The First Week in London

Today was really quite boring compared to every day previous. I was up early, and at the bus stop by about 9:00. Thankfully, I gave myself plenty of time to get to IES, because my bus was “on diversion” around some construction, putting us out of the way a bit. Because some stops were being missed, when I believed we were in the area of IES, I hopped off and used my map to walk the few remaining blocks there, arriving ten minutes before the start of class. Thinking of taking the Tube tomorrow instead of the bus as the routes to the buses I need are all messed up.

But regardless, I arrived for my first day of class and settled into the tiny classroom. My professor seems extraordinarily enthusiastic about the subject she teaches and even teared up whilst talking about the death of Hamlet as well as some other of her favorite scenes from select plays. She is very kind and I believe this will be one of my favorite classes of all to date. Whilst the history and background we discussed of Shakespeare was interesting, I genuinely cannot wait to begin reading his works; some again, some for the first time. Most especially, I eagerly look forward to the two weeks we will be spending on my absolute favorite work of Shakespeare; Hamlet. I also look especially forward to reading Macbeth for the first time as it is probably the one of Shakespeare’s most renowned works which I have not yet had the opportunity to read.

After class, Hannah and I wandered around a bit to kill some time before her next class. When she left, I continued to wander for some time. Since the buses had been rerouted, I attempted to find a stop which would take me back to NIDO, but finding none, I decided to walk. At first, I didn’t check a map and simply just wandered around and took a look at the streets and shops in the area, eventually I began an unhurried walk back in the direction of NIDO, still just casually enjoying the walk.

 One thing did happen on the walk though that stuck in my mind in for the rest of the day; as I was approaching King's Cross, there was something happening on the sidewalk up ahead. As I approached, I saw a man lying on his back on the ground very near the building wall, with another man knelt down above him. The older man on the ground was nauseatingly pale and was clutching the shoulder of the man above him with a vice like grip, eyes wide in what was probably pain and terror. The man above had an emergency bag of some sorts near him and was an EMT from the ambulance nearby, he had his head leaned down very close to the man so as to be able to hear him speak. Several onlookers, perhaps and probably family members or companions to the man stood nearby as well, watching the happenings. It is strange that when something like this happens, there is a degree of helplessness for anyone in the area. Not only the man's family, but passerbys as well, good people who would be more than willing to help in any way the can. But when the situation is already being addressed and extra hands would, at this point, only be in the way, sometimes people are given no other choice than to walk by. And feel crushingly guilty about it for the rest of the day; running it over and over in your mind, wondering, "was there anything I could have or should have done?" But eventually you realize that if you weren't there at the beginning of the situation when action initially needs to be taken, it is near impossible to be of any use when things are already set into motion. Sometimes there is just nothing you can do. And that sounds awful to me, I feel guilty thinking it. It was the same thing I felt when we drove by the accident scene in Honduras when those two bicyclists had been hit by a car and were dying there in the street. We drove by because by then there was nothing to be done. Nothing could be done.

I hate that feeling, I really do. That man may have been dying, he may even be dead now, and I had to walk by. I certainly hope this tradition doesn't continue; seeing people dying in the streets of foreign countries - I still haven't gotten the last one out of my head.  I hate the guilty feeling that nags the rest of the day, the image becoming seared into your memory forever from replaying it so much, always wondering if there was anything you should have done. I hate that those images never go away either. But, apparently there are times in life when you just can't do anything; either the situation has already been handled, or someone is already beyond help, or even sometimes they just don't want help - and there is nothing you can do.

Two hours after the end of class, I showed back up in my dorm. I shook the images and thoughts from my head as best I could, and tried to focus on things I needed to do. The rest of the day was spent hanging out and working on a few necessary details; putting credit on my Oyster card, and leafing through the volume of Shakespeare’s works that I got for class (a great brick of a book with all his complete works), etc.

And for the most part, that was pretty much it.

One thing I have been considering lately, however, is the decision whether or not to attend grad school. It is something I have wrestled with for a while, unsure whether or not I need more education or work experience to begin with. However, more and more, especially with senior year looming in the near future, I have been warming to the idea of graduate school. It is beginning to sound as though it will be my best bet. And today the thought occurred to me: what about grad school in London? I know that I am in a way “on vacation” right now, I know that one always considers making a vacation permanent and thus destroys the “magic” of it in a way, I know that I, in fact, know very little of the details or the probabilities at this point and perhaps it is a naïve thing to dream about at this point. But maybe I will look into it at least; find out what the probabilities, chances, and likelihoods are. Wouldn’t hurt to find out, though I am by no means making plans or trying to tell everyone that I am going to grad school in London. What I am going to do, is inquire about it and see where that takes me (maybe). At the present time, however, my plans are a little closer to home. One of the things that I am going to do this semester is not only keep up on this blog and thus force myself into adopting a writing quota, but I have also set a goal to, by the end of my semester abroad, have enough material to compile a book of poetry based upon my journey here. Every day I have written a rough draft of a poem, some have been complete shit while one or two have already shown some promise (as is the way of writing). But by then end, I hope to have enough for a small volume of works – likely putting it through the editing process over the next summer. From there, we’ll see what happens, similarly, I do not know what will come of it, but it is a goal that I have set and plan to follow through on. So I have a feeling that this will be an especially productive semester, and I am excited to see what comes of it all by the end.

I cannot believe that I have only been here for one week, even more-so, I cannot believe how much time I still have left. It feels as though this dream is about to evaporate at any possible moment. Yet here I am - still - in London, England, and I could not be loving it more.