There are many wonderful things about being in the UK: delicious tea, train rides, gorgeous accents, kind people, the list goes on. However, there is one thing I can't get over. Every time I am walking down the street or through a frenetic tube station (imagine the T with an English accent and a sense of punctuality) I run into people. I mean physically, awkwardly, nearly head on. Immediately after the collision, I mumble a sorry and am usually met with a sweet accent saying, "No worries."
It's not that I'm still a country bumpkin (though I am). No. I've learned how to blend in a little better than that since living in Boston. I've gotten pretty good at navigating crowded places. I've even managed to fine tune my subway etiquette, knowing when to call for a stop, how long to wait before boarding, etc. It's not my etiquette that's messing me up. Indeed not. It's that I cannot for the life of me remember to pass on the left (my left, their right). I've gotten to the point where I almost remember which way to look when crossing the street, and I walk to the correct side of the car, but walking? I'm an utter mess. The strange part is this comical fumbling reminds me that I am a foreigner, that I don't belong here. I am not bothered by this fact, though. It's not that the reminder resounds in the voices of angry villagers threatened by an intruder, but instead a gentle nudge, a soft reminder that this place is not, cannot be, my forever home.
I'm not sure what to make of this feeling yet. I've been thinking a great deal about what I should write. Yet the words just seem to not want to come at all. Or rather, they want to flood forward, denying any form or function. Who am I to demand order? So, I leave you with this to ponder on: As I sat in the train making my way back to London from Cambridge, I was struck by the fields of bright, red poppies. The flowers demanded my attention and my admiration, as if they were a thousand six year olds in fine red dresses playing at tea time. How can such a lovely thought filled with images unfamiliar to myself not bring into clarity the foreignness of this place and the places that remain foreign within me?
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