The Trouble With Transience

There is something reassuring in the fact that my hair still flicks to the right when untouched by heat appliances, just as it did when I was thirteen. 

I realised this in the bathroom of a bar, a bizarre Alice In Wonderland themed place in which I sipped cocktails from conical flasks, one that I had frequented with my best friend; a woman who knew me all those years ago. Perhaps it was the decor, or the company, or the magical atmosphere in which we found ourselves, but it tipped me into a rabbit hole of memories. 

So much seems to change these days. Friends, countries, carpets in my childhood home: the list of items that become transient seems to grow and grow. It is my fault or, if we remove the blame, it is my choice based on the lifestyle I have thrown myself into, and yet I crave the stability that I see in others. There is a light at the end of the tunnel, it is after all only a year until I graduate and move into the big wide world where life choices could result in me being (gasp) in the same place for more months than I can count on two hands. The last time that happened I was a dark brunette who could barely drink legally. 

I'm not complaining. Each new adventure brings memories and moments with new friends and old, but in being home, and by home I mean England, I feel the need to fight through the curiously unstable emotions that must I always must work through whenever I transition. Because no matter how much excitement I feel for the next step, there is a lingering grief for the loss of the old, and this mix of emotion confuses me. It bubbles away until it erupts in anxiety, crying, and/or confused irritation. The only way I can unravel this is how I work through everything: to write.

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There are costs to every choice, and mine become clearest in these moment. I spent a wonderful day and night in Oxford with my best friend, a place rooted in history where things can remain unchanged for hundreds of years. That's not how I would like my life to be, but sometimes we all need an anchor and last night she was mine. 

So if you've had to help me through an outburst, thank you, and if you've ever felt the same way please tell me. I find one of the positives of publishing my rambling thoughts on the internet is that I can find people who have felt the same, and as someone who often fights loneliness that is a gift that I don't want to give up.

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