First morning

I open my eyes and all I can see is an artex ceiling and a brown faded lampshade. I’m confused and disoriented for a few seconds then I remember where I am. I’m lying on a deflated air mattress in S and S’s living room. I landed late last night and this is my first visit to London, the city that I picked to be my new home. For how long? I don’t know yet. I get up, make a cup of tea and look out the window: the sky is grey and low, there’s a busy dual carriageway and uninspiring suburbia stretching out as far as I can see. What have I done?

I don’t know whether I should laugh or cry or both. I wonder what I should do today. I wonder where I’ll be in a week, in a month. I need to find a job. I need to find a place. I need to learn a new language. I need to make new friends. I’ve got a big knot in my stomach, it’s like standing at the edge of a five metre diving board for the first time. I know I can do it. I’m truly terrified but I’m sure that somehow everything’s going to be alright.