Lost in London, Found in Myself
When I first landed in London in September 2021, I stepped out of Heathrow into a cold so sharp it felt like it could cut through my jacket. I had two suitcases, a head full of ambition, and that shiny LSE acceptance letter I’d worked so hard for.
I imagined the next chapter of my life like a film montage: me walking through cobbled streets with a coffee in hand, acing my classes, landing a great job, and hosting friends for cozy dinners in my little London accommodation.
But the city had its own script.
My first lecture at LSE felt like being dropped into a whirlpool: accents swirling around me, people tossing in theories like tennis balls I couldn’t quite catch. My first job applications? Rejected. Second round? Rejected. Third? “We regret to inform you” became a phrase I could spot from the first line of an email.
Even socially, I felt like I was pressing my face to the glass of London life: watching gatherings I wasn’t part of, hearing laughter from tables where I didn’t have a seat.
I felt lost in conversations where I couldn’t find the right words, and in opportunities that slipped away before I could grab them.
Back then, I thought being lost was the same as failing. And yet, in the middle of all that, small detours appeared.
A classmate I barely knew invited me for coffee and she became one of my closest friends. A “failed” job application led me to freelance work that gave me experience and freedom. A random volunteer event turned into a chance to meet people who valued what I brought to the table, not just my CV.
Somewhere between the rejections and the long walks with coffee in hand, I stumbled upon a different kind of map: one that wasn’t about streets or jobs, but about me.
It took me a while to see it, but the city wasn’t rejecting me, it was redirecting me. Every “no” was a breadcrumb leading me somewhere better. If I’d been accepted everywhere I wanted to go, I would have missed the places I was meant to be.
And that’s the funny thing: I went to London to study and work, but I ended up studying myself and working on my own courage. I went thinking I’d “make it” in the city and instead, I made it in me. I arrived thinking I was going to conquer London. I left knowing that London had quietly, stubbornly, helped me try to conquer myself.
Now, when I think of London, I don’t see the cold, the rejections, or the nights I felt alone. I see the cafés where friendships began, the side streets where opportunities hid, and the moments that taught me I could belong anywhere even in a city that was quietly steering me toward the people and places I truly belonged.
