(This post is dedicated to everyone who helped me get to London, get a masters degree, and have the best 1 year in change of my life)
Moving to London was never part of my blueprint for success. Everything happened so suddenly- much like being awakened in the middle of the night by what you assume is a ghost (which in reality, could just be your dog bumping into a couple of boxes in your garage).
Before leaving for the United Kingdom, I had your typical corporate job for a top healthcare company. I enjoyed a steady salary, and lots of other perks. I had friends, a loving family, and an awesome girlfriend, in my midst. I was in my early thirties at the time. What I knew about London, and the U.K., came mostly from what I had read in books, and learned through different forms of media.
My parents had long nagged me about getting a postgraduate degree. “Why bother?” I thought. I made a decent living, and was busy with a whole host of things. I had built a life for myself in the Philippines, and was so deeply immersed in it that I couldn’t fathom going anywhere else.
In hindsight, deciding to drop everything and move out of my comfort zone was one of the best choices I have ever made. Learning tends to be a combination of two major elements- experience and theory. My placement in London brought those two worlds together.
Did I feel fear and apprehension at the prospect of facing what seemed like a new,
big, and bright, world? You bet. I suppose that stemmed partially from feeling like I
had become so set in my ways as a resident of the Philippines that anything outside
of what I had assimilated as the “right” way to “define” living, made me nervous.
Did I also feel an inexplicable thrill brought about by the prospect of embracing what seemed to be a galaxy’s worth of possibilities? Absolutely.
For the first time in many, many, years, everything felt like my first day in preparatory school. There I was, in Ateneo De Manila Grade School, in my wee white polo shirt, and khaki shorts, with tears streaming down my face, all because I didn’t want to go into my classroom, and move away from my mom and dad. An interesting cocktail do fear and anticipation, make. Initially, the fear you feel in these types of situations can be debilitating. The shock you experience can bring you to the point of utter paralysis. Once you get over this, though, you tend to embrace your reality, and work to thrive in it. All of this can be life changing.
I had been to Europe years before my U.K. jump for a family vacation. I have been blessed with chances to travel to the United States, and other countries in Asia. Living in the U.K., though, was a truly unique experience. I wasn’t there to just visit. I had the chance to actually claim to be a Londoner, a local. I discovered what it was like to experience British mornings, afternoons, and evenings. I reveled in tradition, and culture, spending many hours in museums, visiting castles, and going full on nerdy about the history of local railways. There were amazing feasts for the senses in places like Dover, Edinburgh, and the Lake District. There were tons of runs, and hikes, across cities, fields, parks, and other places I will never forget. Elephant and Castle, Wood Green, King’s Cross, Lambeth North, Oxford Circus, Piccadilly Circus, Kensington High Street, South Kensington, Euston. Trains. Buses. Sprinters and pacers. Fish and chips. Tesco, Sainsbury’s, and yes, Aldi and Lidl for saving a buck or two. Freezing myself silly in Norwich and in the Scottish Highlands, hiking 14 miles on new year’s day to places like Hawkshead, meeting amazing communications practitioners through the International Association of Business Communicators UK’s mentorship program. Getting to watch the Gallagher Brothers, U2, and getting to meet and absolutely fall for the work and personality of the wonderful Charlotte Campbell. Enjoying a rice bowl at Wasabi in Waterloo Station after training runs. For a year and a half, I got to quiet my mind, rest my soul, and just live.
Today, I watched my university’s graduation rites, via live stream, from my apartment in Manila. Talk about running head on into a wall of emotions. Seeing familiar faces, my university’s (UAL) emblem, and the Southbank, made me remember something very important.
Memories are like lovers. Your attraction to your lover is inexplicable. Only you and your lover really know of the intricacies of the ties that bind you. Being with your lover is akin to being in a field full of flowers. For those who have been to Belgium- think of it like being in Keukenhoff Gardens in the springtime. Being with your lover
Did I also feel an inexplicable thrill brought about by the prospect of embracing what seemed to be a galaxy’s worth of possibilities? Absolutely.
For the first time in many, many, years, everything felt like my first day in preparatory school. There I was, in Ateneo De Manila Grade School, in my wee white polo shirt, and khaki shorts, with tears streaming down my face, all because I didn’t want to go into my classroom, and move away from my mom and dad. An interesting cocktail do fear and anticipation, make. Initially, the fear you feel in these types of situations can be debilitating. The shock you experience can bring you to the point of utter paralysis. Once you get over this, though, you tend to embrace your reality, and work to thrive in it. All of this can be life changing.
I had been to Europe years before my U.K. jump for a family vacation. I have been blessed with chances to travel to the United States, and other countries in Asia. Living in the U.K., though, was a truly unique experience. I wasn’t there to just visit. I had the chance to actually claim to be a Londoner, a local. I discovered what it was like to experience British mornings, afternoons, and evenings. I reveled in tradition, and culture, spending many hours in museums, visiting castles, and going full on nerdy about the history of local railways. There were amazing feasts for the senses in places like Dover, Edinburgh, and the Lake District. There were tons of runs, and hikes, across cities, fields, parks, and other places I will never forget. Elephant and Castle, Wood Green, King’s Cross, Lambeth North, Oxford Circus, Piccadilly Circus, Kensington High Street, South Kensington, Euston. Trains. Buses. Sprinters and pacers. Fish and chips. Tesco, Sainsbury’s, and yes, Aldi and Lidl for saving a buck or two. Freezing myself silly in Norwich and in the Scottish Highlands, hiking 14 miles on new year’s day to places like Hawkshead, meeting amazing communications practitioners through the International Association of Business Communicators UK’s mentorship program. Getting to watch the Gallagher Brothers, U2, and getting to meet and absolutely fall for the work and personality of the wonderful Charlotte Campbell. Enjoying a rice bowl at Wasabi in Waterloo Station after training runs. For a year and a half, I got to quiet my mind, rest my soul, and just live.
