I have said to my son about visiting my old haunts in London – done over a day – showing him where he is from and just doing my old favourite thing to do – which was to walk around with a travel card, a bag and enjoy the city.
I was born in London, overlooking Big Ben. I lived my life falling to sleep to the sounds of Police sirens and the sounds of drunks leaving after last orders on Kennington Road. I love my city. I miss the city.
There is no city like London – although I have been to New York and it is close enough in my mind… though less historical points. I loved NY and would LOVE to go again [the shopping and cake! I want to go Central Park and do some real tourist stuff plus cocktails like SJP in Sex and the City. I also want to visit San Francisco and New Orleans but I digress!)
But there is also anxiety about going back. It has changed and so have i. It has been so long, with me stuck inside a bubble in South Wales. Add in the general Autism anti-social anxiety where being out of routine feels terrifying…
I put it off. With my hectic life with children with extra needs, myself, two places each week needing immense attention, trying to retain connection, running a business, trying to fit in learning, my mind full of what comes next – it has not been a priority. A wish on my Wishlist but one that I honestly struggle to do. I’ve existed in the present with a constant existential dread of what comes next.
Worrying that everything will fall apart whilst reminding myself that no one spins the proverbial plates better than I do.
It seems that I have manifested forcing myself to book going. I finally did it.
A free date that fell in an ideal time period to get a lift to the station and somewhere to stay with my youngest watched at a suits everyone date so it is just my boy and I for the day [we don’t often get true quality time, and we both kinda need a day together without the rest of the tribe – they’ll get their turn and he really wanted this]
I sold a few things quickly on marketplace and vinted – so no excuse of feeling too poor.
The date going was the day before my late mothers’ birthday… bittersweet and she would’ve loved it.
My older daughter had a 20% coupon for the coach company saving even more money.
So closed my eyes. Took the leap.
Booked the thing.
Mama, I’m coming home.
Even just for the full 8 hours. But it’ll be enough.
Enough to see the place that still holds a piece of my heart – my nans old place I pretty much lived for my whole life before relocating. That flat was my safe haven. The place that my waters broke with my boy [the balcony whilst I admired the sunset], and also where my boy lived the first 5 months of his life. I have had my highest highs and lowest lows [in life] but it was always the place that I would return to. To a cup of coffee [for me – my nan had a large jug of tea] and two strong women making plans and watching NCIS.
I miss that flat. It was my hearts-home. I miss my nan too. Dreadfully, still. Just as I miss my mum. As the flat was my hub, my mum and nan were the only family I had left. My adults. I never really said goodbye to the place, and I still will not say goodbye to them [their ashes sit proudly on my bookshelf overlooking the whole of my living room as my kids play]. It will be bittersweet. A homecoming, however short the visit.
The mall – where I walked the halls and ate upstairs in the old cafe (same order, until one day, they changed the chicken nuggets that they used and broke my heart) – I wonder if it is even still there or open.
The Market that I used to visit with the old one bedroom flat that I used to sporadically visit to visit a family member. The market was legendary. The road, I could walk with my eyes closed.
Leicester Square – I mean EVERYONE should visit there – Maybe walk to Tottenham Court Road as my boy loves tech as much as I do and that is where I bought my first mp3 Player. Or Covent Garden. Or pass the theatre where I first saw Carmen [front row seats] or pass my favourite hotel. Oh the memories! Maybe pass Old Port Road. The roads and directions – the beauty of London. Bank: with the gorgeous buildings… Knightsbridge. The list is endless. But no, we will stick to Leicester Square.
Westminster Bridge… passing the hospital where both myself and my boy where born – where I saw the Victorian Nurse Ghost as clear as you or I and she looked after me [freaky stuff when I got told no-one was on my ward that night and she was stroking my hair and talking to me when I was wide awake]. I love Westminster Bridge. Looking at the view as well as the murky violence of the Thames.
Seeing Big Ben, Houses of Parliament. Telling him the stories of old London – The great fire. The plagues. The Roman soldiers and the hanging places. Maybe, if we have time, London Dungeons.
London has its energy. And I will be showing my boy the vibrance of the city. A piece of it is inside him, just as it is in me. I never lost my accent that switches between well-spoken and cockney twang. The memories of my life, family moments that I wish I could experience again – to the wildness of being a part of the unseen tapestry. The clubs and rendezvous, the adventures. THE PEOPLE.
Then back to real life. Perhaps I’ll say goodbye, or perhaps my heart will call me back. To leave a moment open for a sequel visit. Perhaps.
Manifesting, energy, the universe – can hear your soul. The signs and the paths can open for you.
What do you want to manifest, need to manifest, think that you’ve manifested and how? It is after all, in us all, even accidentally or even to face things. Like facing visiting home. No excuses.
The Sacred Unravelling 