Life after Oxford: the good, the bad and the unthinkable

Had you been in Oxford, you would have heard me grunt and curse miserably as I reluctantly rolled my suitcase down the stairs on the rainy Saturday morning of my departure. Yet luckily for my mental well-being, my Eurotrip didn’t end then and there. After leaving Oxford, I met two of my closest friends - who had been studying in that other place – and the second and more hectic leg of the journey thus began: six cities spread across three different countries and hundreds of miles travelled in every means of transport known to man – plane, train, subway, ferry, cab, water cab, car and gondola – all in a staggering two weeks. 

Next in the itinerary was Paris, which became the undeserved recipient of all my anguish. However, once I got over my feelings of (non)homesickness, I enjoyed myself tremendously. Despite being rainier than Oxford and London combined, the so-called city of romance proved to be as posh and compelling as it is said to be, but offered no romance whatsoever. Rome and Venice, though not as elegant but equally quaint, awakened an unprecedented interest in my Italian roots, the Italian language, Italian history, and basically anything Italian. And it was impossible to hate the sunny beaches of Santorini and their crystal clear waters, in which I scuba-dived and over which I parasailed. 

Argentina, on the other hand, proved far easier to despise. Upon setting foot in my homeland, I was welcomed by a freezing cold wave, torrential rain and the worst traffic the highway has ever seen at four am in the morning. Having taken a month and a half off work, I was asked to resume my teaching position at once, thus plunging headlong into the hectic pace of my routine b.o. (before Oxford)

And that’s how life’s been since then. My European extravaganza left me in dire straits, thus keeping me from reducing my workload to a normal amount. Those Exeter cookie binges finally took their toll on me, and now on top of watching my pocket I also have to watch my weight. Not that looking well really matters, since the men here pale in comparison with their European counterparts...

Granted, the Oxford experience made me realize writing is what I want to pursue, and I’m looking into the possibility of doing an MA abroad (yet another reason why I can’t quit any of my multiple jobs). In the meantime, I’ve started this blog, in the hope that I write more regularly. And last but not least, I now walk on grass guilt-free, not just because I can, but because it is not nearly as green as on the other side of the Atlantic.

Photo by Ma. Eugenia J.