minutes after boarding the plane. As I read them, I couldn't believe how much time has passed by between my friend and I and I resolve to visit London one more time.
To London I go
To London I see
Before I grow old
I want to flee
From my dream I awake
In my dream I want to stay
Watching myself in despair
The sun hits my face with its ray
Tonight I travel
Tonight I gain
My feet are as heavy as gravel
But it doesn't matter, so long as I am on that plane
To London I go
To London I see
To London to outlive all my dreams
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