I find myself in a situation where my time in London has surpassed the time remaining.
The period of studying abroad serves as a time for introspection. I eagerly anticipate the forthcoming experiences while also reflecting on the memories I have already created.
Prior to my time in London, I typically did not dwell on missing things while they were still present. My usual inclination was to look ahead to new goals and destinations.
However, as I approach the final week of classes before a month-long break to prepare for exams in May, I catch myself yearning for time to stand still. Similar to Clarissa in Virginia Woolf’s “Mrs. Dalloway,” the ticking clocks not only indicate the time of day but also highlight the distance between the past and the present for me.
The boundaries between my recollections, the present moment, and the future ahead seem to blur, emphasizing the importance of cherishing the time that remains. Despite this realization, I find myself grappling with a sense of melancholy as the term draws to a close.
The convergence of winding down classes, impending travel plans, and approaching exams creates a whirlwind of activity. Balancing academic responsibilities, social interactions, travel arrangements, summer internships, and the search for next year’s accommodation leaves me feeling fatigued, yearning for a moment of respite.
Navigating through the academic demands here, albeit lesser than those at Berkeley, feels equally draining and time-consuming. Perhaps this is due to the differing priorities or my altered perception of time. Nevertheless, the part of me that identifies with Berkeley’s academic rigor insists on prioritizing studies over the remaining experiences to be had.
Amidst this internal conflict, I find myself deliberating on where to direct my focus, all while observing the relentless passage of time as day transitions into night and vice versa.
During a bus ride home on Wednesday, the song “Will I See You Again?” by Thee Sacred Souls resonated deeply with me. While the song may revolve around personal connections, I couldn’t help but relate it to the essence of London: the bus rides, the river, my flatmates, school companions, and beloved destinations.
Ironically, my apprehensions have now transformed into a sense of dread towards the approaching month of May. Typically a time of anticipation for the end of academic pressures and the blossoming of flowers, May now signifies the culmination of classes, the conclusion of my study abroad journey, and bidding farewell to newfound friends.
Although May traditionally symbolizes growth and renewal with birthdays, blooming flowers, and the onset of summer, I perceive these events as markers of passing time. Birthdays come and go, flowers wither, and summer eventually fades.
My perception of time has adopted a cyclical nature. Yet, akin to the passing of my sister’s birthday in May, I acknowledge that my anxiety surrounding time will eventually dissipate. Progressing forward or yearning to remain stagnant are both valid sentiments; the memories and friendships forged during this chapter remain steadfast, unaffected by the ticking clock.
As I near the end of March, on the cusp of April and edging closer to May, I strive to ground myself in London, savoring the remaining time with my companions rather than fearing its conclusion.
Although my time in London outweighs what lies ahead, I am determined to bid farewell to my study abroad experience on a positive note, welcoming the summer in California with open arms.