Today I took a break to breathe. And while breathing, it hit me; I'm doing it. I am really moving now. This time I'm not looking at apartments to rent just for fun and for dreaming of what would happen IF I lived just right there. This time I'm looking for a place to actually live out my fifteen year old dream. Yes, I am twenty(soon)one and unexperienced and naive. I feel I get it punched in my face way to much. But I have been dreaming about moving to London since I was six. The first years on elementary school in english-class I loved to talk with a british accent. I remember being teachers pet just because I did everything right. Of course someone hinted to me it was stupid, so I did what everyone else did, talking like I didn't know any better. But I always talked with an accent when I was home alone. This is not just a crush I got from watching Bridget Jones' diary, thinking that everybody lives in a big studio apartment with white walls and perfect hair. I know about fluffy wall to wall-carpet on the bathrooms and unmatchable wallpaper and kids getting high at the age of eleven, trust me. But still I love the place. I can't explain it, I just love it.
ps the picture is of me when I was sixteen/seventeen and went with mum on a tourist-trip up London Eye.