London: day twenty-five

Before walking a block to the prestigious St. Paul’s Cathedral, Hannah and I stopped briefly at another church which was right across from the Tube station exit. This small church was one of the many buildings that had been destroyed during the London Blitz. Unfortunately the church (Christ Church Greyfriars) had been directly hit by one of the bombs dropped and was immediately destroyed by the explosion and resulting fire. Today, the hollowed out shell of the church has been left as a monument, and a garden has been planted inside to indicate where the pews used to stand. Only the west wall and the north wall are moderately intact, only a small portion of the south, and none of the eastern wall remains. What walls are left, have been scorched black as a result of the explosion. Definitely a sobering reminder of the type of destruction inflicted upon this city during WWII, and it really makes one marvel at just how defiant one little island was; standing up and holding their own against the Nazi war machine, never relenting and never giving in.

looking toward the altar (under canopy) while standing underneath the dome
Not my picture

After marveling at this piece of history for a while, Hannah and I then made our way to St. Paul’s Cathedral. Because I had already taken pictures of the outside on a previous bus tour, I did not take any today, and unfortunately there were no pictures allowed from the inside. But believe me, even though the outside is breathtaking; the inside renders one completely breathless. The marble floor seems to stretch on forever while the massive columns, which are big enough to make an elephant’s feet look daintily small, support a huge dome structure that towers high above. Incredibly beautiful and intricately carved monuments and wall plaques adorn the walls and many of the Cathedral’s corners. Immediately before the great west doors is a gigantic baptismal font carved from blue-veined marble, symbolizing the beginning of the Christian journey.

looking up at the dome (not my picture)

As true of most Cathedrals, the floor-plan is laid out in the shape of the cross, at the intersection is where the dome suddenly opens up the ceiling to an entirely new, dizzying height; decorated with marble sculptures and paintings. To the left and right are two shorter wings, each decorated with more statues and plaques, and the left wing houses a small private worship chapel that is decorated by a painting of Christ walking at night with a lantern, knocking on a closed, wooden door that does not have a handle on the outside – symbolizing that Christ may only enter into the darkness of our lives, and therein bring us light, only when we allow him in, opening the door from the inside and inviting him in. A moon and stars which decorate the lantern he holds represent the various other religions of the world, that faith is universal and comes in many different forms, but still, faith is only beneficial when one has an open heart. I found this image particularly striking, and it marked a musing that lasted throughout the rest of our time there. I am not so certain that my heart has been “open” for quite a long time. I find myself severely questioning whether or not I can believe in and trust God. I want to believe. But lately, I have been having a very difficult time not being a completely pessimistic cynic whenever I hear a sermon. I walk into a church ready to analyze the words being said, and I am on edge waiting for something offensive or degrading, or to find something I don’t believe was approached in the proper academic way. I question everything, and now I don’t know what to believe. Additionally, the inner struggles I have are growing increasingly worse the older I get, and it is getting harder to fight this war that seems to always be raging in my mind – so to let anything or anyone “in” has been extraordinarily difficult lately – even God – because every truth I hear, a thousand lies are whispered into my ear. I know life is incredibly fluid, I’ve seem things change that I thought were rock solid, and I am afraid that my faith is going to join the list of many things which have changed and then shifted out from under my feet. Or that I will change so much that I am the one who shifts away – which I feel, is possibly happening. The confidence I had in my faith seems to have had holes shot through it. I want to open that door in my heart, but I am not so certain I can anymore. I feel like I am trying to reach the door, answer the knocking, but there is something inside with me, and it is holding me back, keeping me pinned to the floor, and I haven’t been able to overpower it yet.

"Light of the World"
(not my picture)

The east corridor which houses the altar, the organ and the choir banisters is even more ornately decorated than anything seen previous. The entire ceiling is covered in sparkling mosaics, and the white marble altar stands beneath a carved canopy which features a statue of a victorious Christ at the top. Everything is trimmed in gold, marble, mosaic, and paintings. More monuments decorate the walls and floor.

