Dear Me,

The version of me who moved to London…

You had no idea what was coming, did you?You thought London would be an aesthetic Pinterest board creative gigs, rooftop parties, a city that would hold you like home. You thought the hardest part would be unpacking your suitcase.

But it was you who needed unpacking.No one tells you that moving to a city like London doesn’t just change your postcode. It changes you. Quietly, then all at once. And the culture shock? It wasn’t just about the weather or the fact that people avoid eye contact on the Tube it was deeper than that.

The Culture Shock Wasn’t Cute

At first, everything was so loud the sirens, the buses, the cost of living. And the pace? Relentless. People move fast here. Conversations feel rushed. Smiles are rare unless you already know someone. Coming from Switzerland and Cameroon where things feel more communal, more… felt, I struggled.

I remember walking into rooms and feeling invisible. Everyone already had their people, their slang, their sense of rhythm. I felt like I was constantly catching up swapping out parts of myself just to be understood.

There were days I didn’t recognize my own voice. I wasn’t dressing the same. I wasn’t laughing the same. I was too tired to dream. And I missed my mom more than I could explain. Everything felt expensive emotionally and physically. I started wondering: Did I make a mistake?

But You Kept Showing Up

That’s the part I want to honour now. You stayed. You got up, kept catching the bus. You walked into rooms where you knew no one and introduced yourself anyway. You sat in corners and observed. You cried on phone calls and still showed up for lectures. You survived on bagels and oat lattes when money was tight. You danced at parties even when you didn’t feel like you belonged.

You kept moving even when the city felt like it was swallowing you whole.But something changed when you stopped performing and started observing.You started listening for your people.And that’s when the real shift happened.

Enter: Galactamelanin

I get emotional just typing this because Galacta didn’t just give me community it gave me myself back.

Galactamelanin isn’t just a creative collective. It’s a portal. A healing ground. A chosen family of Black, soft, brilliant souls who make space for each other to be all things at once. I found people who were making zines, building archives, styling shoots, writing poems, running workshops not for clout, but for liberation.

When I walked into my first Galacta event, something in me exhaled. For the first time since moving to London, I didn’t feel like I had to explain myself. My accent, my name, my hair, my politics, my softness none of it was questioned. It was celebrated.These were people who saw me before I said anything. And they didn’t just see me they held me. ( Yoms and Bis if you’re reading this I love y’all so so much <3)

The Shift Was Spiritual

Before Galacta, I was still clinging to versions of myself that were shaped by survival. But being around people who lived so freely, so loudly, so intentionally, reminded me that I didn’t come to London just to study or work I came here to become.

I stopped shrinking.I started saying “no” without guilt.
I started styling myself again, not for attention, but as ritual.
I started writing more. Creating again.Laughing deeper. Loving softer.

Through Galacta, I started remembering who I was before I tried to fit into what London expected me to be. And I realised,I’m not here to fit in. I’m here to redefine the space entirely.

Reintroducing Myself

The girl who moved to London was hopeful, a little naive, and craving transformation.The woman writing this now is grounded, bolder, and full of gratitude for every breaking point that led to breakthrough.

London still overwhelms me sometimes. I still cry on the bus. I still get homesick. I still miss my family every single day. But now, I know how to sit with all of that. I know how to feel instead of numb.

I’ve built community that feeds me.I’ve found creative collaborators who speak my language.I’ve built a life where I’m not performing I’m present.

To the Girl Who Left Home

You didn’t lose yourself.You shed the version of you that needed to be lost.Culture isn’t just what you wear or consume it’s what you carry. And you carried so much here. Your history, your softness, your faith, your rage, your art. Every outfit. Every word. Every connection. It’s all part of the anthology you’re building. And the best part? You’re just getting started.

So, What Now?

I want Culture-Anthology to be the archive I didn’t have when I first moved here. A space for stories like mine stories of movement, memory, style, identity, and transformation. I want this blog to hold all the pieces: the essays, the breakdowns, the joy, the culture, the politics, the art, the awkward in-betweens.

I want this to be a soft landing for the girl who’s scared, she’s falling apart.A reminder that falling apart is sometimes the only way we get to put ourselves back together the way we want to be.

So if you’re reading this and London feels too big come closer.
There’s room for you here. You don’t have to be ready. Just come as you are.

With deep, growing love,
Perrine

see you next week guys!!

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