When the city starts to know my name

There's a moment after you move to a new city where you suddenly don't identify as a tourist anymore. It's a moment so small, temporary, fleeting that you simply blink and it's passed by already. If you aren't lucky enough to catch this moment when it is actually occurring, you might still be able to recognise its aftermath. 

On reflection, it's almost tear-worthy remembering how terrifying it was moving to a new place. The streets of the city extended a little too far and the population turned me into an insignificant figure unnoticed in amongst the everyday hubbub. I started my journey on the bus with a map at hand to prevent myself from going further than I needed. I'd check every street corner and junction to ensure I wasn't straying from my path. I left either too early or too late to arrive at my destination. I had no control over my environment, I was simply a victim of its sole love of locals and its toying with tourists. 

It's come to the point in my study abroad, though, that I don't force the city too allow my stay anymore. I have discovered my Sophia-shaped gap. I catch the bus with no hassle, I go about my daily life in Greek (buying coffee, sending postcards, renting cars), I have integrated myself into a local rowing team, I wander through the city without a necessary purpose, I browse through the fresh produce at markets, I give directions to passers-by, I find quiet corners to read in which feel like mine. 

Sometimes it hits me that this city really does feel like home now. I look back at what my life was like at uni at home and struggle to come to terms with the fact that the people I have met here and the life I live cannot be transported and integrated into Durham when this year ends. Home is ultimately wherever you set your life up and wherever you eventually make yours. I am fortunate, then, to say that I have many homes at once.