So Long, London

London, you damn heartbreaker,

It was a little more than three years ago when we finally shook our hand and set the deal. I was no stranger to your eclectic charisma since I had previously come across you for a couple of fragmented months around 2018, before my sudden return to Italy for family reasons, and two years later, around the COVID outbreak. Third time is a charm, they say. And yeah, it definitely was. We made it work, somehow. Not without difficulties.

I remember how, as I first arrived in August 2021, I immediately knew this time would be different. You didn’t feel as self-destructive as the first time or as foreign as you appeared in the previous year. No, on that occasion, you were welcoming. I wasn’t walking around prey to some misdiagnosed psychotic breakdown like the protagonist of Last Night in Soho. I actually felt more affinity with Julia Roberts in Notting Hill (minus the American smile and the Hollywood money).

“Finally, you grew some balls, kid” Classic London.

I guess I did.

The first month was a bit of a call back to 2018. You were toying with me. And I liked the game. The parties, the 3 am shitfaced walks home, the substances. Running around from Poplar to Shoreditch, every night a bit high, playing with the danger and fleeing maniacs holding a stolen pint of Pale Ale in my hand because, let’s admit it, you are a real drama queen. I wanted it extreme, and you gave it to me. But this time, I could handle the drama.

“Well done, now settle down, you are not here to fuck it up once again.”

And I did. Kilburn/Cricklewood was a nice area. A sudden yet well-appreciated change from your Eastern secret gardens. Kilburn was what I needed.

And I found my routine there.

The Brazilian café nearby (FINALLY SOME DECENT COFFE), the Ethiopian restaurant where I spent my Thursday evenings with Mina, the gym (yes, yes, I started going to the gym, incredible, right?), the vape shop, the 30 minutes walk to Marble Arch… every corner unique yet part of the same reality.

The flat was lovely, so typically British and adorable. Warm, to contrast the occasionally detached and icy atmosphere you surround your heart with. It felt special.

It felt like home.

Amidst the fast-paced and insane rhythms of London, that little space, filled with candles and blessed by a beautiful view on the garden, gave me the comfort I needed.

I had run around so much in the past years that when I finally found a home, I could not believe it. It took me a few good months to realise why every time I entered that small flat in Kilburn, I felt nostalgic. It made me think of my childhood house in Via Robarello, the first home I ever had.

It didn’t matter how lonely you sometimes made me feel. Invisible in the middle of too many people stuck together on my way to university, gasping for oxygen while trying to shut my nose to the stinky, sweaty air of the tube and trying to assume my scariest tone to make room amongst the crowd. None of it mattered because I knew that once back from the chaos, I was home.

And for this, I will always be grateful to you. You welcomed me as a lost soul, offering the most precious gift a stray could ever hope to find: a place where to settle down and feel safe.

How could I ever forget it?

But there is something else that you gave me: distractions.

My flat was a special place to shed heartfelt tears, hidden in the corner of my room, wrapped up in the warmth of my safety blanket, as I dealt with the worst of what my mental health could come up with. And as sheltered as that made me feel, sometimes the calm outside only allows you to hear your demons better.

I am here Kate…but I am also out there

“I would like, if I may, to take you on a strange journey…”

The Rocky Horror…Moulin Rouge…Mary Poppins…Harry Potter and The Cursed Child…

And so many more, my sobs silenced under the mezzo-soprano dying pleads of Satine before her beloved as I clapped my hands lost in the middle of London’s theatrical scenery.

I am not just able to handle the drama. I thrive in it. And you have plenty to offer, from the unexpected twists on South Kensington’s white-housed streets to classic spectacles within high walls surrounding faintly illuminated theatres.

Of course, sometimes you could have been a little less greedy. Black cabs are fancy, but I think I only took one once to then go back to Uber. At the end of the month, usually prey to money anxiety, I might have occasionally crossed my fingers and unwisely decided to walk home all the way from Soho, hoping I wouldn’t end up on the news the following day.

But you are beautiful at night. And under Christmas. A cup of mulled wine in Leicester Square, a visit to Harrods, too many churros after an ice skating round in Winter Wonderland, and my heart warmed up.

There is so much you gave me, my friend.

And that is what I loved the most about you. You are incredibly generous. And layered. And versatile. Adaptable to my moods, requests, and unstable needs.

Perhaps that was the problem in the end. At one point, I didn’t know what to make of all you kept offering me. Your different facets, and horns, and impeccable looks in a world where beauty is disappearing, and drying bank accounts, all of it, and I couldn’t even make sense of it… most of the time I just felt utter confusion and annoyance.

Perhaps we need a break. I don’t want you to end up hating me.

I could never hate you.

Everyone does at some point. You need to explore new horizons.

The truth is that I get fed up with stuff so easily (that’s why I don’t have a boyfriend). And this time, I got bored of not getting bored enough.

It’s okay, but you are a real brat sometimes.

Yeah, yeah. But I also got bored of my dreams. I always strived for something different and ended up finding a magnified version of a reality I already belonged to. I needed some peace.

I want to write, to sit down and sip a coffee without frantically looking at my iPhone’s screen to check the time, to walk around in a place where I can feel cherished and unique, not just one of multiple others.

You need love, Kate. I can’t give that to you.

I will still be close.

Not for long.

No, because I also need the opposite of what you gave me. I must remember all you taught me and use it where people might actually need me. You don’t need me.

Not now. But one day, I will.

I still love you. But I don’t need you anymore. But I will too one day.

Until then,

So Long, London.