I was both excited and nervous as I stood there waiting at the airport.
I had no clue how living in the UK would be like, and even with that in mind I bought last-minute tickets to get here, no flight back.
(I had the chance to leave all the pain behind and start life over and I did not think about all the things I would have missed from home: the smell of fresh made croissants mixed with polluted air in the morning; the narrow streets that every painter longs to portrait, longing for fame; the pizzerias hiding in every corner of the city, confusing tourists on where to dine, "you know I'm not really going to miss Italy that much after all" I thought.)
I was now standing in Heathrow Airport, waiting my ride for my soon-to-be home whilst the nervousness turned into
"I'm finally living my dream", is this what happiness was? No wonder why everyone made such a buzz of it trying to find some...
After my cab had arrived I jumped in the backseat with my tiny patterned suitcase and my old blue backpack, actually scratching my leather boots from how packed the small car was.
I was minding my business when... "aren't you sweating? It must be 25 degrees outside, how are you even alive with that long-sleeve top?" he asked with a small giggle at the end.
"oh, yeah I didn't realise" I try to brush off "no I'm fine, but thank you for asking" I smile. Awkward.
