Sarala Life — Life in Chapters: Careers, Canines, Cabernet & Courage

At seventeen, I left Trinidad with a suitcase full of dreams and a heart full of fear. London sounded like freedom — cobblestone streets, law school, independence, maybe even the life I thought I was ready for. But what looked like a dream was dotted with growth, laughter, tears, and a thousand tiny lessons in womanhood, identity, and survival.

As I share this chapter, I’ve also included a few snapshots from that season of my life —the face of a girl still figuring herself out.

The Beginning: London and Loneliness

When I first arrived, my parents and I stayed at a beautiful inn while searching for housing. They were adamant I shouldn’t be “alone,” so we agreed on a three-month house share. I knew instantly it wasn’t for me — sharing a bathroom? Washing my underwear in a stranger’s washer? Cooking vegetarian food while the kitchen smelled of meat? Absolutely not.

But I went along because that’s what we do when we’re seventeen and trying to make our parents proud. What seemed like small discomforts were really the first tests of who I was becoming — learning to live on my own terms, to say what I wanted (and didn’t want), to recognise that independence doesn’t come gift-wrapped, it comes with discomfort.

And yes, I cried every day.

The First “Protector” and the First Lesson

Somewhere in those first weeks, my family met a much older, charming Caribbean man who promised to “look out for me.” Spoiler: he was no gentleman. He tried to charm a naive seventeen-year-old with food and flattery for all the wrong reasons. Thankfully, the naive girl had a survival instinct stronger than she knew.

That was the first of many lessons: no one protects you better than you can protect yourself.

Finding My Footing

At school, I flourished. I was in my element — finally learning, thinking, thriving. But I was also learning that racism was real.

“You can’t be Indian and Caribbean.”
“Why do you sound like that?”
“Do you think you’re better?”

Those comments cut deep, but they also built resilience. I started to understand that identity could be questioned, but it didn’t have to be defined by others.

The First Love, and the First Mirror

Then came the man who would shape that chapter — fourteen years older, endlessly charming, and full of promises. He cooked for me, made me feel seen, gave me “community.” I thought I’d found my person. But over time, I realised I was becoming his person instead — losing pieces of myself in convenience and comfort.

It’s funny how love at that age feels like oxygen — until you realise you’ve been holding your breath the whole time.

Lessons in Love, Law, and Laundry

My parents sacrificed everything to send me to London. I will never forget the day they asked a relative to co-sign my student loan and were told “no” because that person didn’t believe they could do it — send a child to London and succeed. They did it anyway.

So, yes, I was grateful. But gratitude doesn’t make the growing easier.

I was learning to study hard, work part-time at my partner’s family law firm, pay bills, and keep house — all while pretending I knew how to clean a toilet (spoiler: I didn’t). I actually called my mother the first time, convinced bleach required an engineering degree.

And yet, these were the moments that shaped me — my first flat, my first job, my first sense of real self-reliance. I also learned that sometimes the person you love teaches you what not to accept.

Here’s what that girl learned early:

Take control of your own life — no one will do it for you.

Always save.

Be self-sufficient.

If it looks too good to be true, it probably is.

Find your own people.

Of Cinnamon Rolls and Red Flags

Those years are still etched in my memory — Red Bull and cinnamon rolls from the cafeteria as breakfast for almost three years (it’s a miracle I didn’t turn into one). Professors who inspired me, crushes that got me through accounting, a semester of criminology just because the lecturer was brilliant.

But the red flags were there too — me doing his assignments, spending my little money on “us,” dimming my own light so his could shine brighter. I didn’t see it then. Growth is slow like that.

The LPC Years: Finding My Own People

The Legal Practice Course was harder than anything before, but it came with unexpected joy. My girlfriends — my saving grace — introduced me to the life of Nando’s Fridays, long pub nights, Southern Comfort and lemonade (don’t judge), and laughter that healed.

Those were my first real friendships. People who loved me for me, not for what I did for them.

Family, Distance, and the Voice I Was Learning to Use

When my family visited, they met a different version of me each time — the grown woman they didn’t quite understand. My father’s control and my mother’s silence re-triggered the girl I thought I’d outgrown.

I’ll never forget the day my dad sent me a huge framed photo of himself to mount on my wall. When he arrived and saw it still in the corner, he exploded — said it showed my lack of respect, my lack of love. He left to stay with my partner, refusing to speak to me for the rest of the trip.

That was the moment I realised: distance isn’t always rebellion; sometimes it’s survival.

Life, Love, and Lessons Yet to Come

Between lectures, part-time jobs, acne breakouts, visa renewals, failed exams, resits, learning about condoms and the pill, and even the adventure of getting our first dog, Veeran (who we drove all the way to Wales to get — me paying from my cash withdrawals at multiple ATMs)… I thought that was life. That was adulthood.

We studied together, lived together, worked together, had the same friends, even “started a family” with a dog. You think those times will last forever. You think this is it.

But adulting always finds you. And you only discover what truly lasts when you’re living from your healed, authentic self — not your performative, prescriptive one.

This was just the beginning. The next chapter is about what happens after the degree, after the love story, when real life collides in real time with the dream — when the girl who left home finally starts coming home to herself.

💭 Life Lessons from the London Years

Independence isn’t pretty at first. It’s messy, tearful, and full of bad takeout.

Love without boundaries becomes dependence.

You can outgrow places and people — even if they helped you grow.

Money, self-respect, and sleep are non-negotiable.

You are allowed to reinvent yourself as many times as it takes.

🩵 Author’s Note

This chapter is dedicated to every woman who left home to chase a dream and discovered herself along the way — sometimes the hard way. If you’ve ever cried into your curry, studied through heartbreak, or learned to love yourself one mistake at a time, this one’s for you.

🔍 Clue of the Week

“When you clean your first toilet, buy your first pet, or pay your first bill — don’t groan. You’re not failing at life. You’re growing into it.”