Forty years ago, more and less, I was leaving home. I had London in my mind and a lot of dreams in my head.
My mother cried after my departure, complaining with father that I had left because I didn't have enough money for myself, or may be not enough appreciation. As a matter of fact it was hard, in those days, to find my own place in a pathriarcal family like mine was; I was the sixth of eleven sons, the older brothers all engaged in the family commercial activity, and the youngers still at school; I have been the first in my family, as far as our living memory arrives, to start university and not alawys my fatigues were valueted for what they were (and they still are for those who have a full time engagement at University).
The same force that compelled my daughter.
Now she's in London, spending summer time, bound to attend at University in September.
I didn't find what I was looking for in London though I remember meeting a lot of good people over there.
And after London I tried to peace my search of unkown travelling around for a while before getting back home and finish my University.
That's what makes a great difference between my own story and that of my daughter. She's registered at University over there and there she will be searching, I might suppose, her future.
Yet it's a strange feeling, after almost forty years, to see my daughter facing in London her lot.
Good luck my dear and might God watch after you.