Apple, Smoke, (Love).

So I went home; my sister didn’t. Sort of?

When Jacq visited me in New York last Christmas, we explored some stalls at Bryant Park. One of which sold canvas bags in various sizes with iconic NYC images and funny quotes. One read, “I love NYC, but I am keeping my options open.” I am afraid I concur.

For unknown reasons, I was nervous about coming to London at first. Scared about being alone for eight hours in a city and a continent I have never been to? Scared of falling in love with London and that I confuse myself even further? On my seventh day in London, I still am not certain.

Upon the first sight of the Piccadilly Underground train that departed from Heathrow, a sense of relief rushed through my veins. I tried hard to act composed and less like a tourist. In the past year, the crowded NYC has turned me numbed with exhaustion. I forgot what it was that makes exploring a big city for the first time so exciting. Nonetheless, it revived instantly after my first step outside of Heathrow.

London felt familiar at times, despite that fact that I had never been to Europe prior to this trip, and it had nothing to do with the abundance of familiar logos like HSBC or Starbucks or McDonald’s at every other corner. It was the little things: pedestrian lightbox, middle island that makes you go zigzag, cars on the “wrong” (i.e. left) side, yellow license plates with black bold print and red letter boxes with Royal crown etc. They all reminded me of home. Yet, different accent(s) and “exotic” terms (like telly, tube, “alright”, mate, fancy) added a tint of foreignness. Then I wondered if I spoke like that before. I probably did. Otherwise, my pronunciation of “leisure” wouldn’t have cracked up K that much in sophomore year. There are traces of the UK left in HK. Or there were. I couldn’t pinpoint when exactly, but five years of living abroad and now visiting London made me realized, rather sadly, how much British-ness had faded away in favor of the inevitable yet saddening unification.

While I have also enjoyed Paris during our four-day detour, I felt like such a tourist all the time, and I hated this feeling. The lavish history of France was endearing to say the least, but I did not fall in love with the City of Love at first sight like I did with the Old Smoke, nor before I was even there like it was with the Big Apple. The wide blue sky in Paris was almost too beautiful to be true; no wonder this land has bred some of the world’s most renowned artists for centuries. However, my insecurity, mostly arising from my (our) inability to speak any French, overwhelmed the astonishment for any spectacular view.

I love London; I love the chilly and misty weather in August, the double deck red buses, the (comparatively) rich history of kings and queens and fortresses incorporated in the atmosphere, the love for her own legacy, and subtle reminders of home. I feel completely at ease here. Beyond the gorgeous outlook though, I can sense an unspeakable emotional/social burden that buries deep in their culture. Just like the gloomy grey sky that lingers behind the sunshine every moment. I can imagine how life in London is more habitable and less hectic, but her diversity pales in comparison to New York’s. It is worth reminding that I have only been here for a couple of days.

My preceptor at NYP said the intensity of competition in New York is not seen elsewhere. The complex composition of demographics makes New York the most interesting place compared to any other cities and suburban towns. I am sure London has another side I have yet to explore. Living in New York can be exhausting, but it has pushed me to learn and grow so much more. Isn’t this complexity what I love about New York in the first place?

This may sound crazy, but I prefer living in New York at least for the time being. I need a place that “suffocates” and forces me hard enough to become my best self – before I am too tired to remake myself and eventually settle.

Europe has always been a distant place at heart. I am returning to New York at the end of this week. This trip has more or less shrunk that fear I felt for visiting Europe (and it has nothing to do with terrorist attacks; the US is probably equally dangerous with all the mess from gun violence and police brutality). Next time, hopefully in a few years when Carissa is in college, we could speak conversational French/Spanish/Portuguese and explore Portugal together.

Brb, NYC.