
There is so much to write about, so much to explain; about lessons I’ve learned and challenging experiences I thought I could never plow through. About regret and gratitude and love and hate and all those moments that don’t move fast enough and those that move too fast, like a train you cut through fog to run after but never catch up to.
There is so much to write about.
About still believing in journalism, about wanting it. About embracing its faults and challenges, about cradling it close to your heart like a child and wanting the best for it in this crazy, wild world. About New York Times’ bylines, BBC contributions and Los Angeles Times’ beats, and good, chill-inducingreporting that you fight for and sweat for and go to extraordinary lengths for because you still believe. About seeing your name in the pages (and web pages!) of the publications you grew up daydreaming about, and writing about communities, issues, undiscovered controversies and brewing trends that are worth discussing.
About people you meet, the subcultures you discover, the connections you make. About beautiful, ancient countries and cultures engulfed in war and misunderstanding and politics, thousands and thousands of miles away, whose beauty and significance is often underrated and ignored. About your quest to make a difference, on one side of the world or the other. Or both.

About fear and anxiety and intrepidity. About making decisions in a life that you’ve never lived before, and hoping for the best. About wanting to be something more, something higher and looking back and maybe realizing that none of that really matters.
There is so much to write about.
About the projects I’ve been working on lately, the articles that have been written and the ones that will be written. About leads and adventures and emails with editors that make you want to cry happy tears and emails that never get returned even though you’ve made sure to follow up, and follow up and follow up.
About new directions that life will be taking me in, about uncertainty, about changes, about everything.
And I’ll do that, very soon.
For now, London is all I can think about.

I don’t even have a clear answer as to why. It just feels like my home away from home, a place with connections, a place to relax, clear my mind, figure out my plans and how to tackle them and breathe. A place where I can escape and take it all in and return home to let it all out. A place to ride the metro, walk around Covent Garden, visit the Tate Modern, meet friends and because I can never ever escape it even if I tried, make some connections in something I still believe in and am hungry for (the Guardian and BBC, I’m coming for you).
Life is changing, but London is calling.