Resorting to the ever reliable bullets as trying to string coherent paragraphs together is beyond the realm of my present state.
- I finally feel like I live in London. It took me eleven whole months to figure that one out. Evidently getting up to speed with things like basic reality is not one of my strong suits.
- Yours truly has learned how to put one foot in front of the other and has successfully managed to walk just under 53 kilometers over the past couple of weeks. Yes, this deserves documentation and yes, my pride in myself at the moment exceeds no bounds.
- The Olympics are over and no, they weren’t as painful as every cynic in town (myself included!) had anticipated. On the contrary, they were actually pretty darn amazing!
- My early morning tube naps have pathetically become my favorite 40 minutes of the day.
- I’m deeply ashamed to say that I read the much talked about ‘Fifty Shades’ trilogy. They were by far the most amateurish set of books I’ve ever read, but for some warped reason I found them incredibly hard to put down.
- Awfully pleased that I jumped on the Instagram bandwagon and that I’m back to taking photos again, albeit with a measly iPhone.
- Unfortunately discovered that the highly anticipated salt beef bagel on Brick Lane wasn’t really all that! Not completely disappointing, but certainly doesn’t hold its own against the hot salt beef sandwich from Chrisp Street Market.
- I find it quite disturbing that I’ve managed to unconsciously wean myself off of my obsessive tv watching. I’m still not quite sure if this is a good thing or a bad thing.
- Being someone who previously loathed change, I finally seem to have come around. I have to say that I’m currently reveling in the magnitude of how much my life has changed over the past two months.
Now that I’ve got all that down, I’m off to go live my life so that hopefully in another month or so there may be something more worthwhile to record on here!
The tube. Jubilee Line. Canary Wharf. Escalator. Phone Numbers.
Smiled like a fool for twenty minutes.
July 20th, you just may have been my favorite day this month.
Oh Mr. Mraz, how you kill me.
I just happened to download his latest album and the first song that I listened to today, I proceeded to play it on a loop for, I kid you not, 63 times. The track is at the bottom of this post in case you have a couple of hours to spare listening to his delightfully buttery voice.
Yes, I do verge on having slightly obsessive tendencies, why do you ask?
I distinctly remember a playlist on my iPod that I made sometime in early 2009 which exclusively contained about 20 songs by Jason Mraz. It was pretty much the only playlist I listened to for the rest of the year. His voice just has this uncanny ability of making you smile and subsequently helping you make sense of everything else happening in your life. I realize that the previous statement maybe highly subjective but I strongly encourage you to try and disprove it.
Anyway, since this blog is supposed to be about me (How very narcissistic!), I presume some long standing updates are in order. Well, for starters, I moved..AGAIN! I can now officially claim my well deserved title of ‘Girl-who-moves-around-London-a-lot-Yes-she-is-Psycho’.
I’m back in the East and I have to say that it continually manages to pleasantly surprise me (Who would have thought?!). I live about a 5 minute bus ride away from the Olympic Park where the Olympics are scheduled to be rained out in about two weeks from today. 2012 is now unofficially the year that the United Kingdom has successfully managed to evade summer. It has been pouring non-stop for the past three months with absolutely no sign of letting up. In normal circumstances this would depress me, but with the mood I’ve been in, it has actually been quite soothing and oddly cathartic.
My life in short, for the first time in a long time is wonderfully mellow. I’m not constantly agitated and doubtful of every move I make and my deeply ingrained independent streak is on high frequency which is exactly the way I like it. Honestly, not having to take anyone else into consideration but yourself is deliciously satisfying. I feel like I actually have the time, the energy and the desire to stop and smell the roses, so to speak. (Not that roses interest me in the least!)
I’ve noticed that I happen to smile to myself a lot more these days than before, so much so that a guy actually stopped me on the street a few days ago and asked me if he could borrow my smile. I’m presuming that he was either being extremely sweet or that he was stoned out of his mind. Somehow the latter seems to make more sense given the situation.
Anyway, I think that the above fills the brief for my randomness quota for the day. I’m glad that I’m back here and hopefully this will become more of a constant occurrence rather than not. Like I’ve said before, 80 year old me needs to have some well documented points of reference!
As always, putting thoughts into words is much easier said than done. Absence does make the heart grow fonder though, so here I am once again, desperately trying but failing to memorialize this time in my life.
Living the working, commuting, constantly amusing and all consuming London life for the past six months have changed me in ways that I’m still finding very hard to comprehend. The bitterly freezing winter mornings have thickened my skin and the glittery evening lights over the Thames at Canary Wharf have seemingly reinstalled a fleeting sense of wonder in the soul of this recovering cynic.
I spent this evening reliving some deliciously nostalgic memories on the swing set of a local park. The park was empty, the sun was setting and it was just me on the swing, swinging my hardest, pretending I was still five. The whole scene was oddly poetic and I have to point out that ‘poetic’ wouldn’t usually be a word that I would use in reference to my life.
I’ve just realized that there’s a large chunk of me that seems to be missing in lonely London. Things that were an integral part of my life three, four years ago are now just a distant memory. Writing for example. Sure, nothing I ever wrote was of any significance to anyone but myself, but it was something that made happy in a weirdly self-satisfying way.
I started my first blog when I was 17. I had just begun college back home in Madras and it was something that was all mine. It was my own personal space that no-one knew about. A space where I felt that I could be myself, the self that I couldn’t possibly be in broad daylight. I feel like a little part of me died the day I decided to stop furiously typing away every little inconsequential word that I was thinking.
