I returned to Bermuda near the end of 2017. I gave myself a deadline of 6 months to a year, and after passing the halfway point, I decided on the latter. As I type this, I’m surprised that I made it for so long. The plan was always that this move isn’t permanent but a necessary transition. However, some people have told me otherwise. “You’re back for good,” they say and instantly annoy me. Their words do not come at random but after a conversation about why I’ve returned home and how long I intend to be here.

I used to be a music snob. I prided myself on knowing songs first and made it obvious to my friends.

“Oh, you just heard that song.”

“I’ve been on this artist.”

I sit here writing a little ashamed and embarrassed with myself. It’s upsetting to see the look at the last date I’ve posted to my blog. My previous post was one of hope and motivation for what would be of the next couple of months. I’m bothered about that being my last post until now. Reading it back, I was looking at 2018 fueled with a desire and optimism of what lied ahead, what was to become and more importantly what I wanted to create.

I’m back in Bermuda for a little while. It still hasn’t hit me I’m going to be here for some time. I’ve been back for one month, but I think once January ends the feeling will start to settle in. When I was contemplating moving, I wanted to. Never would I think I’d feel like that. I’ve lived in London for seven years and have not once considered coming back to Bermuda for longer than a two-week vacation. In the final months of 2017 London wasn’t serving my soul.

** I wrote this a week after Notting Hill Carnival and was commissioned for an online publication but unfortunately the editor didn’t get to it in time and it was too late to publish, thus it’s on the blog.

“I’m not going to the carnival this year.” The statement I repeatedly said to my friends and myself in the weeks and days leading up to the infamous Notting Hill Carnival.