The bigger the gap becomes between “Kassey used to live in England and have the most romanticized life ever” and “Kassey lives in Northeast Ohio and leads a somewhat average life” two things become more evident:

1. It becomes harder and harder to recall previously ‘crucial’ details. Por ejemplo, every time I had Fin De Siecle I would pop to the hub ¬†beforehand and buy a yoghurt flapjack. Except I couldn’t remember what they were called until I dug through the 10,000 photos I took while there (that’s not an exaggeration…I really did take just over 10,000 photos) and found a picture of one. I must’ve eaten dozens upon dozens of those savory bars! And yet, I really struggled (and became quite frustrated) to remember their name.

2. I cling even more to the little things that affected my life in big ways. Although I didn’t pick up an accent while abroad, I really tried to assimilate (as much as an asian kid can…I mean…you do kind of stick out…) Which in the end meant changing the way I spell and pronounce things and…live my life. I spell ton “tonne” and favorite “favourite” and jail “gaol.” Instead of saying “thanks” I usually say cheers or ta. There are also some less savory words that in England are only mildly offensive but in America are quiteeee derogatory. And yes…..I drink black tea every. single. day. (Until I started my new job I used to have it every day around 2 or 3 in the afternoon, now I drink it in the morning before work or just shortly after arriving at work).

Furthermore, and this may be the biggest one right now…I started learning how to realllllly cook after I came back to America from Jamie Oliver. And then Warren Nash and then the Sorted food blokes. All Brits. What does this mean? I literally struggle sometimes to remember American foods and names. I recently mentioned that I’m in LOVE with the deep purple color of aubergines. Wait. WTF is an aubergine you might ask? It’s an EGGPLANT. ahhhhhh. I went to the store looking for coriander the leaf and all I could find was seeds. Noooo. In America the leaf is called cilantro. Oregano is pronounced “or-eh-gahn-oh” in England and since I’ve never had to use that word ever until now…and the only way in which I know it is the English pronunciation………..do you see how this happens?

I feel like half the time people might want to punch me in the face when in reality…cross my heart…these are things that have become inherent to me. If I hadn’t learned it until I went to England, well, then the English way is all I’ll ever know of it. And if I happened to know it beforeeeee I went to England, well, I’m very VERY good at wiping my own memory and replacing it. (The spelling came about because of a lecturer who was very keen to mark you down for poor spelling, exchange student or not!)

So….if you ever read something I’ve written and think I’m horrible at spelling…I’m really not. And if I say “biscuit” or “crisps” or “courgette”…forgive me. No part of me is actually sorry about any of this, mind you. That’d be like being sorry for the color of your hair.It’s kind of become my little homage to England.

As Brutus famously said “It’s not that I loved Caesar less, but I loved Rome more.”

I love England more. And I suspect I always will for the rest of my life.

 

 

A/N: This post is probably one in a long series of posts marking the 2 year anniversary of my having left for England. Reader beware. I might get sentimental.