I just reread my last post and have realized that my proofreading skills are similar to that of a kid in middle school. Sorry I damaged your eyes with such negligence. I will strive to do better. Maybe. If I’m not that tired when I post.
Also, I’ve decided to split March up into two blogs, otherwise you all would probably be even more annoyed than you already are because my blogs are ridiculously long as it is. And this is just the first four days. So apologies in advance.
March…..Part 1 I lost my voice on March 1st around noon and found myself sick, AGAIN (this time it was just a cold though). I had been out the night before with my friend Laurent and ended up getting absolutely hammered. The evening was just supposed to be a relaxing dinner but one glass turned into two bottles and I did it because I think deep down, I knew I wouldn’t be able to enjoy excessive drinking for much longer. A sore throat mixed with a hangover was a recipe for a disastrous Kristin the next day. I sounded terrible and I was drinking an obscenely amount of tea because I knew that I was meeting up with my flat mate Jorgen and friend Melanie to visit some former colleagues at Buckingham Palace one more before I left and didn’t want to sound as though I was going through puberty, because you know, that’s totally what you want someone’s last impression of you to be.
It was a great day, but thankfully it went quickly because my throat was on fire. One minute I was walking around Nash in the Queen’s Gallery, the next I was at a tea shop enjoying lunch with them, and before I knew it I was back at The Hub (my flat, there’s a story behind the name, basically a hubcap got onto our roof somehow, we don’t know, it will forever be a mystery) getting ready for my going away party. At this point, my voice was starting to become non-existent. It felt like someone was had shoved sandpaper down my throat because that is how sore my mouth was and because of it, I was forced to try and take it easy on the talking. At the times when I did utter words I really did sound like as if I hit puberty just a few years late. I wish I actually had a video of me speaking that evening just so I could show you all a visual as to how ridiculous I sounded.
In addition to sounding like a small child, I couldn’t decide what to wear. I felt like the buttons on my favorite high wasted shorts were going to pop off and fly across the room due to the pressure of my ehem, plumpness, so I said screw trying to look like a sex bomb on my last hurrah. I threw on my favorite owl/hipster t-shirt, some shit jeans, UGGS, and for a finishing touch, my USA Olympic jacket as a way of showing that I accepted my situation and was going back to the land from which I once came. It wasn’t flattering at all and I looked a bit chavvy but hey, what was I gonna do?
People started arriving around 8 and the party lasted until 2 or 3am. Friends from my Master’s program, my housing block, friend’s housing blocks, Cricket Jam, the Palace, and many more came and went. It was an evening of drinks; laughter, tears, reminiscing, and one really short speech because everyone was playfully making fun of me on me for my high pitched voice *cough Kosha cough*. The feeling of love in that room overwhelmed me that evening and for a while, I was able to forget that I was sick, and that in a few short days, I was leaving the country I had become attached to. It wasn’t so much that people came to see me off or that it was going to be the last time I saw most of them, but the sight of everyone enjoying the company and interacting with one another that made my heart full. Even my flat mate Jorgen told me he was impressed at how packed our house was. He and I always seemed to have semi-emotional moments when we were drunk. I don’t know why it was only then but I appreciated his friendship a lot that evening.
That Saturday and Sunday after the party went by as if they were just squished together into one day. I was busy packing, booking my taxi to the airport, and pawning some of my things off that I didn’t need or couldn’t use in the states for some extra cash. With each item that I pawned off or chose to leave behind, it was as if I was leaving a bit of the life I had built for myself behind. I know that may seem like a somewhat mushy thing to say but it does ring a lot of truth. By Sunday evening, I still had a crap ton of stuff to pack, but like many of my friends who had already left, I chose to procrastinate it some more and went out for one last time. I also still had that awful cold but I brushed the fact my health was rapidly declining aside (I know, stupid after the scare I had the month before) It was acoustic night at The Cricketters and my friend TJ was singing. Overall it was a chill evening with some close friends. Tears trickled down my face as I was leaving because TJ seriously had become someone that I felt amazingly close to and was a bit scared at the fact that I wasn’t sure when the next time I would see him would be (we still talk almost every week so to be honest it’s as if he’s always with me).