When we felt as though we had sufficiently seen all the monuments and gotten a good look at the dome, we then entered the staircase and began to make our way up to the “whispering gallery.” We wound our way up the spiral staircase until we were out of breath, dizzy and our legs were burning before we made it to the balcony which stretched around the inside of the dome (at the level of the ceiling  and at the very base of the dome). Here, it is possible for someone to whisper against the wall, and for someone sitting on the other side of the dome to hear them perfectly clear. It was an incredible trick. From there, we went up some more stairs before being able to go to the lower outside balcony, also known as the "stone gallery". The wind was gusting so hard that I had to keep my hat in hand or lose it over the banister. London stretched into the distance, beyond sight, eventually fading into the grey of the sky and rain. The city is extensive. It is incredible how huge it is, you really get an idea of it for the first time when you are towering above its skyline. In all directions, there is nothing but city. Perhaps a little to the north, one could see the start of the countryside’s rolling hills, but even then, they were still sufficiently freckled with concrete buildings. Ducking back inside, we went up an even narrower spiral staircase which made us even dizzier, and which grew claustrophobically tight – even I had to duck at one point. This led us to the upper outside balcony, or the "golden gallery". This balcony gave an even better idea of how big London is. We towered over the Thames, the London Eye, the buildings of the City, and were pretty paired up with the Shard across the river (though the Shard is most definitely the tallest building in London). Unfortunately, shortly upon arriving at this upmost balcony, my camera battery died – but Hannah was able to procure enough pictures for us both. 

view from the Golden Gallery

The journey back down form this sickening height was even more disorienting than the first. The downward descent if faster, thus one grows very, very dizzy very quickly as one goes down the tight a narrow spiral staircase. Additionally, we were quite cold – fingers absolutely pink due to the biting wind. Seeking warmth, once we reached the bottom, we descended further into the crypt where in addition to the tombs, there is also the café. So we sat for a bit with a bite to eat and hot chocolate, getting warm, before we then toured the crypts. Buried in St. Paul’s Cathedral are innumerable national heroes and important persons. Central to the whole thing is the tomb of Admiral Lord Nelson which is set upon a high pedestal and commands the most attention of any other tomb. Coming in second though is the tomb of the Duke of Wellington, which, while more humbly decorated, does match Nelson’s tomb in size and height. Most of the names, I did not recognize, not being fluent in British culture. But it was really interesting to listen to the audio tour and learn a thing or two about some of these influential people; war heroes, politicians, scientists, musicians, artists, writers (Lord Byron being one, did recognize that name), architects, and so on.

After completing the tour, we walked down a block and spent a brief amount of time looking through the London Museum. We saw artifacts and bones from prehistoric people and animals up through Roman times. There was even a Mammoth jawbone. From this museum, one can also see a segment of the old London Wall that was destroyed in the fire that wiped out much of the city. We did not spend long here however, because at 5:00 we made our way back to St. Paul’s to attend the “Evensong” which occurs every evening and is a brief lesson (just ready from scripture, not really a whole sermon), as well as performances by the boys choir (consisting of the boys who attend the school there). The sound was indescribable. Those voices echoing through the corridors and rising to the top of the dome, really did sound, well, heavenly. They were no more than kids, but my God, they could sing. I just sat and listened, sometimes head bowed with eyes shut, sometimes peering up to the glittering gold and mosaic ceiling. And in that moment, I could not blame people for feeling such a strong connection to God in a place like this – it is hard not to feel as though there is something entirely ethereal about it. Even though it is probably true that God works more miracles outside the walls of ornate churches like this, a building so majestic when filled with such a sound of heavenly music that pierces to the heart, it makes it easier to believe in God in a way. Something greater and bigger, and stronger, and more beautiful than us seems more possible. And I again thought about my own doubts, a little bitterly. I imagined what it would be like to be in the cathedral in the dark, kneeling alone on the cold marble floor before the altar, fearing the dark corners, vast emptiness, and trying not to think about the dead underneath the floor. In some ways, it is a scene like this that I have imagined when feeling most mentally isolated. I am trying to reach out to God, I am trying to believe, and am praying with everything I have. But it is hard not to ignore the vast and frightening empty darkness that shrouds my soul on many occasions. I don’t know what to believe. I don’t know what to feel. And I am massively lost.

