I have an acute migraine whilst sat on a Virgin train home to “WIGUN NUERTH WESHTERN” (sound it out to get embrace the Northerness) and it feels like a fat boy banging his oversized fists against the fragile window of a closed bakery shop.
It is SO GOOD to see so much greenery out of the window right now as opposed to being visually numbed to the sight of grey concrete day in and day out. It brings to mind a New York Times architecture special that concluded on the note humans aren’t designed to live in ‘concrete jungles’ but creative buildings can mitigate the negatives.
Being home for my birthday is going to be so much fun seeing as I spend practically all of my time in London and contact with my family has shifted to being phone-based. I can’t believe I’m going to turn 20, a fifth of a century old…tomorrow! The very thought of it makes me slump into any seat I’m sat in (provided I don’t get more stuck as I slump further and further into it) and as I like to pronounce to everyone during any discussion of age and birthdays, I was always quite happy to be 17; doing my A-Levels, commuting to school, going to the Starbucks in St James Square, Manchester armed with Discrete Mathematics homework and Economics papers on the then housing boom. Just thinking about this brings back very fond memories, the sorts of memories that make for good anecdotes to float around in dinner conversations or just sentimental statements. I think I’ve pulverised Annabel a pulp with the amount I’ve subjected her to these 2 years.
What I need to do when home is to recharge my batteries and let the country wind air out my lungs; I feel as if I’ve been lugging about 2 packs of stale Hovis bread in my chest!
But I’m already excited and looking forwards to seeing ‘everyone’ on Friday. Luck doesn’t even mark the spot when I think about how I got to know all my dearest friends. Let’s hope hitting 20 is the best year of my life yet.
Tuesday, 19 August 2008
Saturday, 16 August 2008
Run.
After an exhausting evening shift at work, I spilled onto Fulham Road as if I had no vertebrae and was desperately trying to hold my head, body and limbs together.
It was hilarious as always to see bands of complete strangers absolutely drunk to a tee whilst I couldn’t be more sober than…a rabbit on speed! (I didn’t want to say judge…).
Despite having to work, today was particularly relaxing; I spent a considerable amount of time in Habitat and Heals looking at and buying new things for the flat, items that inevitably redefine the notion of student living; gorgeous plates with French swirl designs, colourful peacocks emblazoned on terracotta plates among others! Buying things for houses and flats is one of the small things in life I do enjoy as it permits one to admire the items for many years to come, their life spans extend well beyond that of a vodka shot purchased on a hazy Saturday evening.
Anyone with the displeasure of popping round to see me at the flat will at least be compensated with a lush cup of tea with its water boiled from a crème and chrome kettle with the insignia-esque label, ‘Prestige’ conspicuously inscribed on its front. HOW PARFAIT.
I exited to Tottenham Court Road and hailed a taxi to shove my 3 bags of shopping into. I did mull over catching the tube but the thought of being pushed and shoved and not to forget mention of those nosy little somethings who spend their tube journeys peering into other people’s shopping bags and eyeing up their clothes, was not particularly appealing. Not to forget, on my way home I was sat next to a very interesting girl but interesting in the vicious sense. She had bright goldish blonde hair, a white dress with frilly detail at the ends and a chunky gold belt slung around her waist. But her most intruding feature was just how ORANGE she was. I was just sat there thinking, ‘YOU’VE BEEN TANGOED’ and ‘There’s a fake tan…and then there’s a fake tan…’. She looked as colourful as an orange bowl with ‘TANG’ in it (Tang is an Arabic orange powder you add hot water to and hey presto, there’s one cuppa orange juice).
Gush, well I’m completely stoned on the smell of pot emanating from the living room. My flatmate does enjoy a hench spliff. I think I’ll sleep with both windows open.
It was hilarious as always to see bands of complete strangers absolutely drunk to a tee whilst I couldn’t be more sober than…a rabbit on speed! (I didn’t want to say judge…).
Despite having to work, today was particularly relaxing; I spent a considerable amount of time in Habitat and Heals looking at and buying new things for the flat, items that inevitably redefine the notion of student living; gorgeous plates with French swirl designs, colourful peacocks emblazoned on terracotta plates among others! Buying things for houses and flats is one of the small things in life I do enjoy as it permits one to admire the items for many years to come, their life spans extend well beyond that of a vodka shot purchased on a hazy Saturday evening.
Anyone with the displeasure of popping round to see me at the flat will at least be compensated with a lush cup of tea with its water boiled from a crème and chrome kettle with the insignia-esque label, ‘Prestige’ conspicuously inscribed on its front. HOW PARFAIT.
