Tomorrow I leave for Gatwick. I'll spend a night at a Travel Lodge with Mum, who will be fussing and fretting about everything. Then I'll be flying on Tuesday at 1:10 to Hanoi, where 9 hours later I'll be waiting for Bache's arrival.
Fuck.
People keep asking if I'm ready; I never know whether they mean have I packed, or am I ready culturally. Right now, the answer is neither. I can't finishing packing until I've brushed my teeth the last time. And of course I am not culturally ready. The most different place 'culturally' I've ever been to was Malia for gods sake. No I am not 'ready'.
But I'm not scared. I'm not scared because this year I turned into one of those people that does stuff rather than just floats through life. All of a sudden this momentum and drive came to me that I'd never had before, probably because school is so strictly organised that it happens for you, and then it stops and you have to create your life yourself. Otherwise you're sat with dirty dishes around you watching series 8 of Friends and it's only been 6 days since you start the omnibus... not how I wanted to spend my year.
I received, in the past few days a most extraordinary letter from my eldest brother which I think could be one of the most important documents I'll ever hold onto. It will have the power to keep me going at the points where I long to be coming home in the next 5 months, so I am taking it with me.
Anyway. Now I have to go and pack and stuff. So more later.
