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Where I was in my life
Set the scene. What was your life like then?
My story began 43 years ago, but if I'm honest, I only clearly remember the last twenty or so. The rest is a soft blur. I think it started fading when I finally let go. I realised I had been carrying so many memories that my brain, my own hardware, was simply full, and I needed to make room. Then, 18 years ago, I moved to London, and for the first time I felt like I could breathe again. Living in a foreign country and speaking a foreign language had always been my dream. It's why I studied international trade. I first came here for a training period to complete my master's, and when I was offered my first job as a graduate, something clicked. I was exactly where I was meant to be. My first flat was on Pentonville Road, right in the heart of King's Cross. It was one of those old London buildings that had never heard of double glazing, so the city lived in the room with me. Ambulances and police cars drifted past at all hours, their sirens rising and fading, and somehow that noise became a kind of lullaby. It told me I was in the middle of something alive. And then there was the air. It's hard to explain. It felt different from anywhere I had lived before, a mix of traffic, rain, old brick and possibility. Every time I stepped outside, I felt awake in a way I never had back home. It wasn't glamorous, but it was mine. It was the first place where I was building a life entirely on my own terms. That's where my adult life began.