This morning as ran out of my flat, I checked the mailbox. An activity I’ve been doing ever since I had to part with my passport when asking the British government for permission to stay here. I’m nervous about it, not that I don’t fit the requirements but because government entities can be fickle. What would happen if deigned. A quick return to New York while I apply for a marriage visa. The idea of heading back to New York led to other thoughts, the main one being that I know longer feel like a New Yorker transplanted in London. I feel as if a Londoner now. This thought has rolled around in my mind since Smith wrote asking why no more posts about just that – the differences, the experiences, the nuances of having left a land that I’d always known and loved.
I’ve fully adjusted is all.
Now, don’t get me wrong there are days I miss New York. Figure I always will. But London is home. Granted I still don’t know it as well as I should. The other day Burs and I went down to Crystal Palace to get out of our normal zone and it was lovely. A whole place not explored by me before – which made me realize, briefly, that I’m still such a newbie to this great city. But on a whole scale, it doesn’t feel that new to me anymore.
Hmm, I wonder if I’m jinxing myself with such a statement – I’m a Londoner. Because as I sit here waiting for the return of my passport with a big, beautiful stamp inside saying I get to stay for two more years from the British gods who have it over at the Border Agency, they may see it differently. Here’s hoping that they agree and that Mlle Pierre is, and shall remain, a Londoner.