I am in love.
It came on me, suddenly, without warning, on a London day like any other.
I woke up at 9 a.m. to the warm sound of my various flat mates laughing, soft voices and heavy accents wafting to me from the kitchen with the clank of spoons in cereal bowls. I cannot remember a time before arriving in London when this phenomenon — waking up with a smile — occurred. Similarly, as I look in the mirror, my reflection is strange to me. I do not recognize my face without bags underneath my eyes.
At 1:30 p.m. I threw open my curtains to another sunny day. It was an honest warm day, rather than one of those — brilliantly sunny, but a chill forty degrees — that catch newcomers to London unawares.
I was out the door — headphones in ears, keycard in secret pocket of running shorts, cell phone (serving as watch) in hand — in 15 minutes.
I weaved through people, through the campus gates, over Mile End Bridge, down the stairs to the path along Regents Canal. The arms of the canal locks are black and white. Occasionally you have to hurdle them as they stretch across the path. You have to duck through the cool tunnels of old stone, crumbling, supporting the bridges. Trains rushing over remind me what I am part of: this city, throbbing with history and culture and life. Following a runner in a neon green vest, I finally found the path I had been looking for, along the Thames. I ran on until my way was blocked.
I sat our kitchen table looking out at the business district of East London after a long shower and a lunch of leftovers. At that moment, sipping my tea slowly, I could not actually imagine being anywhere else.
The sun streaming into my room inspired stepping onto a shelf to reach up into a corner of my closet for shorts. A t-shirt also seemed too optimistic, so I surrendered bag space to a comfy sweater. Ready for class, I set off again down the Regent’s Canal path, but in the other direction.
Once at Victoria Park, a 10-minute walk, I knew my destination. I had been eyeing the spot for weeks, waiting for the right time to spend there. The little café at the pond’s edge emerged from behind the reeds and the trees’ still empty silhouettes on the island in the middle. It was busy inside and out, with families of well-bundled young children and couples sharing cups of tea and croissants. I made my way to the last wooden table outside on the edge of the water.
My music was gradually drowned out by some blaring old time rock n’ roll. I followed the sound to an elderly couple in electric carts, stationed just behind me to my right, facing pond’s fountain. The woman sat silently smiling, practically buried in her scarf. The man had on a cap and his cart was cluttered with bags. The music was coming from his radio, and he was shaking his head to the beat, singing along with the words. A man around my age came out from the café with two steaming mugs, and handed them to the couple. The old man placed his hand for a moment on the waiter’s cheek, saying something I could not make out. They all laughed. The young man went back into the café, and the old man continued to enjoy the music and the day.
My reading went quickly, despite frequently looking up to inhale the different colors the setting sun splashed on the pond. The park began to empty with dusk. It wasn’t until I had closed my book that I realized the young man from the café had been waiting for my table to close up. I apologized and he waved me off, smiling, as he folded up the last chairs. As I walked out of the park back onto the canal path, I looked back across the pond.
The old man was still there, nodding to the music. His partner had gone. As I walked back, arms folded tightly to the softness of my sweater, savoring the last light of the day, that’s when I realized: I am in love — with London.