It hit me very suddenly just now that I am leaving London in two days forever. It hit me all at once. The sadness, the relief. It’s so hard having all these feelings and nowhere to put them.

I am scared. Will my life be a series of beginnings and ends into perpetuity? Will I start over again and again until I die?

I don’t know what scares me more—starting over forever or never starting over again. I love the freedom of a blank slate but it is so hard to say goodbye. I’m so sentimental over memories—places and people and moments. I think I leave a piece of myself forever frozen in each life, a symbol of what I left behind, lost, sacrificed, for a chance of something new and better… something that may turn out to be whatever it is I’m searching for.

I always say I’ll know it when I find it but I’m not sure I ever will.

It is a very odd thing to have so many varying chapters of one’s life, so many different versions of one’s self, so many lives lived in one life. It’s difficult to know which one is the most accurate representation. I don’t think I’ll ever narrow it down.

I find myself surprisingly envious of those I used to not understand… those who are at peace with a simple life. I can’t even be at peace with a complex life composed of multiple in one. What unfairness is this? This gaping searching unfulfilled part of my soul, looking in all corners of the world for a fulfillment that probably does not exist… at least not outside one’s own mind.

Woe is me.