It had to happen eventually.

Last night, for the first time, I cried because I missed London.

It wasn't a sob fest. Silent tears, rather. But the ache in my stomach was so strong that I had no choice but to let the tears go. I think one of the reasons the pain of missing this place is so acute is because I know that, even if I go back, it will not be the same. 

I was recently presented with an opportunity to apply for a Model UN trip, through my university, to Oxford, England. The trip lasts for six days, and is paid for by the university. I debated whether or not to apply, but decided against it for several reasons. First of all, I don't feel equipped to represent my school in an official forum. Second of all, I think that it would be difficult for me to return to England on such a tight schedule, as a tourist, and on someone else's agenda--not to mention, to be fairly far from London and Kingston. Third of all, I would have to be dragged out of the country after only six days. And I think that I would spend the rest of my senior year depressed that I wasn't back there. 

That being said, there is almost no question in my mind that I will go back to London for graduate school. I have a lot of research to do in terms of the financial situation, but I am determined. And you know what they say about where there's a will...

As a side note, I would like to add that, after a little bit of adjusting, I am thrilled to be back in Charlotte, at Queens, with the people who have helped shape me over the last several years. It's also helpful that I get to see some of my London friends every now and then; it's just one of those things that makes me feel a little bit closer to the place I miss so desperately. 

If the money in my bank account didn't equal the cost of a plane ticket to England, I would have bought one already.

Love,

lvp