Having gone to college in the same city in which I was born and raised, I realized as a sophomore that I needed to get out and experience the world. I decided that the perfect way to do this would be to go abroad during the fall semester of my junior year. I spent the summer looking forward to my adventure, but as the very end of August closed in on me, I felt like the days had never passed more quickly. Maybe I wasn’t ready to leave my hometown. I cried all night before I left, I cried during the four-hour car ride to the airport, and I cried as I passed through security into the world of the unknown and waved goodbye to America.

Fast-forward to my first night out in London. I was still somewhat jet-lagged, I hadn’t adjusted to the accents, and I was missing home more than I ever thought I could. Attempting to connect with the locals and other people from my program, I found myself in the middle of a crowded club. I had just returned from a trip to the bathroom after receiving a bloody nose from a dancer’s stray elbow to my face, and all of a sudden I heard a beat that set my feet tapping and begged my body to start bopping along. From that point on, no night (or day, for that matter) was complete unless I heard the Scissor Sisters’ song “Don’t Feel Like Dancin’.” Ironic that it’s a song about not wanting to dance, because the music made it nearly impossible to not get up and start flailing about.

In London that song meant good times and unforgettable nights out. It was my theme song for the whole semester. Then, as the semester started to wind down and the date of my flight home loomed closer and closer, the song took on an entirely different meaning. I didn’t feel like dancing, and I couldn’t “break it down” because I was so overcome with the sorrow of knowing that I would soon have to leave my lovely London.

Somewhere along the way, after late nights out, early mornings traveling on the tube, walks through Hyde Park, visits to more museums than I could count, and of course pictures with immobile guards, I had opened myself up to London. I went overseas intending to get an education and perhaps do a little sightseeing, but nothing more. I didn’t want to get attached to the city because I knew it would be a short-lived relationship. However, despite my best efforts to keep things strictly professional between us, the city of London got to me and I fell for her.

At the end of my four months abroad, after a week of crying myself to sleep, walking around my newfound love with tear-filled eyes and making vows to return, I said goodbye to my semester abroad and the city that still hasn’t released its hold on me.

Upon arriving home I was happy to see the friends and family that I had missed, but I experienced an anger and bitterness unlike anything I’ve ever known. I felt the pain of having been dumped by a true love — and knowing that it was all my fault. And then one night, when I was brooding over the loss of my city, as if on cue, “Don’t Feel Like Dancin’” came up randomly on my iTunes.

The music that once moved my body for me, that had given me energy for one more dance even in the wee hours of the morning, left me paralyzed. As I listened, the memories of my semester in London rushed through my mind almost as fast as the tears fell down my face. When the song ended I got up and deleted it from my music library. Maybe sometime in the future I’ll be able to listen to it without getting upset, and maybe one day I’ll be able to dance to the Scissor Sisters again. But until then I don’t feel like dancing, no sir, no dancing today.