Today, I watched my university’s graduation rites, via live stream, from my apartment in Manila. Talk about running head on into a wall of emotions. Seeing familiar faces, my university’s (UAL) emblem, and the Southbank, made me remember something very important.
Memories are like lovers. Your attraction to your lover is inexplicable. Only you and your lover really know of the intricacies of the ties that bind you. Being with your lover is akin to being in a field full of flowers. For those who have been to Belgium- think of it like being in Keukenhoff Gardens in the springtime. Being with your lover
is like being awash in beauty. Time stands still. Everywhere you look, you see
murals featuring your happiest moments.
Looking back on my time in the U.K. reminds me of an iconic seen in the 1990s Peter Chan classic, “Comrades, Almost a Love Story”. In this film, long lost lovers meet again after near misses, tragedies, and triumphs spread across several continents. For the two who tried their luck moving from main land China to Hong Kong in the 1980s, the realization that all that mattered in the end was the thought that everything was meant to happen. From the time they both stepped out of their respective cross-country trains, to when they eventually reunited thousands of miles away in America- all of it was part of a grand plan. Now that I think about it, my time away, in a land where so many people go to find themselves, to better themselves, to escape from turmoil, to revel in the modernity of cities like London, and to embrace the stunning antiquity that exists in the very same place, was part of the “plan” after all. I just didn’t know it. I had always believed that underneath all of the layers that had made me a creature of habit, was somebody who just wanted to leave home and stake his claim elsewhere. I guess the U.K., London, Brighton, Edinburgh- all that and more- was me praying to a St. Elsewhere, living in a dream, within a dream, within what was real life.
There are so many details related to the time when my soul was whisked away from my life in the Philippines to the brave new world that was the U.K. I could go back, I could wear the same “hats”. Despite this, it will likely never feel the same. Return trips just won’t be able to approximate what “she” and I had. Narrative details tell you where to go, what to do, who to speak with, how to walk. Those details, seen from a specific set of moments frozen in time, never again to be set loose, tell you what to feel, and tell you what “living” really means. That’s the sort of thing that can never be taken away from you.
So what is this piece really trying to say? Nothing, and not nothing. This isn’t a prescription of any kind. This wasn’t written to one day be part of a guidebook to the U.K. This is a unique retelling of a dream I once had, a blip on the radar, and blink-and-you’ll-miss-it walk through SOHO, and Camden Town, and Holyrood Park, by night, and with a beanie and trainers on. Living in the U.K., to me, was about finally giving in to the inevitable. It represented my world expanding, and, because of what I studied, folding back into itself. I have left the country with more opportunities at my doorstep, and fewer roads to walk on now that I’ve “subspecialized”. This may or may not mean anything to you. If it does, well and good. Then that means I’m not alone. That means someone understands. That means that maybe, I may get to return to London one day, and live out a new dream sequence- one that will feature “hand-in-hand”, “for a lifetime and a day”, and “all storms, truth and beauty, withstands”.
Looking back on my time in the U.K. reminds me of an iconic seen in the 1990s Peter Chan classic, “Comrades, Almost a Love Story”. In this film, long lost lovers meet again after near misses, tragedies, and triumphs spread across several continents. For the two who tried their luck moving from main land China to Hong Kong in the 1980s, the realization that all that mattered in the end was the thought that everything was meant to happen. From the time they both stepped out of their respective cross-country trains, to when they eventually reunited thousands of miles away in America- all of it was part of a grand plan. Now that I think about it, my time away, in a land where so many people go to find themselves, to better themselves, to escape from turmoil, to revel in the modernity of cities like London, and to embrace the stunning antiquity that exists in the very same place, was part of the “plan” after all. I just didn’t know it. I had always believed that underneath all of the layers that had made me a creature of habit, was somebody who just wanted to leave home and stake his claim elsewhere. I guess the U.K., London, Brighton, Edinburgh- all that and more- was me praying to a St. Elsewhere, living in a dream, within a dream, within what was real life.
There are so many details related to the time when my soul was whisked away from my life in the Philippines to the brave new world that was the U.K. I could go back, I could wear the same “hats”. Despite this, it will likely never feel the same. Return trips just won’t be able to approximate what “she” and I had. Narrative details tell you where to go, what to do, who to speak with, how to walk. Those details, seen from a specific set of moments frozen in time, never again to be set loose, tell you what to feel, and tell you what “living” really means. That’s the sort of thing that can never be taken away from you.
So what is this piece really trying to say? Nothing, and not nothing. This isn’t a prescription of any kind. This wasn’t written to one day be part of a guidebook to the U.K. This is a unique retelling of a dream I once had, a blip on the radar, and blink-and-you’ll-miss-it walk through SOHO, and Camden Town, and Holyrood Park, by night, and with a beanie and trainers on. Living in the U.K., to me, was about finally giving in to the inevitable. It represented my world expanding, and, because of what I studied, folding back into itself. I have left the country with more opportunities at my doorstep, and fewer roads to walk on now that I’ve “subspecialized”. This may or may not mean anything to you. If it does, well and good. Then that means I’m not alone. That means someone understands. That means that maybe, I may get to return to London one day, and live out a new dream sequence- one that will feature “hand-in-hand”, “for a lifetime and a day”, and “all storms, truth and beauty, withstands”.