view from Stone Gallery

One of the things that hit me when the priest was reading, was when he said “…and love thy neighbor as thyself” – reading from Leviticus. But what happens when the problem is the other way around - that you cannot love yourself as you love your neighbor? What then? When the encouragement that others pass to you falls upon deaf ears and gestures of love and care are rejected as lies by the thing living inside your mind. You give all you have to others, and admire their grace, faith, hope, and love; giving everything to ensure that none other knows what it is like to be in your position and wishing you knew how to find peace within yourself. Worship songs feel flat and unrelatable because you don’t feel any of the things being sung about, sermons are regarded with academic skepticism and you can’t remember the last time that something just “felt right and true,” and the interactions of the congregation seem rehearsed and shallow; everyone pretending as though they know they are undoubtedly “saved” and that they have the qualifications to intervene on your behalf and tell you what they think is right; “well, I don’t know about that…” or “Keep trusting God, you’re His child and He’s looking out for you…” or “God has great things in store for you, I just know it!”  Come on, none of those things are certain, and they come across as flat and condescending in the face of real and present pain, NOW. Don’t tell me He has great things in store for me when I don’t even know if I have a future; so much is uncertain and the lights could go out at any second, I can’t wait around forever. Don’t tell me to keep “clinging” to God and His word when it doesn’t feel as though anything is tangible anymore. And don’t shoot down my words when I am honest enough to express them, that takes a lot, and I am already all too aware that I don’t fit in, that I don’t fit into the church community because, there, so much of who I am is looked upon as being sinful or in need of being changed, healed or fixed. I know I don’t fit in.

 I cannot change myself. I can’t change that I hate worship music and love hard rock because I find it significantly more relatable in my soul than any worship music out there. I can’t change that I have tattoos and that I love them (I feel like they are quite spiritual to me because I am infusing my inner self with the outer by means of art) even though they see it as “defiling God’s temple” and plead with me to not get them, saying “You’ll regret it” and “Why would you want to do that? You’re beautiful already,” – saying these things even though their opinion wasn’t asked for and before they even asked me about my beliefs on it. I can’t change that my family don’t consider themselves Christian and I wasn’t raised Christian but, honestly, I am glad I didn’t grow up in the church because I am damn proud of my family and history, even if the others look at me with pitying looks obviously thinking that my family is going to hell and feeling sorry for me. I can’t change that I love people of all kinds – different religions, orientations, races, etc. – and that I don’t think anyone is utterly damned, and yet, from those whom are supposed to be the most forgiving, loving and unconditionally accepting, I have heard some of the most appalling and staggering expressions of hatred, intolerance and judgment. I can’t change that my biology and the inner struggles I have make it hard for me to find peace and hope and to feel faith, I’m seen as broken and sometimes even as “sick,” but frankly, this is who I am and I really have a hard time believing that I can be or want to be completely separated from my afflictions because by now, they are so infused into my identity that without them, I wouldn’t be myself anymore. Additionally, I wouldn’t have the compassion, power of empathy, humility, insight, and attention that it causes in me.

Frankly, I’m tired of church. It’s why I haven’t gone in a long time. The only community I’ve been able to stand is Lighthouse, any of my other churches have made me feel like nothing more than a damned outcast who isn’t capable of fitting in and thus is incapable of entering heaven. Frankly, though, I have come across some people in the church that make me think, “if God is the way you say He is, and if I am supposed to act like you in order to get into Heaven, then PLEASE just send me to hell now.”

I am tired of arguing, of defending, of trying not to offend; it’s part of the reason I have enjoyed being in such a secular city so much, because as I said before, nobody cares. Similarly, it was refreshing to sit through a church service where there wasn’t actually any preaching – just reading scripture and singing, no opinions, no citing the bible as you try to prove a point, no analyzing the message. Nothing more than allowing one to sit quietly in the presence of God; no words necessary. It was probably one of the most spiritual experiences I’ve had in a long time.

