Tower Bridge

Long before the idea of going to the Bar entered my head, the sources of angst and worry were still quite numerous. I had just moved to London (where no one knew what ice wine, beaver’s tail or poutine was!), I had endured emotional wreck at least three times, and I was missing the group of friends I had made in Boston.

Few people know this, but when everything became overwhelming, I would drag myself down to Tower Bridge (at the time a short journey from Mile End). Usually just to sit, either on the bridge itself or looking at it from the Tower of London side or from near London Bridge. Maybe it was the fact that it was tourist invested, and it reminded me that I wasn’t the only ‘stranger’ in the city, or maybe it was because I could sit there watching families and couples looking delightfully happy. Whatever it was, Tower Bridge was there for me.It was (I swear I’m not weird) like the bridge itself would give me a hug whenever I was on it.

As time passed, and the city starting feeling like home, I didn’t visit it as often. It was there, but nothing too out of the ordinary. Like the parents’ home that is within walking distance that you only want to visit on the off chance.

Tonight, for the first time, as I crossed Tower Bridge, in the rain, it made me swell up with emotion. It felt like I was carrying the weight of the bridge on my shoulders. It reminded me of every single time I had stood on it, in pain, worry or just general home sickness. It reminded me of what I had endured to get to where I am today, and quite how much I endure on a daily basis: how much I miss the Canadian summers and the way they never seem to want to come to an end, how much I miss walking down Newbury Street or knocking on a best friend’s door, how much I miss a certain little small white furball giving me kisses, and quite how much I miss being cuddled up in my rather comfy bed looking up at the chandelier.

It is these type of experiences that make us who we are, that mould us as people, in my case probably more emotionally detached then I would like to be (I don’t accumulate too much clutter generally because I fear I will have to move again soon!). But, in a way, tonight was also good, it reminded me why I moved to London, and it wasn’t for a person or for a career, but rather because in a unusually hot British summer, I had fallen in love with London. A love that still endures.