Here is the latest thing I know to be true: London is as beautiful, idyllic, and indisputably captivating as I had imagined it to be. For nearly the first time, my wild, far-fetched expectations of something have been exceeded by its reality.

Since last Sunday I’ve been walking the hallowed streets of London with a hand pressed cautiously to my heart; for years I’ve built castles in the air about this faraway city, holding quixotic notions of a place where I could sip bottomless cups of tea and walk cobbled roads amid a cultural mecca. I could write stories from the very city where so many esteemed writers have been inspired before me, and I could be blissfully far from the world I called familiar. London, in my mind, was faultless. It was where I was meant to be.

And now, here I am.

I mentioned in my first post that I am dealing with a major question: whether to stay in the U.S. for university, or to leap across the pond and pursue an English degree in England. All of these thoughts have been quite vague and implausible until now.

London is, to say the least, one of the most livable cities I’ve ever visited. While I am ever so slightly reminded of New York City by some of London’s more modern nuances, here there is a much more distinct and charming range of European architecture reminiscent of times New York will never know.

London can be characterized by its impressive fusion of maturity and youthfulness; it’s as if the city recreates itself as frequently as the people within it seem to do, while still retaining a sense of antiquity and respect for its history.

Naturally, there are still disadvantageous aspects of London, like in the rest of the world. Scores of homeless individuals wait out seasons and lifetimes with their backs pressed against door frames. Meanwhile, the wealthy residents of Chelsea and Kensington walk past unflinchingly, hurrying back to their jobs and their high priced flats. On my first day here I witnessed a man being punched in the face by another, perhaps the result of a theft. And, although it is not nearly as grim as the last two examples, there is the perpetual rain.

So perhaps London is not fantasy. If it were, I wouldn’t really be sitting here now, contemplating my future in this very city that I have so quickly fallen in love with.

London is the place I imagined and also much more. The confines of my imagination could never allow me to see every alleyway and every smile; to hear every profanity uttered in a British accent and every noisy public altercation; or to feel the vibration of passion and spirit in a city full of intangible hope.

London is not a dream at all. How wonderful it is to be awake!