Afterward, Hannah and I split a pizza before heading in for the night. And I’ve been sitting here for much longer than I expected to be, working on this long-ass post. Don’t know if anyone will actually read it all the way through and reach this point; but gold star for you if you have ;)

London: day twenty-four

After class today Hannah and I stopped by NIDO for lunch (I actually made noodles and chicken – something other than sandwiches!!!!!) before heading over to the Victoria and Albert Museum. Even though we had been here before, on our previous visit we had only covered one small portion of the first floor. Today, we spent a little longer and finished off the first floor before breezing briefly through a tiny section of the second floor Medieval/Renaissance exhibit. We saw exhibits that covered the Asia and the Orient, sculptures, a massive room dedicated entirely to Raphael’s paintings, and the aforementioned Medieval and Renaissance exhibits. And even though we walked until our feet hurt, we had only been able to say we finished the first floor – sooo, that leaves us with five more floors to go…One of the great things about the museum was that, even here in London, I was able to find a little piece of Tacoma - in one of the lobbies, hanging high above everything was a blown-glass sculpture by none other than Dave Chihuly. 

For tonight, we decided to make a return to the same comedy club that we had visited last week. This week’s setup was a little “different” though – upon entering, there were no chairs arranged around the stage as there had been before. Instead, they were letting people roam throughout the building, checking out all the rooms. Which was great and all, if there had actually been anything to see. Really confused by this point, Hannah and I asked one of the workers what we were supposed to do, but we got no more than a vague, “explore the building, but at 7:30 keep an eye out for the performance” – um, okay? No directions as to where, or what to expect, nothing of any detail. So we ultimately ended up standing awkwardly in the narrow hallway laughing at ourselves for getting into such a weird predicament. Eventually, other people started showing up, and we were relieved to see many of them wandering around looking incredibly confused – so at least we weren’t alone. When Abi showed up to meet us there, we eventually asked one of the performers what we were supposed to be doing to which he replied, “I’m not the one to really be asking (he is one of the actors, if anyone should know, it should be him!), have you talked to them” – pointing to some of the other actors. But at least he was friendly, and chatted with us for a brief time before telling us to follow him downstairs. As it turns out, throughout the building, in the different rooms, various performances were going to be going on at the same time, and the idea was for groups of people to move through the building separately and attend each. It was still a little awkward because this method made it so that the audience groups were much smaller – thus it was easier for the comedian to sort of pick on individuals. But they were pretty funny – not quite as great as last week – but it was, well, “an adventure.” And we came out laughing at the strangeness of it all. The walk back to NIDO was quiet in the “well, I don’t really have any words to describe that” kind of way.

I need to work on some other writing, so I am going to keep this one pretty short tonight.

Cheers!

London: day twenty-three

Standing on the street corner, waiting for the light to change and watching the raindrops dive into the puddle at my feet which reflected the buildings above, I could not help but think, “Yeah. I could make a life here.” I love the dark asphalt framed by the light grey sidewalks which are the same color as the sky and the buildings that reach up to it. I love the headlights that speed by, and the raindrops which sparkle in their beam. The steady mist of water falling from the sky and being kicked up from the street is refreshing, and baptizes the city clean. I enjoy walking along these kinds of streets, even if it means I arrive wet and a little disheveled with my coat collar turned up in defense against the biting wind. Truthfully, no matter where I am, I love these kinds of days in the city; but the fact that I am in London just makes it all the better.

My morning was fairly slow, even though I was up early, I really didn’t do anything of consequence. Class went fairly well. Tula and I had to lead a class discussion on the book “The Thirty-Nine Steps” which, even though our questions were on the spot and in depth (as well as they could be with that novel), honestly, it was like pulling teeth. Simple questions were followed by blinking stares. To anyone who is a teacher or professor, all the respect to you, I don’t know how you do it day in and day out, because the clueless looks were exceedingly aggravating. Evidently very few people actually read. And the book was simple; not even close to being on the level of classic literature – just a thriller novelette minced together with propaganda, not much more than that. It doesn’t matter much now I guess because we got an A- on it, so no use complaining anymore, but still; I don’t want to be a teacher.

