I leave for my second place before I’ve really settled in the first. I’ve been home for 2 weeks and 2 days which is not that long but long enough for it to seem normal again. Like waking up in the bed sofa next to the Christmas tree in our Gävle flat is what I always do. Like I haven’t ever even lived in the UK. Isn’t that weird? In a way it feels a bit like I am always on the move. My life fragments are so short. A term is 10 weeks and then I’m in London for 1 week, in Sweden for 2 and in London for 19h. Then I’ll be at university again for 10 weeks, with the occasional London visit I guess. When I look back at the term that ended just under a month ago it feels far away and like it almost didn’t happen. Bus rides to uni, evenings out, lunch on campus, seminars, lectures, essays. All of that feels very abstract.
I am currently sat at the airport, in a faraway corner of the F-pier, connected to the only working plug I found. Yesterday I said goodbye to my dad and my sister, my friend and her family. Today I’ve said goodbye to my mum and my stepdad and on my way to the airport I met up with a friend I haven’t seen in a long time for lunch and a little chat. Then I said goodbye to her as well. I don’t like saying goodbye to people. Even if I know that I will see them again soon. Nothing is as bad as saying goodbye to my boyfriend, but still, a goodbye is a goodbye and maybe I shouldn’t be so obsessed with them as I am. What matters is not the goodbye in itself but everything you had together before that. Kind of.