London Diary 47

I miss back home.

It is a thing that many immigrants, like me, say.

That is an odd thing, eh? Immigrant. With such perfect English. Well, that’s because I am thinking this and not speaking.

I miss back home.

So why did I come to London?

And more importantly, why am I still here?

There are many reasons. Hey, I wanted to improve my English, I wanted to see the bright lights of London, I was attracted by the glamour of the lifestyle that was my youth.

Or maybe because back home was so shit…nay, is still so shit…that London was a better place, in fact anywhere was better. London had the opportunities that a girl from a small town could take advantage of.

And it is London that will be the death of me.

Death.

That is something that is always on my mind.

So why don’t I go back home, if London is so shit.

Fear and shame. Fear of the unknown. Back home is…no longer home. Ad shame. The shame over what I became when I left home. Not that I am any different from that girl who left all those years ago. But I know, when I go back, I will be spat on, and ground into the Earth like a rabid dog.

But I still miss back home. Even though London is now very much…my home…

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6 Comments

Filed under life, london, writing

6 responses to “London Diary 47

  1. I love that bit of graffiti you’ve got at the top there – did you take the photo?

  2. Is anyone of us ever really at home?

  3. Is any one of us ever really at home?

  4. Great short story that captures the angst of an immigrant no matter where they immigrate to. A person with two homes and two countries and neither home is truly a home anymore, and yet both are homes, not loved in either place as a native, and feels a misfit in both places.

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