The guy I was seeing came back to my place with me that evening. I packed the rest of my stuff up aside from my bed sheets, but I didn’t want to sleep because I didn’t want to miss any last moments I had with him. In a way it was similar to that mushy Aerosmith song that my friend Barb and I always sing to each other whenever we part company. *imitates Steve Tyler’s cracked out screamy voice while pretending to cry at the same time “DON’T WANNA CLOSE MY EYES, I DON’T WANNA FALL ASLEEP CUZ I’LL MISS YOU BABY AND I DON’T WANNA MISS A THING”*…..yeah kinda like that (not really). Anyway, so we just laid there on my bed and held me as I cried into his chest while I had a death grip on him (I’m sorry if it’s starting to sound a bit repetitive but I was doing a lot of crying). We had an interesting history and though we were both messed up, we still needed each other. We talked about the mistakes we made with one another, what was to come of our futures, and that whatever happened, we would always still deeply care for the other person. He was the man of my 2012 and the one person I was the most afraid of losing.
My flight was scheduled for around 10:30 AM and because I had to be at the airport at the buttcrack of dawn, I said my final goodbye to The Hub at around 6AM. I wanted my flat mates to come with me to the airport, but I didn’t want to spend a lot of money on the taxi and I already had two people in the car with me so they ended up staying behind. I said goodbye to Irene, Marc, and Jorgen and looking back, Jorgen and Marc should have been with me. Out of all of my friends, they had known me since the very beginning and because I was blinded by my own personal issues, I couldn’t see that they were the ones who I knew I could always count on. The ride took about a half hour. I was crammed between Kristin and the guy I was seeing in the back seat. I clutched both of their hands as we travelled to the airport, aside from when we had to make a pit-stop to Tesco because I didn’t have enough money on me *…just…fail*
Melanie came to see me off as well but we didn’t meet up with her until we were at the airport. After I checked my bags in (and slightly died inside when hearing the price of a second checked bag), we went and had a last breakfast together. In those moments leading up to my departure through security, I was pretty messed up. I tried to laugh it off but I knew I looked miserable. I felt like my heart had dropped to the bottom of my stomach and was just numb all over. I was checking my phone every few minutes to make sure I had enough time to get through security and make my flight, but really I was just hoping the seconds would stop flying by and time would just freeze.
It was me who decided that it was finally time to get up and go. I figured why prolong the pain any longer and just do it. We got up and walked over to security. I think everyone started crying at that point. I wanted to get a last picture with each of them before I left, so one by one all of them stood beside me and my stupid overly stuffed backpack on, as we tried to smile. However, when I look back at the pictures, I can tell each of us had a hard time trying to smile. Afterwards I couldn’t hold it back any further and I just broke down, which therefore made each of us break down. I gave each of the girls a massive hug and one last kiss to the guy I was seeing. Looking up at him, I had a gut feeling that it would be the last time I see him. It reminded me of when I left my ex at the air-port when I was first getting on the plane to fulfill my wanderlust and begin my London experience, except then it was by choice, this time, I didn’t have one. I turned back one last time and waved at them. I know I looked awful and I’m pretty sure people were staring at me thinking “Whose the crazy chick with puffy red eyes and snot rolling down her face” but I didn’t care. When I walked through that gate, I was going to be leaving everything that I had experienced and worked for behind.
After getting through security, I still had about an hour to kill before I officially left. I walked around the airport god knows how many times; looking at overpriced designer items I couldn’t afford. I was silently freaking out inside and not sure how to comprehend the swirling of emotional shit that was going through my head. “How am I going to feel when I get home? What am I going to do about a job? Why was I not good enough? Will he forget me? How are my parents going to react to me?”. Thinking about all these questions was driving me nuts and no matter how much I wanted to stop, I just couldn’t.
Eventually my gate was called and soon I found myself sitting in a seat looking directly at airplane below feeling nauseous . I felt my backpack buzz and forgot my phone was still on. As I took it out, I saw I got a swarm of texts from Melanie and Kristin, the guy and then some from other friends of mine, wishing me a safe flight and what not. I cracked a small smile because I knew that whatever happened, London was one of the best times of my life and no one could ever take that away from me. I was leaving a lot behind, but I knew they would be there for me. I replied to every one of them and then received another message from the guy I had been seeing. “You’ve been my 2012”. Seconds after seeing that they started to board my flight. I quickly went into my backpack and took out The Book Theif so that I had something to read on the plane. The guy had given it to me the night of my party along with another book. He said it was the only book to have ever had made him cry and that he wanted me to have a copy for myself. I clutched that book hard to my chest as I walked on the plane with my head held high; heading into an unplanned, unknown future. Since I’ve been home, that book has not left my bedside.
I left a lot of people I cared for that day. Some I may never see again. But, they will always be a part of me.
John Denver – Leaving on Jet Plane
Wherever you are in the world, whatever time of day, I always wish you the best.
With Love, Miss Kristin E Rhine xx