Foreign.

For people who dream of travelling -- people who have an indisputable impulse to explore, to learn, and to experience new culture, language, and space, there is nothing more rewarding than finally making it to your desired destination.

Well I have finally made it and it's almost a bit surreal. I'm living in London for a month of my life and even a week into this strange endeavour, it still doesn't feel tangible. It's like that something that you've wanted for so long, that something that has always seemed so far out of arms reach; and when you finally obtain it... it's a haze, a daze.... a foggy dream in this foggy place, leaving my mind twisted and my thoughts obscured.

It's a weird realization and an uncomfortable discovery to conjure up that it is not this place that is foreign, but me who is the foreigner. Being so far away from home makes you appreciate normalcy and routine. But I feel so blessed, I really do. To be able to breath new air and experience everyday life things as if they're happening for the first time; that's a real gift. I'm so lucky.

I feel I am beginning to emerge from the glass bottle of myself. I am flying like a freed bird, away from my personality, my brutality, my bitterness, cynical tendencies, and my impatience. They say that New Yorkers are the most jaded people in the world, and I think I can certainly say first hand that that generilaztion is one that deems highly accurate. I love New York, I idolize it... but I believe a long vacation away from that concrete mess is exactly what I need. My edges, I feel, are begin to smooth.

So this is it. This is the documentation of everything that's going on in my strange life in foggy London town for the next four weeks. Cheers!