Memores acti prudentes futuri

 

Photo by Adil Janbyrbayev on Unsplash 

I don’t think we ever truly know what we want from life. I’ve changed my mind more times than I can count. Maybe it’s because I always feel the need to have a plan—a sense of direction—when perhaps I should just let go a little more. One thing I do believe, though, is that the only way we begin to understand what life is really about is through observation and reflection—by noticing how we affect the world around us and how it, in turn, shapes us.

Living alone in the UK for over a decade has taught me a lot. I’ve more or less found my footing, but when I look back at my 18-year-old self, I can’t help but admire how brave and resilient she was. On September 15th, 2006, my plane landed in London. I was a skinny girl with a massive suitcase and wide eyes, navigating Heathrow for the first time. My stepbrother met me at the arrivals gate and helped me get to Luton, where I would spend the next three years studying Illustration.

New beginnings

I still remember my tiny room at 128 Cowper Street. I don’t think I’ll ever forget that place—it was my first true adult “home,” the place where I began to learn who I was and what independence felt like. I shared the house with several other Lithuanians, though I never got particularly close to them. Instead, I found kindred spirits elsewhere. We spent our days working away in the art studio, and our evenings playing pool at the local pub. It was there I got drunk for the first time. It was there I discovered what real friendship meant.

My first job was at an Amazon warehouse near Milton Keynes. I had no experience, so I accepted the offer without hesitation. It was tough—packing 200 parcels an hour every weekend. I’d wake up at 5 a.m. on Saturdays and Sundays to catch the bus and work ten-hour shifts for minimum wage. But we all start somewhere.

The most vivid memory I have of those early days was my first purchase with that paycheck: a pink CD player for £10. I didn’t have a computer in my room, so most of my free time was spent drawing or reading. That CD player gave me the chance to listen to music again. Evanescence, HIM, 30 Seconds to Mars, and Green Day were on heavy rotation. It feels like another lifetime—a time before smartphones, Snapchat, and TikTok.

Changes

I often reflect on those days now. I’ve changed so much since then. And honestly, I miss that naivety and youthful sense of wonder. My future was unclear, but everything felt new and full of possibility. I didn’t need a detailed plan or fancy tech—I simply enjoyed each day as it came.

Of course, life moved on. Responsibilities piled up, plans became more urgent, relationships grew more complex. There’s a kind of joy that gets replaced by pressure. Still, every success and every mistake taught me something, and I do feel like I’m getting closer to understanding my place in the world.

But I won’t pretend—I miss those carefree days more than I’d like to admit. Maybe it’s just part of getting older. Or maybe it’s that bittersweet ache of nostalgia, reminding us of who we were and how far we’ve come.