Culture Shock. London. May 1992.

Coming  back.

Facing the excesses, technology and junk food.

Never noticed all the fat people before.

Suddenly aware of all the judging faces.

My clothes…my expression…my expressing forbidden.

Stressful and peculiar, black, brown and grey.

No good weather.

And a lack of laughter.

It only takes away. This place sucks enthusiasm.

However much I try to remember it all dissolves in my brain.

It fades.Too quickly.

I want to go back, but in no time I am forgetting where.

It kinda seems too hard in this easy world.

But deep down I do remember that that is not true.

I know my commitments made on the other side of the world must hold.

My honest adventures are being turned, by others, into a boast.

My confidence melting in this judgemental environment.

It is so important to carry the sunshine into the heart of this grey country and keep on LIVING, the LIVING in the stories before.

But it is harder than I could have imagined.

So I must buy my ticket back before my experiences become little more than a daydream and all those real people trickle through my hands like ash.


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