It’s yet another grey, dark and wet day in London. I’m always angry at the weather, looking up at the sky with a frown and cursing the clouds, a hood over my head and two scarves tugging at my neck… but my mind quickly turns to sunshine, and in the Thai embassy I just came out of, it’s not too difficult because I’m sweating. Too many people are piled into here and I’m stripping myself of layers. I look around and see and old man on crutches, some younger girls with plenty of makeup on, a mother next to me with an adorable, new-born and blue eyed baby challenging me to a staring contest that I know I’ll win. There’s no room to move; just enough air to breathe but I can feel the excitement already. I feel like I’m on my way, I feel like we’re all starting our adventure here.

I give over my receipt at counter three to one of the unhappy looking girls working here, who flips through a few passports and I see my face. She picks it up and hands me back my new passport, with my new name in it, and inside is my new visa which is the first thing to take up anything on a page in there. The first of many, I hope, and the sign of a new beginning. I guess it’s only appropriate that I follow suit and (finally) make my first post here, pen a little digital ink on the first page of my digital book.

I’ve been putting that off for too long now, which I guess is another thing my blog, my trip and real life have in common… waiting; waiting for the perfect moment, making excuses and putting things off. I’ve been working on and off at this website, trying to get everything together before I make my first post and sat there in front of my computer at home, finding it difficult for a place to start. There’s so much to say and yet, so much to do before I’m ready before I post… and so much to say and yet, so much to do before I’m ready to leave.

My to-do list has been MASSIVE. It’s been huge for a long time. In my notebook are little lists of things to check off for the bigger picture. It’s been such a huge undertaking, planning to pack up my things and leave behind my old life forever and start a new one that I’ve been dreaming of forever. There’s been things on that list that have been on there for years that I thought were impossible, that in a few days or weeks I rendered it to nothing but another thing in my notebook slashed across with pencil to show it’s done.

And now, here I am today.

The list is short. The list is pretty much done. As things have come off, things have gone on, the growth sometimes necessary, when I find things like I need to get a needle jabbed into my arm and pumped full of fun stuff so I don’t do things that aren’t so fun abroad, like dying. Sometimes they’re not so important but helpful nonetheless, like selling stuff on eBay for a bit more cash to make my bag lighter and give me a bit more money for food abroad (and probably more importantly, booze). A lot of the time, it’s completely stupid stuff, like trying to get into exercise again. Sounds like a decent enough idea, until I realise that’s probably just one of many excuses I’m using to keep my mind off booking a ticket and my ass off a plane seat, getting going with this adventure.

It’s mad really, I thought I was the last person in the world who had a comfort zone, let alone SCARED of leaving one, but here I am. I should have been gone years ago, but I’m the Thomas Edison of inventing excuses to stay put. I need more money. I need the perfect stuff. I need my blog up and running, a credit card, I need to read books, sell stuff. Those have piled up and piled up to the point it was so high and intimidating, it cast a shadow of doubt over me and whether taking this trip was at all possible. And now those towers of uncertainty have been knocked down as if they were nothing dominos, and there’s nowhere left to turn but to the airport. I find myself desperately looking around for one more thing ‘to-do’, and the only thing to do is to book the ticket.

The gear is bought and the backpack is packed, sitting neglected in the wardrobe itching to see what’s above the clouds and experience how soft sands feels under one’s weight, what the sun looks like shimmering off the reflection of the seashore (or what the sun looks like at all, since it’s been in that dark wardrobe all its life… not that it’d have much luck outside of it here, it being England and all). My name’s been properly, legally changed, which I’ve wanted for so long. The clothes have been tailored, the junk has been sold. There’s nowhere to go but forwards, and the only thing holding me back now is myself.

My plans change almost as much as my mind, and that changes so much that the wind stops blowing, looks at me and says, “damn, you indecisive as FUCK, boy.” Around a year ago today I wanted half the money I have now and was so excited about getting my visa for Australia, working towards this month when I’d finally leave on December 15^th without fail. Looks like I’ve failed, though, since I’ll probably still have my feet on solid ground rather than up in the air, and the clouds pissing down on my head, rather than me being up there with them. I’ve traded my Australian visa in for a Thai one today, and my “g’days” for… well, however the hell you say “hello” in Thai.

