January 3, 2018
When I passed the mural on Edenborough, I knew this was it. This was my break. This was my moment. I’d write something that people would actually want to read. Something that they couldn’t put down. I was writing what I felt. I was writing what we were. I was writing the last chapter of my own life.
My name is Amanda Dunham. I’m twenty three years old and completely lost. I haven’t had much luck these past few years publishing any of my prose work so I thought it’d be best to start writing from pure thought. Here I’ll record my thoughts and let you all in on this frightening chapter in my life: London. Being in my second year of graduate school, I knew I had to move away from home. Iowa just wasn’t the place for me anymore. So here I sit, overlooking the vast green hills from my upstairs balcony. This is my first time studying abroad, and honestly, with this view, I’m not sure if I’ll ever want to go home. So here in my little middle-of-nowhere apartment I have my twin bed, fur duvet, collection of mismatched vinyls, my turntable, glass coffee table, a few photos of my family, and about seventeen love stories that never became Nicholas Sparks tear-jerkers. I can’t get any further into that, because this isn’t a sob story, nor a cry for pity. These entries are my inexperienced London life for the next year.
Get back to you soon.
January 18th, 2018
My first day of class was mediocre to say the least. I feel like I’m in London for an entirely different reason than just to complete my studies. Something spectacular is meant to happen. If I’m wrong, (I won’t be surprised if I am) oh well. I’d be lucky to say that I had a wonderfully ignorant time always thinking something spectacular was meant to happen to me this year. But isn’t that how every new year starts? We tell ourselves small lies at the beginning of the year to make ourselves feel as if one stroke of the clock can completely throw us from the course of our old ways.
That isn’t entirely true.
It’s difficult enough beginning my studies halfway into the school year in a different country across the pond. I’m definitely not going to lie to myself and try to change my unhealthy eating habits like any other young adult would. I’m ready to just soak in everything around me. My hair is the same mousey brown it’s been my entire life, and my wardrobe hasn’t really changed much either. I swear I could wear a different white t-shirt every day of the year and never repeat outfits. I’ve always liked the simplicity in things. I just want to wear plain clothes, drink cold coffee every morning, walk quietly everywhere I go, and get by with my head down. At this point in time, I’m just surviving and trying to prepare for that spectacular moment that may never even reach me.
February 3rd, 2018
So I’ve taken notice of the architecture around London and I have to say I’ve fallen in love. Everything is so clean-cut and intricate. There are marble cut crowns on every building and every piece of architecture screams royalty. (Though I’ve yet to see Kate Middleton around town). Another thing I’ve noticed is that there aren’t any billboards around the area. I’m guessing that’s a new world thing. Here, you wouldn’t have any knowledge that attorney’s offices or the London Zoo existed unless you happen to stumble upon them yourself.
So that’s exactly what I did this entire month. I’ve walked London soaking up all the architecture and witnessing the green hills beside my apartment, still struggling to grasp the fact that the steering wheel is on the opposite side here. I found this awesome little coffee shop two blocks away called Tara’s. I think I’ll apply for a job there. It’d be nice to spend my free time being suffocated by the smell of dark roast coffee.
School has been pretty rewarding lately. I had to write a personal journal-type piece for my one graduate writing seminar. Without thinking I read aloud the very beginning paragraphs of this journal and my professor loved it. We took turns reading our pieces aloud, discussing them afterwards. The feedback I got was pretty surprising to me in that a majority of my classmates related well to it. Here I am, this inexperienced and unsuccessful foreign student, red-faced with my head down at my professor’s podium as a slow applause stirred in the class. Maybe this was that spectacular moment. Whatever I wrote, I enjoyed writing it and my classmates enjoyed reading it.
March 7th, 2018
Oh boy. I haven’t written in a while. I’m getting back to writing in here, I promise. But lately I’ve been so caught up in everything that I haven’t really had the time to write in this journal. To get some things written down I’ll just list a few life facts from the last five months:
1. I’ve been working at Tara’s for four months now and ironically haven’t had a cup of coffee since.
2. I met a guy. His name is Mark and he’s from Iowa as well. Who would have thought that in London I’d find and click with someone that lived just forty-five minutes away from my place back home?
3. Side note: I’ve been sick for a few weeks but haven’t gone to the doctor yet. I’m thinking all this coffee has gone to my brain. I’m taking some ibuprofen and it seems to be helping. I can’t be bothered being sick right now.
On a more positive note:
4. I submitted a portion of this journal to a small company in the city and have published my first few pieces. I’ve made a couple hundred dollars on the side from that and that’s been so extraordinarily exciting for me. My submission wasn’t particularly popular, but my feedback was more rewarding than any amount of money I could have ever been paid.
So about this Mark guy, he’s an artist from Iowa that specializes in psychedelic murals around London. We met on a cold Sunday morning as I made my usual walk to the University. Needless to say, I didn’t end up going to class that day. I found myself staring at this guy’s painting, with what seemed like thousands of blended faces in bright, monochromatic greens. I sat down on the sidewalk and actually took shelter under this makeshift tarp and ladder hut as the rain began to fall harder upon my face. We talked for hours under this tiny little tent about his paintings, my writing, and how very ironic it was that he too, had come from Iowa. Only one county over from mine. Maybe this was my spectacular, meant-to-happen moment of the year.
April 16th, 2018
Well once again, I’ve left this journal at home one too many times. It’s been four months since my last entry. I said before that I was going to keep writing in here. But, like I said in the beginning, I wasn’t going to lie to myself this year and set unrealistic standards that I know I won’t keep in the long run. I’ve spent three months with Mark. I’ve been to the doctor a few times now, but I’m still feeling sick. Not in the cough-cough way, but in the I-literally-have-no-energy at-all kind of way. I want more than anything to see him and spend more time with him but I really feel like something is wrong here and I don’t want to hurt him. I’m so tremendously happy with how this year has turned out. I’ve met such an amazing guy, made great grades with my writings and managed to keep busy. Now, I’m going to the ambulatory center. I’m walking there because I still haven’t learned to drive on the right side of the car, I haven’t talked to Mark or returned his calls for a week and I’m not even sure why. I know that’s a mistake I’ll write about later.
…
April 19th, 2018
This is Mark.
I feel uncomfortable writing in this but I know it’s the right thing to do after these circumstances. Amanda wasn’t well and stopped speaking to me for a while so I assumed she lost interest in me or the relationship. But that wasn’t it at all and I know that now. I spotted her obituary in the news today as I drank my coffee at Tara’s where she once worked. She didn’t show up for class or for work for the past three days. She was found unconscious on the ground by my mural on Edenborough yesterday. I don’t even know what to think. After reading this journal I know that she was on her way to the hospital that night, and that she hadn’t lost interest in me all the while. She was dealing with something.
I don’t know why I’m writing in here, I guess I’m still in shock. I feel obligated to finish the story that she started. Meeting Amanda this year has changed my life in a way I never thought was possible. The very first moment I saw her in the rain I knew she was the one I was meant to marry. I knew her for only five months and now she’s gone.
You wrote me a love story Amanda, and now I’ll publish it.