Its funny how time just finds a way of sliding from one moment to the next, one decade to another. It felt weird having to write the date 2012 in a notebook recently though I’m guessing it was mostly because I haven’t written the date in the margin of a book since about 2004. I’m not sure if it’s just the fact that I’m older that’s changed me or if its me that’s essentially changed. I’d like to believe that growing older and wiser was maybe the cause of this though unfortunately at 23, I somehow just feel older and none the wiser.
Living in London and navigating this phase of my life has been interesting to say the least. Not amazing, not dreadful but just plain interesting. This feeling of being finally being grown up and having to make make decisions that could affect the rest of my life is starting to get a little old (pun unintended). I have discovered though that living alone in London is an amazing way to test yourself. This city will try to break the strongest spirit and in contrast will parallely make you wonder how there could be anywhere else in the world that is as magical as here.
Sorry for the heavily disjointed post. Turns out that climbing back onto the wagon isn’t as dignified and elegant or in this context eloquent as one would expect.
The addictive sadness of the song below has had me listening to it on a loop the entire day. Dont tell me I didn’t warn you.
Yes, of course I’m going to use a clichéd title. What else did you expect from me?
If you aren’t well versed with the book on clichéd touristy phrases, I should point out that the title refers to the city of London. Which, was where I happened to spend the month of April. I was there for my first internship here in the UK and my first prolonged stay in the city.
Ever since I’ve been in the United Kingdom, London never seemed to appeal to me for some reason. I mean, sure its fine if you’re only there for a day and are mentally prepared to drop a small fortune on the transport system. But honestly, after spending eight months living and breathing in my perfect little town of Winchester, rude people, tourists and the wind tunnel effect do not play a part in my idea of the perfect living environment.
Or at least that was what I thought, sitting up there on my high horse looking snootily down below. Right until I was rudely awakened by the fact that endless tube rides, grime and photo bombing the odd tourist are all things that now somehow appeal to me. Except for the photo bombing the tourist thing. The stick up my ass is too far in for me to do something like that. Or have any fun, so it seems.
Somewhere along the way though, London began to feel like home and I, began to feel like I belonged. Weirdly enough, it’s the little things, like burying your head in a book on the tube and trying to not look anyone in the eye that make you foolishly swell with pride when you realize that you’re abiding by the ‘Silent Secret Code of the Londoners’. Really. There apparently is one.
The tube is quite an amazing phenomenon to witness actually. You see people, the men dressed to the nines in their Savile Row look-alike suits, and the women with their Lady Dior handbags rubbing shoulders with the opposite side of the spectrum who usually happen to be tattooed students, burly workmen or the annoyingly horny couple whispering God-knows-what into each other’s ears. And of course, you can’t forget the ever present tourist, eyes glued to the tube map trying to figure out which stop to get off at. The tube should definitely be deemed the ultimate people watcher’s paradise.
As for strolling around the city, didn’t have much of a chance to do that on this trip, but from previous experiences I can tell you that it certainly is one of the most rewarding things to do in the city and is an added bonus as you’ll be saving on tube rides. More money to buy cheesy souvenirs! Not that I have any of course. For those who don’t know me, I happen to be the embodiment of a true ‘kanjoos’, for lack of a better word.
The office that I interned at was located on the edge of Notting Hill. Yes, the same Notting Hill from the movie Notting Hill, and no I did not see ‘THE’ blue door, although seeing different groups of tourists pose in front of different blue doors was almost a daily occurrence.
Now I can’t say that I know London in and out or even that I have been to see all the sights and have done all the touristy things, (well, except for the photo above where my inner dork somehow surfaced), but I do now know it a little bit better and I do feel a little more at home in the midst of all the black cabs, traffic and the constant overflow of crazy people. And I am already looking forward to going back, which is definitely not something I would have said in the past. Wow, I really must be growing up. Opening up to new experiences has never ranked high on my to do list.
Anyway, as the point of this blog is to merely document my new life, I think this should do for the moment. Must not get too ahead of myself with posts whose word counts exceed the number of days in a year. Baby steps. Baby Steps.
Here I am again. Attempting this.
I’m fed up of feeling like I’ve failed. As I’ve always said, I want to make sure I have something to read when I’m old and shriveled and this maybe the only answer. Yes, regaling my eighty year self with my self depricating twenty two year old self is exactly what the doctor will prescribe, I’m sure.
Twenty two. Wow, time sure does fly. I remember doing this for the first time when I was seventeen. It’s been five whole years and here I am, sprawled out on the bed exactly like I was then, expect for the fact that this bed happens to be located in a country some five thousand miles away from the original bed. Yes, I now live in a beautiful little town called Winchester in the United Kingdom, a place that I couldn’t be more in love with it. And that’s not just because of the my daily staple of frozen pizzas that I buy for a pound. I am here, attempting to get my masters and to hopefully find a job that will help me pay off the exorbitant loan that is now the ever present, proverbial burden on my shoulders.
I feel horrible for not having started this page earlier. But then again, it is exactly like me to have the six most exciting months of my life go undocumented just because of the simple fact that I was too lazy to hit ‘Ctrl + T’ and start a new blog. Which really is a shame considering the massive load of ‘irrelevant nothings’ that I missed writing.
This time though, I hope to actually take this thing through.
For no one else but me.
Or rather, the eighty year old me.
Oh, and the cats.