It’s been a tough four years here in London after graduating and leaving my beautiful little Brighton behind. There’s been way too much negative stuff weighing upon my shoulders for way too long (maybe I could magic up that little line into a justification of why I’ve literally, actually been putting off my trip to be seeing an osteopath). I’ve dreamt of escape, of release and freedom, of finally getting away and now it’s completely possible. I’ve thrown up my middle fingers on both hands up to this city, the people surrounding me and couldn’t wait to leave.

And now, not only am I waiting to leave, I find myself SCARED. Almost as if I want to stay.

I love going into new situations blind and making friends and doing new stuff. The best times I’ve had since moving to London have been at festivals, where I stumble off on my own and within a few minutes have a new group of best friends. And here I am, scared of getting on a plane and possibly screwing everything up and that nobody will like me, or that I can’t do what comes completely naturally to me.

It’s all pretty sudden, as I’m usually prone to just diving head first into these kinds of situations, not thinking about anything and just getting on with it and having a good time. I know it’s all in my head; I know it’s natural to feel this kind of fear before doing something this big and risky. I know it’s normal to plan something for this long and worry about messing it all up. I know it’s okay after wanting something this much to want to do it perfectly. And I know I have a comfort zone that I’m worried to leave and I’m making excuses to stay in it even longer.

But what I didn’t know and wasn’t prepared for was amongst all this, to come to the realisation that London and my life here wasn’t as bad as I was making it out to be.

As I’ve slowly got rid of all my things, got rid of bad habits, cut out drinking and smoking and come towards the decisive date of December 15^th and the finish line, I see that this year has been really tough, but also given a glimpse into a life I could have enjoyed and been happy, been content with once upon a time.

I’m not sure if I’m trying to justify staying now, but I look at places, possibilities and people with so much potential, that if I just gave up my trip I would be fine. I’ve spent over a year withdrawing from people, not having a social life, not really enjoying myself and just completely focusing on working to the point I make myself sick, trying to get myself ready for leaving this country that has nothing going for it, that I was blind to see that it has plenty going for it here, and so did I.

I’m mourning all the possibilities I missed because of my circumstances and because of my sole focus on escapism. I’m looking back on all the amazing memories I’ve had and the more I won’t get to make.

Sometimes it’s the career, money and all that comes along with it and I don’t even have that I miss. I look around at people and envy a bit how nice they look in their expensive clothes, whilst I gave up shopping around the same time I decided to sell almost everything I own. At work, I see the guys in the nice shirts, the suits, wearing the kind of cardigan I’d see online and then find myself typing in my card details at the checkout page and not even knowing how I got there. I see people going out and drinking, hooking up and envy a bit how they’re all dancing, laughing and holding hands, when I gave up all of that around the same time I decided paying all that money for amnesia and something I’ve done over and over again wasn’t worth the detriment of being able to experience new things and see the world.

Stuff I’ve been denying myself, stuff I’ve missed out on, stuff I might not get to do again… but on the other hand, stuff that might not be that important, and stuff that I’ve traded in for something better; stuff I’ll get to do in a new place and exchanging the rain and underground trains for the sun and seas.

What’s not so easy to come to terms with is the people.

Like life in general in London, I’ve had a lot of ups and downs with the people in my life here, and with the incoming realisation I’m leaving them – perhaps for good – it’s like a thick fog is clearing up around me and I’m only now just seeing thing clearly… and in the midst of trying to get away from it all, how much I’m going to miss them.

I’m gong to miss Mark.

I’m going to miss sitting in the sunshine with him, drinking warm vodka mixed with warm Lucozade, laughing uncontrollably, talking about nothing very important (that now, seemed like some of the most important things ever) and then, talking about nothing at all in a moment of silence, sitting there and watching the sun set in the distance, feeling a cool breeze wash over us as we hear bass, cheers and music in the distance. I’m going to miss those moments where I’d just be sitting there with him and nothing seemed to matter, where everything just felt fine. I’m going to miss getting drunk with him and losing ourselves in the moment and giving ourselves up to music. Sitting down for a cigarette which he always rolled (because I never learnt) and talking to girls and making friends with anyone and everyone. I’m going to miss making up phrases out of nowhere with him that just seemed to stick without any of us trying to make them or forcing them into a ‘thing’… like hacking up our lungs after too much drinking, too much smoking and not enough sleeping, and saying, “health”.

