A night of someone who lives here

I had forgotten I was here.
I came up the steps and walked out of Westminster tube station on the way to see a friend and was greeted with a spectacular view of Big Ben and Parliament lit up in all their glory. I've seen these two quintessential London landmarks many times now. I can see the tips of Parliament from where I work, the London Eye from the top floor of my building. I have been a tourist here more than once. This evening, as I have before, I walked past these monuments trying not to look up so as not to be mistaken for a tourist. And as I walked towards my friend's office I turned my back on Parliament (this can be a deep metaphor or not - I really did turn by back because that's where my friend works).
I stopped by the ATM, picked up my friend and her coworkers, and went out to a pub nearby. Basically, it was an average, low key Friday night. Not the kind of night a tourist has, but the night of someone who lives here: getting out of work, winding down with a pint in a crowded pub filled with Londoners in suits with their ties loosened and their briefcases forgotten. But as I walked back home later on and once again face Big Ben I allowed myself a brief glance up. It's a pretty amazing site - glowing gold against the black sky, framing the rushing Thames, and the London Eye moving every so slowly in the background.
I ended up standing there for a while; head up like your stereotypical tourist and right up close to this postcard view with all of London continuing to go on around me. And that's where it hit me that I'm here! Since I was a kid I imagined living an exotic life in foreign cities and those fantasies always included me strolling past the Eiffel Tower, the Colosseum, Big Ben. And there I was doing exactly that! But I'm not a tourist here (thank God). I get on the packed tube every morning to go to work or school. I travel to places like Oslo and Paris on the weekends. I do stroll past Big Ben on my way home after drinks (and I have those drinks with real live British people!). I'm not saying I don't stop to smell the roses but the fascination does eventually wear off. London has changed from a strange city across the Atlantic to my city across the Atlantic. My home, actually.
I had forgotten I was in London. I'm not sure if that makes any sense, but red phone booths and double-decker buses are not tourist attractions for me anymore.They are where I can call the States or how I get home. I don't look down at the pavement anymore to check which way to look when crossing the streets (or think those cars are driving themselves when I don't see anyone in the "drivers" seat). I say things like "rubbish" and "brilliant" (completely unconsciously because I know my family will make fun of me when I go back to the US).
I am in love with London. It is fully and completely my home, more than any place has ever been. But sometimes it's nice to remember my childhood fantasies, to crane my neck like an idiot tourist so I can enjoy this other side of London in order to remember how far I've come.