the shadi show

I am the sort of person that overthinks almost everything. Buying tickets to Paris on a whim and not planning an itinerary is not very me. I love the feeling of freedom and open skies and open days, but I can’t help but worry that I’m wasting my days away when I haven’t left the hostel by 3pm and haven’t fully decided on what I’m going to do when I’ve left. I’ve got to learn to let this worry go, because not knowing what the day will hold means that when I stumble across a Christmas market or cheap movie tickets or new friends, it makes the experience that much more special. Because it was a surprise.  That being said, it wasn’t all peachy. I ended up feeling so thirsty I ordered a cider, an orange juice and a coffee all at once and not being able to finish them, after paying a lot of money for an Italian meal that was so big and salty which for some reason I did finish. At that point I was a heavy rock in human form, and it took every ounce of energy left in my body to remove myself f

It’s not travel related but I’ve had a thought that I’d like to share. I think, once you love someone, it’s something that can’t be stopped. It’s like unlocking a feature of a game that could be a bonus but takes a hell of a lot of getting used to - especially if you don’t want to love them anymore, or you hate them but love them still. There are a thousand different ways to respond to this, but I think the trickiest and most fulfilling is to figure out a way to balance loving someone and getting on with your life. Letting it become a lesson in a picture frame in the attic of your mind. Letting it become a story to tell your grandchildren - "I loved like this, I know this pain, my love. I know how hard it is to let go. Sometimes you can’t, not just like that. Sometimes letting go isn’t closure, it’s walking away." Love can be a knife that keeps wounding us in the same place in different ways. I really believe that making that kind of love and all the joy and pain that comes w

I feel like there’s some latent part of me that’s a weather girl, because I feel such joy when looking out at any kind sky. Look at this one, though! A bright, crisp Luton morning. Isn’t it perfect? Not all of Luton looks like this, unfortunately. Most of it doesn’t, in fact. It used to be a hat-making town during the war (don’t ask me which one, I haven’t a clue), and the industrial feel never really left. The buildings are large and square and brown and imposing, and there’s a feel of desolation hanging around every corner. I love it. I can’t imagine what this place would look like in the springtime with bits of green and colour peeking out from the pavement, but it is spectacular in winter. If I were in charge of the production of a film adaptation of The Silent Companions, this town is where I would set/film the matchstick factory scenes.  I haven’t much to report today, which is odd because today’s the first day I’ve mostly stayed awake through the daylight hours. I’m staying with

22 hours and three flights later, I’m finally home. I can’t pinpoint the how or the why, but wherever I am that isn’t here, I feel out of sync with myself. Now that I’m back again, everything feels right, like I’m seeing in technicolor. Not that there’s much in terms of colour out here in jolly old England at the moment. It’s misty and literally freezing and hard to see and oh, is it beautiful. I’m fighting the good fight with jet lag at the moment. I had a nap around lunchtime (midnight in Australia) that ended up lasting 8 hours. A late dinner was had, and here I am back in bed again. I know what I’ll probably dream of: what I left behind - my friends, my family, and the coffee I drank at the Paris airport. I have a quick story for you before I go. It isn’t even a story really, it’s just a fun achievement that has hopefully begun a trend.  When I caught my flight from China to Paris, everyone assumed I was a French-speaker. It was a fair assumption to make, I followed instructions as

I’m going to try an Ariana Grande and tell you about my travels, Twitter style: quick and unedited. As much as this is because I’m embracing the unfiltered life, this is also a matter of convenience. You see, over the next month, I’m backpacking through Europe. By myself. For the first time. Can you tell that I’m vaguely terrified? Only vaguely though, and I’ve never let vague terror stop me before. I am a Gryffindor, after all.  I’ve spent most of my life looking at travel as a means of escape, but in my 25 years I’ve realised something pretty important: if fear is the motivator for any decision you make, regret will always follow. I booked this flight not to run away but to run to. I’m running to myself. I want to find out what it’s like to be my own home. The only consistency over the next few weeks will be me, myself and I. I think I’m in a well enough place now that this journey will only lead to positive things. I like me. I want to get to know me better.  So, that’s the deep and