Forewarning: this post is written at 3:30a.m. England time by a woman in a slight state of insanity. Ignore any strangeness and/or bluntness that follows.

One last post in England before I go. I had to do it.

I honestly just can’t believe that it’s already over. It feels like yesterday we just arrived and stumbled around Lark Lane, looking for a place to eat; and yet I feel like it has been a lifetime since I left. I’ve changed, I can feel it. This experience was like nothing that’s ever occurred in my life before. There’s no way I can just go back to “normal”, not after seeing what I’ve seen and meeting who I’ve met. The people have shaped me. This city grounded me.

This morning I woke up early to venture out one last time to the Albert Dock. It was raining – really I wouldn’t have had it any other way, it is Liverpool after all – and I was soaking wet by the time I got back to my flat. But it was so worth it. I got up, dressed, and walked to the train station. I bought a day pass from the Indian man at the counter that I’ve seen too many times to count. I knew it was 3 pound 50, and had my money ready. I walked down to the platform and waited with the others. I smiled at a baby hidden under a rain tarp in its pram. The train arrived on time, 11:16a.m., and I got on. I sat across from another mother and child, and watched the words “This train is for Southport, the next station is…” until I reached Moorfields. I got off, went up the long escalator, and slid my ticket through the machine. I walked through and made my way briskly to the Dock. I passed familiar buildings and landmarks and signs and thought back to my first day, venturing around with my newfound friends and flatmates. Now I looked at these things differently. Still in awe of the Liver buildings, but a quieter awe. One that observes but doesn’t stare. I felt the rain against my face, soaking my woolen winter peacoat, but it seemed almost warm to me. I made my way to the gift shop to get a few last minute items and then walked around to the edge of the Dock, where the black, chained fence separates me from the Mersey. It was quiet, and I was alone. Even the water seemed hushed, somber. I stared across the water and tried my best to silence my mind, take mental pictures, be still. I did my best, but I had to keep checking the time to make sure I made my train back in order to get the bus to get to school on time. But I took her in – the liver-colored water, the metal locks of lovers past and present, the cobblestone beneath my feet, the fog hiding the land across. It had not changed, but I had. Seeing as I had a few spare minutes, I quickly reached around my purse for something to donate to the Mersey, a way to tell it to remember me when I come again. I found a two pence and carved a slightly-legible “JC” on one side with my keys. With one last look around, I flipped it in, and it broke the water’s surface with a very unpoetic “bloop”. I smiled slightly, laughing at its lack of sentimentality, and with one last look behind me, I made my way back to Moorfields.

Comparing my first trip to Albert Dock to this one, I noticed how comfortable I was with the city. I navigated without much thought. I recognized buildings and streets. I knew which way to look when crossing the road. I navigated myself through public transport with ease. All of the small things that I take for granted at home, like knowing where I’m going, have been a struggle these past few months. I just didn’t notice how much I actually knew the city until today. It was nice to know that I am capable of something such as this: moving to a completely different country, a new university with new people, and finding a way to get comfortable and make it my home. I knew I could do it, but it takes a lot longer than I originally expected.

Life takes time. But time takes life. It’s an endless loop that we’re all caught in and we’ll never have nearly as much time as we want, or live as fully as we should. You simply have to choose to use the time you have to the best of your ability, and to make each day a new adventure. Whether you’re in a new country or just sitting at home, I would encourage everyone to do something different every day. There is so much that we don’t notice, so many people that we don’t reach out to, that could change your life if you’d just try to look beyond what is the daily routine. I don’t think that I ever really got into a routine in the past three months, and I’m glad for that. It made every day unexpected. The prospects of possibility drives hope and the desire for something better, and without that drive, we will all fall into a lifeless existence.

This is what I’ve come to see here, among so many other life lessons. But I am not finished. This is an end, yes, but there is so much possibility that awaits me because of this. I now know people from all over the world, and I plan to visit them all someday. I’ve become more independent, more willing to go do what I feel like for the day without worrying. Life and friendship and love knows no borders, and sometimes we must go far to see what was right in front of us. Perspective – something I strive to continue to grow – is so important. We limit ourselves to what is easy rather than what we are actually capable of, and that is our downfall. We are stronger than we think, hardier than we feel, and more adaptable than we give ourselves credit for. This I have come to know as truth. This, as well as two very full and probably overweight pieces of luggage, is what I will bring home from England. And I can’t wait to share it.

For now, ta & cheers. x