After several published stories, nights out with some of the most amazing people I’ve met in my life, copious amounts of homemade mulberry vodka, a neo-pagan festival near a 4500-year-old archeological site,  traveling miles upon miles of sometimes stomach turning roads on a fold out chair while a toddler threw up on me, rescuing three street dogs, a heartwarming, fabulous wedding, a month long reality show marathon and recuperating from travel, I’ve made my way back to Los Angeles from Armenia and London.

I came back last Friday to traffic, never ending sunshine (it’s a curse, not a blessing), jetlag, a little dog and my family who had missed me quite a lot. On Saturday, I was the keynote speaker at a journalism event organized by my alma mater. On Sunday, I fell asleep at 6 p.m. Throughout the week, I tried to nurse myself back to life with tea and  music. On Friday I had a nice workout playing Just Dance on Wii that I didn’t feel in every muscle in my body until the next day. On Saturday, I learned how to knit a hat. Fast forward to today where my head has  finally joined me in L.A. after being away for almost six months.

In between pitching editors and making lists of story ideas, it started to rain. London immediately came to mind. The city gets a bad wrap for weather, but really, it’s beautiful. It rains for half an hour, stops, and when you look out the window the sun breaks through and hits the red rooftops surrounded by the greenest trees and plants you’ve ever seen. Nostalgia flooded the room, so I decided to try my hand at replicating a soup I frequently had while there.

Made with red lentils and a sprinkling of pepper, I’m not entirely clear about its origins, but it is most probably Turkish or Cypriot. I mixed red and yellow lentils in vegetable stock with chopped onions, paprika, salt, pepper and garlic.

The spices bubbled and lingered through the kitchen. I cut and toasted a baguette. I tried to process what it felt like to be back to all my things, my clothes, car, my life that stood still while I was away. It’s nice to be here, but do you know how much I miss standing on the balcony on Pushkin street in Yerevan, watching thunderstorms cool the city after an entire day of heat, or eating honey straight from the comb in the backyard of a family from Nagorno-Kharabagh who happened to pick me up and invite me in their home just because, or browsing a flea market in Tbilisi for two whole days because I couldn’t get enough the history and memories sprawled out on the streets for sale? I miss being able to walk, and not drive. I miss milk in my tea and football games on the weekend and Soho roaring with laughter, conversations and music on a Friday night.

I made some soup to savor the memories, once again.