I exited to Tottenham Court Road and hailed a taxi to shove my 3 bags of shopping into. I did mull over catching the tube but the thought of being pushed and shoved and not to forget mention of those nosy little somethings who spend their tube journeys peering into other people’s shopping bags and eyeing up their clothes, was not particularly appealing. Not to forget, on my way home I was sat next to a very interesting girl but interesting in the vicious sense. She had bright goldish blonde hair, a white dress with frilly detail at the ends and a chunky gold belt slung around her waist. But her most intruding feature was just how ORANGE she was. I was just sat there thinking, ‘YOU’VE BEEN TANGOED’ and ‘There’s a fake tan…and then there’s a fake tan…’. She looked as colourful as an orange bowl with ‘TANG’ in it (Tang is an Arabic orange powder you add hot water to and hey presto, there’s one cuppa orange juice).
Gush, well I’m completely stoned on the smell of pot emanating from the living room. My flatmate does enjoy a hench spliff. I think I’ll sleep with both windows open.
Monday, 11 August 2008
Inalienable Traits
I do have to say this week has witnessed my transformation into a minor film buff; Paris Je T’aime on Tuesday, The Elephant Man on Friday, Memoirs of a Geisha on Saturday and Silent Hill today. Having watched such a varied genre of films has left the contents within my cranium somewhat fried and I’m certain it largely explains my conversational lethargy. Yesterday, I was frustrating Chloe with my slow comprehension of Memoirs of a Geisha buttressed by a blank facial expression as I glared at the screen, remembering to blink every so often so my eyes wouldn’t turn into dry static cubes.
In hindsight, I have to say watching the Elephant Man is the one I will remember the fondest...the fact it was aired in Somerset House puts it in pole position too! I honestly thought it would be a lot sadder and heart wrenching than it was but it was done with justice and the emotions the makers wanted to convey came through crystal clear. What touched me the most was the irreducibility and purity of the Elephant Man’s sentiments; his love for the theatre, his sincere words, his humbleness as he believed he was a disappointment to a beautiful mother he spoke only of in reverence. It was quite hard not to feel simultaneously sad and happy…it was just a question of balance that tipped one’s state of mind into hope or despair.
At the end of the film as we were walking out, I set Chloe into hysterics as I produced one of my classic sentimental statements that were mistook for pretentiousness, to quote Ms Day. I’d sighed loudly and said, ‘Ohh, perhaps there’s an Elephant Man in all of us’. But I stand by my guns! Our resolve to hold things out, our gratitude to those who help us and of course, our ability to love. Once I manage to get an internet connection running (my days spent lazing around risk pushing the flat into a pre-1990s era) I’ll be sure to add one of Joe Merrick’s quotes, ‘I have lived a full life, because I know am loved’.
And that quote got me thinking. At the opposite end, is a life filled with wanton sexual conquests, absurd luxury and satiation of the 7 sins at some point, necessarily a life that is not full? My former boundary-obsessed moral self would be inclined to uphold this conception without question but having finally started to move with the times, fullness is a very subjective state of mind and I respect that. Yet, I can’t help but think this state of mind is achieved through the endurance of hardship. A hardship that strips a human being to his most rudimentary coat of feelings and instincts. This is the Elephant Man within us.
In hindsight, I have to say watching the Elephant Man is the one I will remember the fondest...the fact it was aired in Somerset House puts it in pole position too! I honestly thought it would be a lot sadder and heart wrenching than it was but it was done with justice and the emotions the makers wanted to convey came through crystal clear. What touched me the most was the irreducibility and purity of the Elephant Man’s sentiments; his love for the theatre, his sincere words, his humbleness as he believed he was a disappointment to a beautiful mother he spoke only of in reverence. It was quite hard not to feel simultaneously sad and happy…it was just a question of balance that tipped one’s state of mind into hope or despair.
At the end of the film as we were walking out, I set Chloe into hysterics as I produced one of my classic sentimental statements that were mistook for pretentiousness, to quote Ms Day. I’d sighed loudly and said, ‘Ohh, perhaps there’s an Elephant Man in all of us’. But I stand by my guns! Our resolve to hold things out, our gratitude to those who help us and of course, our ability to love. Once I manage to get an internet connection running (my days spent lazing around risk pushing the flat into a pre-1990s era) I’ll be sure to add one of Joe Merrick’s quotes, ‘I have lived a full life, because I know am loved’.
And that quote got me thinking. At the opposite end, is a life filled with wanton sexual conquests, absurd luxury and satiation of the 7 sins at some point, necessarily a life that is not full? My former boundary-obsessed moral self would be inclined to uphold this conception without question but having finally started to move with the times, fullness is a very subjective state of mind and I respect that. Yet, I can’t help but think this state of mind is achieved through the endurance of hardship. A hardship that strips a human being to his most rudimentary coat of feelings and instincts. This is the Elephant Man within us.
Thursday, 7 August 2008
Going Nowhere.
The grey clouds today appear as if a child has taken a hoop from his small bottle of soapy water and tried to blow bubbles. They seamlessly curl in on each other.