For lunch/dinner Tula and I went around the corner to this little take-away sushi place. It was really quite interesting because I haven’t seen anything like it in the States actually, but it was just a little shop, with a refrigerated section full of various sushi boxes, and also some individually wrapped rolls and nigiri. They had some hot foods too, but really, it was just kind of like a deli-fashion grab-n-go sushi place. And the most surprising thing was that it was actually quite good; of course not the best I’ve had, but I would go back. Fairly affordable too. Afterwards, Tula returned to class and I enjoyed my way back to NIDO in the rain through the darkened streets.

I am really quite torn about being here though, and letting myself muse on how much I would like to stay. Because, one of the things I have always been able to do quite well is adjust to a new place. I find a way to fit in quickly, and often, whilst there and a for some time after, I can see myself staying there, honestly believing it to be a perfect fit. I always think, “This is me. This is where I want to be. I have found where I want to stay.” And in that, there has been quite the variation. In Idaho, I imagine myself living a quiet small-town life, and living comfortably with no more than what I need; maybe a family and a job that pays the bills, but nothing extravagant. But then I get bored. And that’s when I usually end up back in the city, and there I can feel a rising ambition that makes me want to match the fast-pace of the city, I get swept up in the energy and where some would see cold concrete, I see opportunity, and a life that is part of something greater and bigger. Even if I have no more than an apartment, and never end up tying myself down – another part of me is very drawn to that. In the city, I want to be better.  And there’s a little ambition in me that says I can be. But the problem is, that when I am in either place, I am in the right place. But I can’t be in both at the same time. I belong both places, and in a way, that makes it so I belong to neither. Or at least, I never feel entirely whole. I almost never feel as though my identity is all in the same place at once, because I’ve found there to be variations of me and they change with the places I am in. And I’ve forgotten which came first. But more importantly, I don't know which one I want to be.

There’s something of the innocent dreamer, even an optimist in some ways. I want to believe the best in people, and I want to believe that there is some benevolent being of a God that is looking out for me. I believe that He has it under control and that I can trust Him to be there and hear me. That I can live a life devoted to servicing others as a way of earning salvation. I pour over theology, and love it, always trying to correct the errors of interpretation and trying to use my skill sets as a way of expressing my faith. Even though my faith is academic in many ways, I care about others and find empathy easily. I would never dream of hurting another, and would withstand as much hurt as possible before ever inflicting injury on another. I am the artist. But never in that do I feel comfortable with myself and often it leads to a cycle of self-doubt, lack of confidence, a deep sorrow sparked by being overly harsh on myself, a plaguing fear of losing all those I am close to (now or future), and a crushing guilt for letting myself feel sad when there are so many others in the world that have it far worse than I do, and I should never complain. But the painful things chip away at the dreamer, who is always trying so hard to “stay positive” because that's what I am told I should be.

This is contrasted by the part of me that is angry, entirely pessimistic, is very skeptical about people and wary of extending trust or sometimes even kindness or caring, and mostly, this person is not so sure that God is all good or even cares. In these times, I find it hard to believe that God is even a literal being, so much as a metaphor for universal forces. I am internally, sarcastic, cynical and skeptical. I still value others, albeit being significantly more wary, but inwardly there is no mercy and never a moment of peace because there is so much that needs to be done or figured out. This person doesn’t want a family, because I don’t believe that I can put faith in love to last for a lifetime, and if it does, it is for the rare and lucky few. But that doesn’t bother me because neither do I have a problem with being alone - I wonder if it would be better. I cannot see the good ends of situations, and am mostly driven forward out of a deeply rooted desire to be remembered - I don't know why that is so important. I am the writer. Always fighting the war in my head, which is exhausting and eventually reverts me to the other self because I cannot keep battling constantly. In these days, there is nothing I want more than to take a baseball bat to an entire room, or at least a mirror - something, anything that will shatter. That's what it feels like is going on inside my head - someone is taking a baseball bat to it. All. The. Time. While there is still little confidence or semblance of self-worth, there is, in this case, an acceptance that there is so much I have to do within my lifetime. I have too many artistic and literary ideas that I cannot accept to let pass unexpressed; and the perfectionist in me needs them to be precisely right, if they’re not, then they need to be or else it’s all wrong. I need to work harder and to be better. If I don’t reach the top, I will have achieved nothing worth being remembered for. But this part feels as though the other is holding it back, as though I have chained myself down by not being able to throw my whole identity and energy and life into this one thing.  I care less. And that person hates it, but can find no other way to be, as experience has seemed to have taught her much otherwise; the optimist is naïve and destined to be crushed. But by always expecting the worst, things can only turn out to be either better than you expected, or exactly what you expected; rarely worse. It’s a defensive mechanism, and one I am damn good at.

