Groggy heads and parched mouths.
Assignments that battle to be completed, the word count an ever-looming
finish line. But the coursework racetrack runs parallel to the social one, and
both can’t be won.
Butterfly stomachs at introduction after introduction
(“Where are you from?”
“What do you study?”)
Foreign footsteps tattooing the campus concrete, moulding the unfamiliar
into its opposite.
Flatmates that switch from strangers to family within a matter of days.
Yet another mug of tea.
Overspending – pounding heart at the mere thought of seeing your bank
balance.
Crisp pizza crusts and warm pasta to welcome dawn – cooking abilities
that the night seems to enhance.
Discovering a nook in the library that, although unofficial, is yours.
Pretending to know how the washing machine works, finding the line
between too much detergent and not enough - terrified of being that person carrying clothes still thick
with soap.
A newfound appreciation for a morning devoid of a hangover, fresh face
and eyelids that open with ease.
Fear of missing out, saying “yes” to three events in the same evening, conscious
naivety in thinking you’ll make them all.
More introductions
(“How do you like your flatmates?”)
Yet another cup of coffee.
Making a home of a city that hadn’t seen traces of you before you
brought it your favourite pyjamas or your acoustic guitar or your toothbrush.
Wondering how you’ve lived eighteen years without people you’ve known
eighteen days.
Sensing every cell in your body liven: feeling your joints shift and your limbs mould into the person you’ve always wanted to be.
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