October 22 — I have always considered myself a city girl. Even when I had
never been to a big city in my entire life, at nine years old I told my
friends and family that when I grew up I was going to move to The Big
City. The Big City is capitalized because the city in my mind was
nameless, faceless, and looked vaguely like a bunch of high rise office
buildings, with a man walking in front of a taxi yelling “I’m walkin’
here!”. The Big City I had imagined was an amalgamation of images I
soaked up from various TV shows and movies I watched over the years
telling me that The Big City is where I needed to be. I may not have
known that London is where I would find what I was looking for, but I
have always known that I wanted to be where the action is taking place.
This is it; the action is happening here in London all the time,
influencing and affecting how the rest of the world proceeds. All that’s
missing is a New York accent.
Well, now I’m here and it’s true: I am indeed a city girl. I love the variety of it all: the people, the food, the landscape, the sheer amount of different activities that one could do at any minute of any day here is astonishing. In fact, there is so much to do that I get overwhelmed: overwhelmed at the thought of only having three months to do everything that I have been dreaming of since I was nine; overwhelmed that when I do finally make a choice about what to do on any given night, that by choosing one thing I am probably missing out some other event that’s better or more one of a kind. The fear of missing out (or FOMO, as the kids say) is a tortuous feeling that has afflicted me since the day we got here. This torturous feeling has afflicted me since the day we got here. After I wrestled with the amount of time in a day I can possibly shove activities into, the unfortunate human need for sleep, and my bank account; I have learned to live with this feeling like a chronic itch. Yes, it's there, but sometimes the best way to get rid of it is to ignore it completely. I have come to accept and understand that while it is impossible for me to do everything I would like to, that’s just part of life in The Big City.
And yet, what I have done would definitely make nine-year-old Caroline proud. I have seen and eaten the most amazing variety of foods: from calzones in Victoria Park Market, chicken vindaloo on Brick Lane, arepas in Camden Market, and steak pie at Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese on Fleet Street. I love food more than I love most people and this variety of food has been one of the best parts of London for me. Walking through these market stalls, watching people make the food of their culture that they love and want to share with the world made me realize that that is what I love most about London: the constant sharing and appreciation of cultures. This sharing can not only be seen in food, but in the museums (like the Victoria and Albert Museum’s exhibition on Frida Kahlo), and just by walking down the street or sitting and listening in the tube you can hear at least five different languages being spoken. London is everything and more nine-year-old Caroline dreamed about: it has the high rises, the energy, and the taxis, but what I was sorely mistaken on being the most important part was the people.
Well, now I’m here and it’s true: I am indeed a city girl. I love the variety of it all: the people, the food, the landscape, the sheer amount of different activities that one could do at any minute of any day here is astonishing. In fact, there is so much to do that I get overwhelmed: overwhelmed at the thought of only having three months to do everything that I have been dreaming of since I was nine; overwhelmed that when I do finally make a choice about what to do on any given night, that by choosing one thing I am probably missing out some other event that’s better or more one of a kind. The fear of missing out (or FOMO, as the kids say) is a tortuous feeling that has afflicted me since the day we got here. This torturous feeling has afflicted me since the day we got here. After I wrestled with the amount of time in a day I can possibly shove activities into, the unfortunate human need for sleep, and my bank account; I have learned to live with this feeling like a chronic itch. Yes, it's there, but sometimes the best way to get rid of it is to ignore it completely. I have come to accept and understand that while it is impossible for me to do everything I would like to, that’s just part of life in The Big City.
And yet, what I have done would definitely make nine-year-old Caroline proud. I have seen and eaten the most amazing variety of foods: from calzones in Victoria Park Market, chicken vindaloo on Brick Lane, arepas in Camden Market, and steak pie at Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese on Fleet Street. I love food more than I love most people and this variety of food has been one of the best parts of London for me. Walking through these market stalls, watching people make the food of their culture that they love and want to share with the world made me realize that that is what I love most about London: the constant sharing and appreciation of cultures. This sharing can not only be seen in food, but in the museums (like the Victoria and Albert Museum’s exhibition on Frida Kahlo), and just by walking down the street or sitting and listening in the tube you can hear at least five different languages being spoken. London is everything and more nine-year-old Caroline dreamed about: it has the high rises, the energy, and the taxis, but what I was sorely mistaken on being the most important part was the people.
—Caroline Wilkes