These aren’t just moods though, so much as two quite distinctive persons that sometimes overlap, and other times could not be more polar opposite. And I don’t know which is “me” – I don’t know which I want to be. And I envy those who have a fixated sense of identity which is nonnegotiable; I have, essentially, opened myself up for discussion. And the sheer number of possibilities is maddening.

So I am torn. Because right now, I want to dedicate my heart and soul to achieving success in my life which would allow me to move to London and create a life here. I like being here, and, for now, I like who I am here. But I don’t know how long it will be before that changes. A couple years ago, I wanted to move to a third world country and live out a life serving others, sacrificing all comfort to do so. And now, there’s this need in me - which feels a little vicious - to succeed and achieve all that I can and try like hell to be the very best, if anything, just to prove that I can. Boredom drives me mad, but so does extreme pressure. I don’t know who I am or what I want. But I only have one shot at this. I’m rather tired of being torn in a bunch of different directions; but I no longer know what I am like.

I don't always recognize the face in the mirror.

"I'd rather feel Pain
Than nothing at all.
Anger, and agony
Are better, than misery"

("Pain" Three Days Grace)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ud4HuAzHEUc

London: day twenty-two

The past few consecutive nights of no more than five hours of sleep are starting to catch up to me a bit. I am getting knots in my shoulders, as I always do when stress increases and sleep becomes scarce. Also, in the mornings, due to the excessive walking, on the way to IES my shins become really quite painful – especially when I am in a hurry to class (when in a rush, the pain has made my eyes water once or twice). I really need to figure out a way to stretch them out in the morning before I have to make the walk. Because after that initial morning walk, they get plenty stretched out and then I am fine during the day. However, overnight, my legs get stiff and sore and that’s what makes the morning walk so difficult. So many of my joints pop in the morning when I am initially up. Hopefully, as the time goes, I will get more used to it and it won’t hurt quite so bad. I’ve also just been a little sluggish these past few days from the lack of sleep.

But still, I am here. And am still loving the hell out of London. So if this is what it has to be, I’ll willingly take it.

I had my British Youth Culture class today, and I think I have determined that this is my least favorite professor. He can be rather rude, very pretentious, and sometimes rather crude for a man his age. However, I am interested in the class still. Unfortunately though it is a little different than what I expected. Admittedly, I expected that we would discuss more bands that I would actually be familiar with – Pink Floyd, Rolling Stones, Led Zeppelin, and so on. However, in his book and in class, our professor focuses far more on the Beatles, the Who, David Bowie, the Animals, and many other bands that I only know by name or reputation. And he frequently ties these to current pop bands and artists, such as Lady Gaga (for the Bowie influence), whom I am almost equally unfamiliar with. I suppose the bands he is covering more so are more-so considered to be the “revolutionaries,” but it’s just that I expected to actually be familiar with at least some of them. But all that I do have background knowledge on are regularly glossed over. And even though I absolutely respect bands like the Beatles, the Who, David Bowie, etc. for everything they’ve done and accomplished and the differences they’ve made, honestly, I still don’t like listening to their music. It’s just a style that I find myself unable to sit down and listen to, and it does not catch my interest. The opportunity to learn about the influences of these bands and especially the culture surrounding them, IS interesting though, and I have found it fascinating despite my unfamiliarity. I also did enjoy the film we had to watch for today’s class; the one by The Who, called Quadrophenia. It was interesting, and I look forward to some of the other films we will be watching.

