Sunday, August 31

"You never really leave a place you love. Part of it you take with you, leaving a part of yourself behind."

In about six hours, I'll be leaving London. Chances are, I probably won't be back for a long time.

On the eve of my departure, regardless of the fact that my bags were not packed, I still dragged people out for a three-hour production of Edward II at the Globe. Good thing I have such an obliging friend. Basically, I just wanted to watch something, anything, in that wooden theatre, and I was not let down. The play was fantastic, even though it was by Marlowe and not the Bard, the building really set the mood, despite having to twist my neck to catch the action because of all the wooden beams. Or maybe that just made it seem more like the 16th century and authentic.

Even though my empty luggage and cartons were clogging up the narrow hallway, my dear flatmates pretended not to mind, and we had a nostalgic farewell dinner, followed by a crazy photo session involving five people wielding five cameras. We all promised to stay in touch with the best intentions, but deep down, we all knew that we were all going our seperate ways.

Needless to say, with all that frantic last-minute activity, I barely slept because I didn’t get my packing done till 3 am. But I’m pleased nonetheless, as I almost finished crossing out every inane item on Zann’s pre-departure list.

One hundred days of a million memories -- I can’t believe it’s over.

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