My bedroom window gives me a perfect viewing point to just stare aimlessly at the hundreds of people moving past; some are running, some are pacing, and there are those with time on their side and stroll confidently in this knowledge…or perhaps just because they think they look pretty damn good today!
With all this movement of people, I have to raise the question, where are they all going? I think the stereotype of Londoners being busy and unsociable creatures retains some merit. With the exception of ‘chill out’ days that you spend alone or with friends watching a movie, eating etc (the list is never exhaustible) we always seem to have somewhere to be, something to do, people to talk to.
I fondly remember one time when my sister brought me out to a Law function of hers, that I met a young barrister and we struck up a witty yet standard ‘hoo-hah’ kind of conversation filled with ‘hmph’ and pretentious ‘no, no, no’es as we discussed the plight of the dollar, human rights and at the time, Blue’s latest single which he took quite a fancy to. After 15 minutes had elapsed, he pardoned himself and gave me his card and as he did, said, ‘It’s been good chatting to you but I have to pop out to see to some important things’. I found him 10 minutes later at the function’s bar, downing a whiskey and ordering another scotch.
It’s possible we like to give the impression to close friends as well as strangers that we constantly have something to do because to do is to complete, and to complete is to progress with life. I certainly believe it can be the case that we do for the sake of doing rather than it amounting to something in its own right.
As always, there’s a sliding scale that most people can be fitted on and to borrow from my mother’s wisdom, ‘there are the lazy’ and, ‘there are those who do to impress. They are the ones to look out for’.
I know I wrote, ‘mother’s wisdom’ but feel free to construe this as a pan-Chinese cultural paranoia.
My bedroom window gives me a perfect viewing point to just stare aimlessly at the hundreds of people moving past; some are running, some are pacing, and there are those with time on their side and stroll confidently in this knowledge…or perhaps just because they think they look pretty damn good today!
With all this movement of people, I have to raise the question, where are they all going? I think the stereotype of Londoners being busy and unsociable creatures retains some merit. With the exception of ‘chill out’ days that you spend alone or with friends watching a movie, eating etc (the list is never exhaustible) we always seem to have somewhere to be, something to do, people to talk to.
I fondly remember one time when my sister brought me out to a Law function of hers, that I met a young barrister and we struck up a witty yet standard ‘hoo-hah’ kind of conversation filled with ‘hmph’ and pretentious ‘no, no, no’es as we discussed the plight of the dollar, human rights and at the time, Blue’s latest single which he took quite a fancy to. After 15 minutes had elapsed, he pardoned himself and gave me his card and as he did, said, ‘It’s been good chatting to you but I have to pop out to see to some important things’. I found him 10 minutes later at the function’s bar, downing a whiskey and ordering another scotch.
It’s possible we like to give the impression to close friends as well as strangers that we constantly have something to do because to do is to complete, and to complete is to progress with life. I certainly believe it can be the case that we do for the sake of doing rather than it amounting to something in its own right.
As always, there’s a sliding scale that most people can be fitted on and to borrow from my mother’s wisdom, ‘there are the lazy’ and, ‘there are those who do to impress. They are the ones to look out for’.
I know I wrote, ‘mother’s wisdom’ but feel free to construe this as a pan-Chinese cultural paranoia.
Sunday, 3 August 2008
When Days Are Numbered
Lukewarm peppermint tea, slow traditional Koto music, a New York Times bestseller lazily sitting on the corner of my desk with so many page folds it would be fit as a razor. Such things can only spell one thing…just another Sunday has elapsed.
It has been so long since I have mustered up full-blooded inspiration to write in this journal but moving to Old Street has certainly compounded my desire to do so and this vibrant area of the City, bursting with those non-conformist, coming-of-age young adults seeking solace in alternative brands of music, radiates an energy that I and countless others absorb. As I bask in the bright lights of City Road that pierce my curtains, I know that time at my Stoke Newington flat, soon to be confined to the past for purposes of reminiscing, is limited and the Time Keeper is interminably waiting to extricate any memories I have not safely padlocked in my box.
Of course, when I moved to Flat 2, Allen Road at the start of September 2007, I was carrying suitcases and bags full of memories that only served to slow me down; most were emotionally draining to consolidate given that I had no idea how to unpack them. I remember vividly that those were the days I had lost myself; I was not able to ‘shout’ as I had no voice, not able to look at someone and see them, not able to see my worth before others. Those were the dark days where I descended into an unfathomable sadness that left me bereft of fellow-feeling and overwhelming consumed by bitterness. However, I’m sure most of my friends would dispute this has changed at all!
But as always, there is darkness before dawn, and I slowly emerged from this glum state to see the clouds for the sky and enjoy doing all those small things that used to make me happy; rolling individual slices of Parma ham and eating them unaccompanied, dipping hearty Digestives into my tea and rearranging my room every so often so as to make it feel new and fresh.
