Passe Le Temps.

Reading through old posts and delighting.

What a chronicle.

Seriously considering printing them off and collating them into some form of a diary in an openly vain attempt of recollecting the past few years.

Also undoubtedly embarrassed about the bizarre intrigue I have into my own life. Is this normal? Passing it off as literary fandom rather than personal vanity as that would be concerning.

Moral of the story, I need to write more. It is so much fun (and so enchantingly nerve-wracking) to read back on such nonsense that seemingly held importance once upon a time.

There is a beauty in that though, I think.

Lovely to revisit what once held my thoughts. Lovely in a 'thank goodness this is retrospect/hindsight' kind of way.

Loving NOW.

Personal: Goodbye.

I can still remember when you tucked me into bed. You’d pat my head and tell me good night. I’d roll over and play with the edges of those blankets I loved. When I got older I could hear you snoring from the next room. Sometimes I’d hear your feet patter against the carpet and know you were up for your 4am banana or your early morning Weetbix. Sometimes I used to imagine what you did while you ate it; practising bridge in the darkness, or trying to scrawl the crossword answers in the glare of the moonlight.

I can still see you watching us from the doorway as we rode around the cul-de-sac on our tiny, shiny trikes. You’d call us in and we’d feed the birds, breaking pieces of old bread and placing it out. I never saw them eat it but it was always gone in the morning.

I remember Queenstown. Snippets, but they’re still there. You’re setting up the paddling pool, or carrying the towels as we take the dingy out on the lake. You’d wear a sundress and a wide-brimmed hat, and I remember looking back to shore and thinking you looked so glamorous. You would perch yourself under the multi-coloured umbrella and I would watch you move. You had the most graceful movements for a self-proclaimed ‘giant’. I would have loved to watch you play netball. I’m sorry you always had to play GS. I can imagine the other teams faces as you walked onto court. All legs.

I won't forget your stories. You didn’t marry your boyfriend because "he was too tall" and you thought you would have giant children. I loved the way you spoke about him. Not what you said, but how you said it. Your face changed and the lines of affection painted themselves across your complexion, filling in the beautiful lines and lighting your eyes. Well I could have done with a bit of extra height! I wouldn’t be here though, and I wouldn’t wish away being your granddaughter for anything. I’m the luckiest damn grand daughter in the world.

I don’t forget things too easily at this age.

My head is bursting with memories. They flood in.

There were so many things I wanted to ask you. So many more stories I wanted to hear.

Luckily, I got to know so much. I appreciate that.

Your jokes, your stories and your adventures. Your kindness, your compassion, your selflessness and your courgette puffs.

I am here, in London. Miles away from you. Many planes and layovers. Too many customs checks and foreign airports. I wish I wasn’t. I wish I was there. With you. They say it doesn’t matter, it’s not worth it, that you don’t know. Do they know? It will never be the same.

I am here because of you. Without you, I may still be there. Same old days, the groundhog race.

Travel, you said. And I did. I am. You taught me to go, to see, to experience. I have, Nana. I am. And it’s beautiful.

But right now, I want to be there. With you. Here it’s wet, and the salt tastes funny. It drips endlessly and stains. Blurring my vision and leaving gaps in my heart. 

I’ll still buy the postcards. Can you read them where you are? I’ve seen some wonderful things, Nana. Do you see?

“They can never take the memories away from you.”

Upcoming Beauty.

Morocco...

Mission On.

Mission: Finding happiness in the unknown.

I'm preparing to release my sails and let the wind guide me for the next few months and I couldn't be more excited. My last European foray!

Turning corners with hidden endings, finding revelations in unseen cultures.

There is an art to travelling. For me, its letting go.

Shantaram (though set in Asia) constantly spoke of the need to release the fight, and flow. If you fight it, you'll drown. I think this is perfect, the art is in the flow.

It is one of the most wonderful things to let yourself go and see where it takes you. I think it is the moments that aren't planned that turn out to be most spectacular. Where the wind catches you up and pulls you effortlessly and beautifully. An enchanting escape.

I haven't travelled alone in a bit and I'm ready to find fun in new faces, new smiles and unheard laughs. I'll miss those faces I love but people can be wonderful if you give them a chance. I hope I find some.

Morocco. Italy. Budapest. Poland. Czech Republic. Vienna. England. Singapore. Australia. H.O.M.E.

A week in humidity catching up with an old face and exploring a whole country I'm completely new to.

Then 6 hours with my favourite sibling in a city I'll soon call my own.

Then, home. Home. I cannot wait.

First Christmas at home, in summer, in two years.

That is where moments are made.