After class, I had two hours, during which I briefly stopped at Costa (basically the British Starbucks – even though they also have actual Starbucks too), for a coffee and a small thing to eat, and then went back to NIDO briefly. At three I made my way to City University for my first day of classes there. Because I was early, I wandered around the building for a while until I eventually got myself lost and had to ask reception to point me in the direction of my classroom. As I sat outside, waiting to be let in, I was surprised by how many people were coming and gathering around the door. As it turns out, going into the class, it was discovered that we were in quite a large lecture hall suited for about 150 people or so; and by the start of class, it had mostly filled up. It is a BIG class; definitely the largest one I’ve had in my whole college career. And the professor is really quiet so it is difficult to hear her in the huge lecture hall. However, apart from being a little nervous, I have already found the class to be interesting – I am taking an introductory level psychology class called “Biological Approaches to Mind and Behavior.” I have always been interested in psychology, however, I am unfortunately aware that it is not something I could ever pursue a major in, and definitely not a career in – but I have always been fascinated by it regardless. This particular class, however, also includes quite a deal of biology – specifically looking at the nervous system. So lots of memorization will be in store for me over the next semester, that’s for sure. Science is not my strong suite, mostly because the amount of math that is included, so I am hoping that I will be able to do well in this particular course. However, I am a little nervous as I have not taken a science course in a long, long time, and never one at the collegiate level; so I am unsure of what to expect exactly.

After class, I went by the grocery store on my way back and picked up some more dinner options – in other words, something OTHER THAN peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Tonight I had a grilled cheese sandwich… *facepalm*  I know, I know, my inability and lack of motivation to cook is deplorable...

London: day twenty-one

No pictures today, I’m afraid, and really no good stories either. I had my Shakespeare class today, worked on a homework assignment Tula and I are doing for our Thursday class (must come with questions and lead the class discussion on the book we read), and then she and I watched Sherlock. Really, that was it. I am also having a hard time thinking of something interesting to go on a tangent about in order to fill the gap…I really did not get much sleep last night, and my brain has been elsewhere for most of the day, trying to fill in the outline of a short story idea.

*

I guess maybe that’s it then. Not the story, so much as creativity itself. I have noticed that my capacity for constructive creativity has almost doubled within these past few weeks. Being in a new place, especially one so close to my academics and my heart, has sparked a sort of curious energy – I want to see it all, and I don’t want to miss a thing. Even the tiniest thing. I want to sear this place into my memory in every single way that I can possibly imagine so that I don’t forget any of it, and I don’t forget how happy I’ve been here. I keep saying that “especially after this year I’ve been in great need of the break,” and I suppose there is truth in that, my parent’s divorce and the end of my relationship (which, in a way made me put my foot in my mouth about the divorce) were certainly not easy, and I won’t pretend that I’m perfectly fine after it’s all said and done. However, I have accepted the realities of my life by this time and am adjusting to the new form it has taken. But really, it is not because of either of those events why it is so significant that I am “happy” here. No, the problem that trumps all the others, is much older than anything that happened this past year, and it is within me and me alone – there is fault nowhere else. I’ve never been at peace with myself, and a cynical and jaded part of me believes I never will be. It’s been a long-running and severe problem that has become an all-out civil war constantly raging in my mind. It never stops. And it’s only gotten worse throughout the years. So really, the problem has been much older, and it is NOT that my parents got divorced or that my relationship failed, so much as it is my malfunctioning thoughts which buckle and warp when under pressure or not enough. The problem being that it is rare to find a happy medium.

So when I’ve said I needed a “break” – I don’t mean from everyone I love, specific life stresses, or my home, so much as I need the break from myself. Because back home and at UPS, I had fallen into a train of thought that had me trapped for a long time. But here, “the big distraction” has been a welcome change of context and has helped me break that vicious cycle. Rather, in this place, I find that I have a direction for my energies and there is not a moment of down time just to simmer in my thoughts. It has become crucial to spend my energy exploring, learning, discovering, and creating because I don’t know when I will get another chance. But probably even more importantly, this trip has given me a break from the norm in which I have immediately been utilizing to set up some (hopefully better) long-term habits. I have trained myself to write every day, have been working to develop better memorization techniques, have been exercising plenty by walking everywhere, am determined that I must always stay active, and have been more in tune with my creativity and inspiration than I ever have been before. And from that, I have been producing quite a significant amount already – poems, short stories, all these blog posts, art ideas, and so on. So I am happy here, and I need to keep that memory alive, because there’s a little voice in my head that fears I may expend all my energy and worries I may revert to old ways. But I am trying to be better. I want to get better. But I still can’t be rid of that creature that haunts the halls of my mind and tries to undo everything I work to create.

