2014: Epilogue

This year I flew again. This year I thought I’d never come back –or at least I wouldn't come back so soon. And here I am at home, by chance –but is this really home now, after wandering around, looking through those glass holes in planes and trains, feeling so low and so high at the same time, for so long, after six years?

So many things I won’t miss –not worth listing carpets, tripod plugs, safety and the like-, so many I will.

More specifically: 

I think I’ll miss 

that morning watery coffee, that Friday never-cold-enough beer; 

that crowd of brown eyes looking for a swatch of blue in the deepest grey, and that crowd of blue eyes skilfully avoiding any awkward situation. 

I’ll miss 

walking along the Thames while the yelling gulls fight and the tipsy Londoners practise the national sport, walking along the galleries full of all those marvellous pieces of world and culture painstakingly treasured by that race of imperialists. 

I’ll miss my coming back to Cambridge, realizing how absolutely painless and beautiful it was. 

So many old friends, some new ones. 

El meu nebodet mig guiri sobre la gespa d’Oxford, amb la boca plena de xocolata, i fent el lleó: ROOOAR, ROAAAR!

I’ll miss you all –but I never leave, because I’m always coming back.