It is also funny how I have turned to food and still do in times of need. Upon a discussion with Freddie the other week about the general level of our sinning, we concluded, or rather he did, that I have replaced any uncontrollable desire I may have for sex and alcohol, with food. I hereby proudly proclaim Gluttony as my saviour! My reasons for this are that Sex at my age is so far meaningless given that my earmarked Shining Knight is still stuck in traffic on the North Circular Road. As for alcohol, I do not particularly want to be used in a clip for ITV News at Ten showing me clutching my head in my hands post-vomit against a backdrop of girls in short-skirts and guys fighting. Although I must say, I do enjoy a good tipple now and then.
In essence food is incorruptible, food is love and food can be whatever you want to be. Literally.
I must say at this point that my love for food bolstered the friendship I share with my Stoke Newington flatmate Jo. His innate aptitude for cooking and penchant for attention to detail produced the most delicious array of dishes that certainly redefined the term ‘student’ living.
‘Cider Marinated Pork Chops’, ‘Lemon and Garlic Thigh of Chicken’, ‘Thai-style Egg Fried Rice’ and our personal favourite, ‘Sesame and Peanut Noodles’ were all dishes to lick our lips over but not quite like Heath Ledger did as the ‘Joker’…
Jo’s qualities do not stop in the kitchen. In particular, his serenity and modesty of character has made me aware of different perspectives and to consider tolerance before judgement. In his own subtle and unconscious way, he has helped me come to terms with many salient issues that extended well before my emotional low of last summer.
All I can hope now is for my time at the Old St flat to be equally rewarding. This year will not be about restoring my self-esteem but doing my utmost to work hard at Economics & Japanese and to reinforce my academic credibility.
The clock is already ticking.
It has been so long since I have mustered up full-blooded inspiration to write in this journal but moving to Old Street has certainly compounded my desire to do so and this vibrant area of the City, bursting with those non-conformist, coming-of-age young adults seeking solace in alternative brands of music, radiates an energy that I and countless others absorb. As I bask in the bright lights of City Road that pierce my curtains, I know that time at my Stoke Newington flat, soon to be confined to the past for purposes of reminiscing, is limited and the Time Keeper is interminably waiting to extricate any memories I have not safely padlocked in my box.
Of course, when I moved to Flat 2, Allen Road at the start of September 2007, I was carrying suitcases and bags full of memories that only served to slow me down; most were emotionally draining to consolidate given that I had no idea how to unpack them. I remember vividly that those were the days I had lost myself; I was not able to ‘shout’ as I had no voice, not able to look at someone and see them, not able to see my worth before others. Those were the dark days where I descended into an unfathomable sadness that left me bereft of fellow-feeling and overwhelming consumed by bitterness. However, I’m sure most of my friends would dispute this has changed at all!
But as always, there is darkness before dawn, and I slowly emerged from this glum state to see the clouds for the sky and enjoy doing all those small things that used to make me happy; rolling individual slices of Parma ham and eating them unaccompanied, dipping hearty Digestives into my tea and rearranging my room every so often so as to make it feel new and fresh.
It is also funny how I have turned to food and still do in times of need. Upon a discussion with Freddie the other week about the general level of our sinning, we concluded, or rather he did, that I have replaced any uncontrollable desire I may have for sex and alcohol, with food. I hereby proudly proclaim Gluttony as my saviour! My reasons for this are that Sex at my age is so far meaningless given that my earmarked Shining Knight is still stuck in traffic on the North Circular Road. As for alcohol, I do not particularly want to be used in a clip for ITV News at Ten showing me clutching my head in my hands post-vomit against a backdrop of girls in short-skirts and guys fighting. Although I must say, I do enjoy a good tipple now and then.
In essence food is incorruptible, food is love and food can be whatever you want to be. Literally.
I must say at this point that my love for food bolstered the friendship I share with my Stoke Newington flatmate Jo. His innate aptitude for cooking and penchant for attention to detail produced the most delicious array of dishes that certainly redefined the term ‘student’ living.
‘Cider Marinated Pork Chops’, ‘Lemon and Garlic Thigh of Chicken’, ‘Thai-style Egg Fried Rice’ and our personal favourite, ‘Sesame and Peanut Noodles’ were all dishes to lick our lips over but not quite like Heath Ledger did as the ‘Joker’…
Jo’s qualities do not stop in the kitchen. In particular, his serenity and modesty of character has made me aware of different perspectives and to consider tolerance before judgement. In his own subtle and unconscious way, he has helped me come to terms with many salient issues that extended well before my emotional low of last summer.
All I can hope now is for my time at the Old St flat to be equally rewarding. This year will not be about restoring my self-esteem but doing my utmost to work hard at Economics & Japanese and to reinforce my academic credibility.
The clock is already ticking.
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