Last weekend I went back to London for a friend’s Halloween/housewarming party and I couldn’t help but feel slightly nostalgic for the place. Barely a weekend had gone by where I’d been home but with the continuous stream of essays, readings, translations and the like my time at home went by in the blink of an eye.
And so, as I stood outside the street of my friend’s apartment building in Central London, I couldn’t stop thinking about all the memories I’ve made in this city. I had my first ever kiss in the park near my childhood home in the Docklands. The day was grey and blustery and we rolled around in the grass; Ifelt real intimacy for the first time. The kind of intimacy and passion that you think only belongs in films with just the right amount of colour grading and a soundtrack by Sufjan Stevens.
That being said, I do feel that the bulk of my memories come from my time living in Limehouse, adjacent to Canary Wharf. From ages 1 to 17 I lived in a townhouse with neighbours that I never really knew, all of us coming in and out at all times of the day, going about our busy lives. I can still see myself getting off the school bus in Westferry Circus, popping into the Wharf to window shop or simply get a coffee and a sweet treat. I remember the bangla noise on Brick Lane, hearing uncles and aunties getting passionate over the prices of food, or stopping to drink some chai in one of the curry houses– many of which have moved to areas such as Redbridge or further into Essex due to the rising costs. I remember the times I’d run around the city with friends, listening to khaleejis blast loud music on Brompton Road and feeling like I was back in the Middle East.
This brings me to the question, what makes a place home? Is it the bricks and mortar and the four walls that make a house a home? Is it the family photos and trinkets that our parents proudly display? Or is it in fact the feeling you get when you’re somewhere? That warm feeling that emanates throughout your whole body that is symbolic of familiarity and comfort. Whenever I go to London with my closest Oxford friends, none of whom are from London, I always get slightly giddy taking them to places that I used to adore as a child, a teenager and even now as a young adult. This childish excitement takes over me and I truly bask in playing the role of the tour guide and peppering in those stories of someone who’s truly lived many a life up until now.
After the pandemic my parents decided to move us to a semi-rural village called Hextable in Sevenoaks. Whilst it’s been four years now I still can’t shake the feeling that London gives me. When I’m home for extended periods of time there are at least two days a week in which I get on the fast train to Victoria and I meet friends in my favourite London neighbourhoods. No matter where I go or where I live, London is the museum of my memories and I am so grateful to call her mine.