I’m going to miss the genuine excitement I’d feel when seeing him after a long time, or a short time, or even a few minutes of getting lost somewhere when drunk. A feeling and vibe I’ve not really had with many people in London or in my life. A thing we called and sung “bromance! There’s nothing really gay about it! Bro-o-o-mance! I love you in the most heterosexual way!”

I’m going to miss Dos.

The guy I’ve spent most of my time with over the last ten years, the guy I’ve had more fights with than anyone else I know and could ever hope to count, and shared more of my secrets, enough ups and downs to make a yoyo blush. I’m going to miss going out to bars and clubs with him, getting completely stupid on half a litre of vodka each in a chicken shop or behind a sports centre where they put out the bins, talking about incredibly deep and serious things as the exciting, familiar spell of Smirnoff weaves its magic upon us. I’m going to miss sitting on train with him on the way to the club, drinking Baileys out of a water bottle and then it’s suddenly being 3am and we’re finding ourselves in a cab back home. Or if we got the bus, passing out and waking up only to find ourselves at Heathrow Airport.

I’m going to miss the people I didn’t get to spend more time with and the people I didn’t really get to know at all, because I had no time or couldn’t make time. All the friends I’d made over the years who I wished I could keep around with me all the time, but couldn’t give enough time.

My journey abroad has been a jealous mistress, refusing me even the smallest amount of time for the girls I’ve met that I wanted to get to know better… for obvious reasons. I’ve lost the time and lost the game to do anything about that, but no big deal; there’s plenty more fish in the sea and with the whole wide world as my oyster, I’ve got a pretty big pond to take a dip in and go searching for pearls. But there’s a big “what if?” for some girls that I wish I could have known the answer to, girls that I wish were more than just numbers, pictures and a few bits of text on my phone, and real people I got to meet up with and get to know better beyond those short few times I met them and got singed by a spark.

Like Roxanne, who I met under dark grey clouds on a cold winter day. I wouldn’t be able to tell how many pretty girls walked by at Westfield that December before I met her, because they were countless. And I wouldn’t be able to say how many came after I met her because nobody else could have been as drop dead gorgeous from that point. She swept passed to try some Baileys, and she took a sip I drank in deep the sight of her dark brown hair, drowned in the allure of her eyes that gave as much attention as they demanded, became intoxicated by the way the soft sound of her voice and how she carried herself in such a graceful, humble way.

And Lilly, who I met under a bright blue sky on a blazing hot summer’s day. At festivals, girls are solar powered and I’d never been to one with as much talent as this, my eyes going into a chameleon like frenzy as beautiful people slinked past me. Lilly wasn’t the first girl to pose in my oversized Instagram frame, but I wouldn’t have minded if she was the last. You only had eyes for Lilly when you looked into hers; an extraordinary green captured in a dark halo that refused to let you go once it caught you. And when she smiled and laughed, they lit up so bright that the sun needed shade. It was like that smile was the only thing that mattered in that moment, and absolutely the ones that followed in the nights when we would get each others’ texts half an hour apart, trying to find one another in a horde of people and severe lack of signal. And I never stopped hoping as I drunkenly danced and stumbled about that I’d suddenly clock those eyes again, and trade any and all of the other people I kept bumping into for that smile to light up the night.

And I know there are going to be new friends abroad, new experiences, other girls, better food and everything else… but just as it’s within my grasp, I start to realise that in the endless and completely obsessive mission to get away from all of this, that I’m going to miss it.

Man, I promised myself that I wasn’t going to get dramatic and emotional in this blog, since I have other ones to do that in. But more than that, I wanted to be honest with myself and without an audience, I’d write for past Kenny with the dreams and ambition to leave behind his life and travel the world and start new.

And I have to be honest that it’s not as easy as I thought it would be. I haven’t got many attachments or responsibilities here, it’s been quite easy to get everything together over the last few months… but I didn’t realise how hard it would be to say goodbye. I guess if I had this all laid out earlier I could have taken my time a bit, rather than rush off.

But I’ve come too far to back out now.

There’s nothing left on my list of things to do, except to equip my backpack and:

“Go.”