home

The holidays are quickly approaching and nostalgia is seeping in. The memories of childhood, of home and my home away from home. It's been almost four years since I nervously hopped onto a plane at Newark Airport to London Heathrow. For some reason the holidays bring back these memories abroad. Maybe because holidays are so comforting, and so were the 108 days I spent in Wroxton Abbey in England. The memories are so vivid. The dreams are painful. Daydreaming about my short time there results in uncontrollable laughter and constant tears. My feelings are undecided. I want to remember every little detail, but I want to forget so much. I have this mentality that nothing will ever compare to my days at the abbey; that the rest of my life is not worth living. Of course, that is not true. There's so much more out there, but nothing will ever feel or taste the same as my experience in Wroxton. This is a good thing. I don't ever want any other experience to feel the same, but sometimes I want to feel that way again.

I want to wake up in room 25, I want to be late for breakfast and count the minutes until tea time so I can eat a cookie and call it breakfast. I want to spend time with my Wroxton family, people I haven't seen in over year... the same people I used to see daily. I want to jog around the breathtaking abbey grounds. I want to wake up in a quaint hotel in London. I want to roam the streets of London and feel the chill of winter. I want to jump onto the tube and ride that wonderful underground until I get off at a random stop. I want to go to North Arms on a Wednesday night and drink until I'm so full of laughter and light. I want to buy a plane ticket to Amsterdam the day of and surprise my friends who told me I would never do something so bold, so spontaneous. I want to feel so young, free and unstoppable. And most of all, I don't want to grow up; I want to feel as care free as I was for those three and a half months. I want to be invincible forever.