Cast your eye back, around seven years, to October the 8th, 2002, and this is what you'll find: The beginning: Ok. My name is Vanina. I'm 18, I'm italian but have been living in Paris for the last 7 years. Actually, I lived in Paris until 2 weeks ago. I just moved to London to attend university (SOAS, which ROCKS)...
My first month with my blog I posted 75 times. My life in the UK - what turned out to be quite a big bit of my life - had just started. I was excited, and happy, and doing all kinds of things I wasn't meant to do. I've become a lot more sensible, and sometimes I feel boring. But in many ways I'm still the crazy 18 year old who moved to London. I still have (some) dreams, amidst the fog of feeling lost. I'm also a lot more fucked up than I was seven years ago, or maybe just fucked up in different ways. Or maybe it's just all come out...
It feels weird to think I'm 25. When I was 18 I thought the world was mine for the taking, and then I discovered that it never actually happens that way. You make do, you try your best, and you adapt. When I was 18, living by myself for the first time, going out, partying, drinking, smoking, I felt like a grown-up. Now, every morning I wake up and feel more like a child. There's so much still to work out! So much I still need to understand!
A lot has changed. It's weird, but I almost I feel protective of that 18 year old me, somehow so innocent (amidst all the naughtiness). I might be disillusioned, but I do realise that so far I've mostly been pretty fucking lucky. And I thank my lucky stars I made that move, I left Paris behind and came here. I cannot even imagine a life not in this country, not with these people.