Gloom & doom indeed! The weather has changed drastically. While we aren’t quite in freezing temperatures yet, the minimal sunlight and sombre atmosphere has turned the city so dreary. I insisted on going for a walk despite the overcast conditions, which seemed to suit my subject of the day. Boy, I really love all the brutalist architecture peppered around London, so this trip to the Alexandra & Ainsworth Estate was a treat. Perhaps I could consider a trip to Serbia or Ukraine one day – when it seems… safer? For now I will settle with London’s rich brutalist and bauhaus scene.
It was a pleasant October, with an increasing number of activities once I acclimatised back to the city. It’s a new feat for me to announce that I no longer need the map to return home from various tube stations despite all the winding paths and narrow shortcuts.
The city is in fall mode, but the weather has quickly transitioned to winter once the clocks went back. I’ll probably never get used to the sun setting at 430pm, but hopefully this means that I will try to sleep earlier and get in more hours. Now it seems more necessary to seize what little sunlight we have during the day. In addition, most of the ducks have left London, or are hibernating somewhere nice and toasty (on a grill perhaps?) so there’s less poultry to terrorise while frolicking in parks.
Recently, I’ve moved over to digital photography (again.) Most of these photos were taken with a Fuji xe4, and it feels oddly strange to edit the resolution down fit for digital screens (bandwidth and plagiarism), when a phone camera would do. A strangely backward process.
Had a ducking good time at Regent’s Park one random day in October, then again at Hyde Park shortly after. The weather has been lovely (a perfect 15 degrees) and the parks are filled with ducks looking for food. Obviously I terrorised them, and learned that ducks can give the side eye too just like cats. Now that’s something to remember.
It’s almost the end of October, and I’ve been trying to find the time and capacity to catch the tail end of several exhibitions before they transition to the next. Recently, I caught The French Dispatch by Wes Anderson at Regent Street Cinema, and it was quite adorable – as expected. It’s still no The Darjeeling Limited or The Life Aquatic in my opinion, but I am biased for sentimental reasons. The exhibition at 180 The Strand was rather beautiful as well, and I probably would not go for something like this, but it was wonderful to witness Sandro Kopp’s artistry with my own eyes.
It has been rather unsettling after all that has happened, but I am inclined to finish what had already been set into motion. Also, it is always nice to put avoidable issues to rest. As a result, I am trying to appreciate the sights and sounds of the city in the best way I know how once again. I have always found Autumn particularly beautiful, although the season does not last long before it transitions into winter.
One thing is for certain though, as the days get shorter come winter and the weather colder, I am longing for that crisp cool morning where the sun is at it’s peak and my breath turns into a fine mist. That icy chill truly marks the winter season for me. Oops. I am talking about the season that is to come and not appreciating the one that is currently here, so till next time.
A selection of photos I didn’t get to send to my Dad. He would have loved them.
Nothing much I care to document digitally, but it’s mostly all I think about these days.
New beginnings this March in an unfamiliar city. I’ve been here a couple of times before, but I’ve never been fond of many things. This is an opportunity to learn, both about the area and the part of me that has been partial to London in the past.
Reading back old entries has made me laugh loudly in the stillness of my room here in Singapore. I want to say that nothing has changed the past couple of months, with small projects and literally, questioning the smallness of our lives. However, an argument has to be made regarding potential chain reactions that is to come due to the internal stock I’ve been taking in my life. No regrets, but I do wish it didn’t take a pandemic grander than the Spanish flu to set me reflecting and (the difficult part), creating habitual change.
I’ve suddenly found myself shopping intensely for winter clothing. (Winter really is the best season provided you are kept warm and fuzzy.) I am preparing for a change of scenery come January, and also looking forward to flexing a different part of my brain; one that doesn’t have the luxury of being used often, and has potentially become rusty.
It is hard to believe that I have not left our sunny island for 11 months. If someone expected me to say I spent time understanding my home better, I have to say I did not.
Well, just 35 days left here. As they say, faith is the expectation of good things to come. It will do me no good to worry. It is both exciting and daunting to move halfway across the world (all over again) but I do believe I have some kick left in me to enjoy this process despite the growing anxiety. It definitely does not help that I am moving to a place where the pandemic has not yet slowed down, but life should continue with care, right?
Maybe my new year’s resolutions should including penning some of my thoughts more? A thought to contemplate.
It’s August, and we are no longer in quarantine (aka circuit breaker.)
Apparently it is June, or so they say. May came and went, but I hardly noticed (save for scribbling tally marks on the wall in the lavatory.) It has been approximately 75 days since what I could consider a near sentencing, but really, who’s counting? Some ominous music cue 2001 is perfect for this melodramatic moment.
It was probably toward the second week of isolation when I had decided to “do something about this” wretched attitude of mine, and promptly transformed this into an exercise of adjusting the brain. As such, lists created, notes scribbled, nonsense purchased, new goals at long last achieved.
There is nothing much noteworthy to add, since I have not been travelling (4 months grounded, this must be a record of some kind), and tend to shy away from writing out my truest of words, as they, how do you say it, “may be used against you in a court of law.”
However, I sorted out my bookshelf to toss out old books I literally (ha-ha) did not enjoy reading, and rediscovered a section of books I’d collected and were waiting for the lazy sack in me to get off my sorry ass. I had forgotten how enjoyable Capote’s works truly are. Even the mundanities of everyday life are presented so warmly that it takes you a breathing moment between each narrative. All I want to say is, how are words so beautiful my dude?
Well, a couple more weeks to go. Hope I can remain sane for the remainder of days, so that I may emerge from my cave for a moment of merryment before realising that I in fact, choose to stay home on a regular basis.
“The death of a dream is no less sad than death, and indeed, demands of those who have lost as deep a mourning.” – Truman Capote, New York, 1946.