Wednesday, 17 June 2009


Anticipation filled my body as I began to pack my bag, ready to spend my first official night away from home. This was nothing like the excitement of a sleep over or a holiday. This was something that was mine, that I owned. Most importantly, this was brand new.

I boarded the train and read as I waited to get that much closer to my new room, my new home. The journey seemed to pass much faster than usual, partly due to my excitement to arrive in my new home town but also due to my involvement in the book I was reading. It was almost impossible to put it back into my backpack to continue my journey 'home' but this new excitement managed to force my hand.

After meeting friends and checking out Internet deals around town along with a number of other miscellaneous tasks that needed doing, we left for home. The bus journey was over quickly, ending almost right outside my new residence, leaving just a short walk in the blistering sun before carrying my first selection of clothes over the threshold.

The rooms had all been cleaned since I last visited a few weeks ago and the small bungalow had already been lived in by two of my three friends I was sharing with and their boyfriends. It was welcoming to finally enter a place where I knew I no longer needed to ask permission to do the simple things like go to the toilet or make a drink. Finally, after eight months of waiting patiently, I could stop living out of a bag and belong.

I put the few mini boxes of cereal I had brought into my cupboard and my carton of milk into the fridge, then explored around the kitchen, finding the new homes of cutlery, plates and dishtowels and noticed that my idea of moving the microwave to another corner of the kitchen counter had been done. This place really was mine.

The rest of the day passed slowly as I had found time to often do here. So much more seemed to get done and time never seemed to pass at all. Completely different to the constant tiring fast pace of Dudley.

After cooking tea with a join effort and sitting for the first time around the table to eat we decided to watch a film to celebrate my first night here. The others had already celebrated their first night with a Chinese a week earlier, and had had a barbeque the night before in the garden, the remains of which still stood upon a makeshift cooking station, created by a collection of house bricks and a stool sized table under the shelter of a small overhanging tree.

The sofa moulded itself around my body as I sat hugging my legs, my head rested on my knees. The laptop made a noise as it began to read the disk and eventually the light coming from the screen filled the small glass conservatory. This was the first time I had truly felt at home, sitting on my sofa, with my housemates before residing to my bed. This is the thing dreams had been made of for the last eight months, finally my dream had come true and I hoped I never had to wake from it.

It was daunting that night. I slowly climbed into bed, savouring ever second, the same way I had earlier when I entered my new garden for the first time. This was the kind of moment you couldn't let excitement rush you through for fear of forgetting that highly anticipated feeling. This was not a moment I was going to let slip through my fingers, as insignificant as it may seem.

I turned off the light and watched as the heat from the glowing bulb cooled and the room slowly turned to a darker shade of night. The bed sheets were stiff and unfamiliar, never slept in. The tick of the bed side clock was a sweet annoying comfort, reminding me of the noisy silence of my room at home. It soothed me, filling whatever anxiety I had with a small piece of home; even here, so many miles away. Slowly I began to drift to sleep.

My dreamless sleep ended early as the sun broke through the thick pink material of my curtains and woke me hours before my alarm was set to go off. Groggily I looked around. My new room. I'd survived my first night in Worcester.

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