Brighton Goodbyes

24 June 2014





Walking around Brighton I get real bad house envy. Viaduct Road, though convenient, doesn't quite win in terms of aesthetic appeal. It's noisy, sooty, and... let's just say we recently had some petite furry visitors who enjoyed our crumbling abode a little too much. My friend Louis has just moved into a flat on Little Preston Street. It's spacious, open-plan, and has a prime view of the West Pier/sea to sip coffee in the mornings and happily survey. A-grade jealousy material. Envy exasperated tenfold when I finally went on their roof yesterday. I have six weeks left in Brighton until I move North which I'd been feeling completely fine about in the bleakness of my dissertation blues when rain slapped our window panes and I felt like everything was sure to topple. But... standing on that roof, gazing at my hometown in sun-tinted glasses, I felt what can only be described as - a pang. Sadness/happiness, a sense of nostalgia/being completely in-the-moment - all rolled into one. Of course, I've had to leave Brighton before. It wasn't easy, but I know it's survivable. And I do feel ready to try something new. But it just sucks, as goodbyes always do - I should know, I've said enough of 'em. I find the whole scenario reminiscent of being 22, generally. Knowing your whole life's ahead of you, with so many decisions to make and opportunities to take. Yet, you can't help but yearn for previous years when homework was your biggest affliction, all your friends lived in a five-mile radius, and everything was relatively simple. Your past was comfortable. You followed routes that were, in essence, laid out for you - education, work, etc. Now I can only make short-term plans to stop from terrifying myself with the uncertain big picture. At least, though, most of us are fortunate enough to have different paths to choose from. And, just as the saying goes: "how lucky am I to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard."  Brighton, my old friend,  you are pretty special.

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