It may sound a little mad, especially because few will understand and I intentionally left much out. But maybe it is a little mad.

But then again, I am an artist after all.

And a poet.

And a writer.

Long story short, it kind of comes with the job description.

Practically a prerequisite…

 I almost stopped in my tracks today as I was walking back from NIDO; whilst following a similar train of thought, I glanced to the left toward a pile of recyclables. And there, in big bold letters about a foot high, on a piece of cardboard about six feet in length (probably for a refrigerator) was the word MAD. Likely, the word would have been “made” as in “made in china” or something, but the cardboard had been folded over so as just to reveal these three letters. I wondered if anyone had noticed. And I wondered if anyone had felt a similar pang of self-consciousness when confronted by the offending letters. And I smiled a little bit when the quote from Alice in Wonderland came to mind, “we’re all mad here.” In this city, amidst all these people, I do believe everyone has an element of it in them. The only question is whether or not your particular madness is deemed socially acceptable (or at least, deemed worthy of being ignored by the society). But also, whether or not you are able to use it toward a greater purpose – to turn madness into art. The artist’s redemption. So maybe creativity is no more than applied madness.

London: day twenty

Today IES took us on a tour of some of the markets in East London. We took the Tube over to Liverpool Station and spent about forty-five minutes exploring the Spitalfields Market – packed to the hilt with food, antiques, crafts, and various other vendors. We then followed Brick Lane down to the Brick Lane UpMarket where Hannah and I got some food (chicken and bubble tea for me), and browsed the different booths and vendors. From here, they moved us to the Backyard Market which was part market and also part antique shop. We also checked out the Rough Trade music shop which was filled with vinyls and CDs. Unfortunately, I use neither of these, however, I was thumbing through some of the books and came across one about Pink Floyd. Whilst looking through it, I was reminded of a place that I hope to visit while I am here: the Battersea Power Station. This was the factory on the cover of Pink Floyd’s album “Animals” – pictured with a great big inflatable pig hovering between the front two smoke stacks of the building (which was an actual balloon they hoisted up there, not photo-shopped as would be easily assumed). I hope to go check it out eventually, and will certainly post pictures when I do – and will absolutely be sure to wear my Pink Floyd shirt on that day.

From there, we wandered up Brick Lane, stopping briefly at a 24- Hour Bagel Shop before continuing to a place called BOXPARK which is a bunch of freight containers (big metal ones, the kind you load onto ships) stacked on top of one another, but fashioned in such a way that each on is home to a small store – both on the top and the bottom. At this point, we were in Shoreditch on the exact same street that Hannah and I were on just the other night when we were looking for the pizza place, were turned away and went to a pub instead, and then decided to go touch the Gherkin, just so that we could say we did. We followed the road back to Liverpool Station after that, and the majority of the group did go back to NIDO. However, Hannah and I wanted to retrace our steps from the other night and go back to the Gherkin so that we could get pictures – neither of us having had our camera on the first adventure, also because it was dark then so we couldn’t have taken pictures. So we made our way through the streets back to the Gherkin and took our pictures, but from there, we decided to explore some new streets on the way back and ended up taking the Tube from Bank Station instead of Liverpool because of where we ended up. Needing to get a book for class, we made a pit-stop at the Waterstones in the Angel District, and from there walked back to NIDO.

favorite pictures of the night:

London: day ninteen

There are some times when I am actually glad that I am somewhat of an insomniac; staying up until 2:30 – 3:00 in the morning and getting up at 6:30 is one of those times. If I didn’t have insomnia, there is no way in hell I could have done that and then spent a whole day constantly wandering through the streets of Cambridge, seeing all I can see. Even still, I am not entirely certain how I am still functioning at the moment. Regardless, it was a good day, and I was awake and alert the whole time so the short night didn’t cause any interfering problems. By 8:30, our bus was zigzagging through Northern London before breaking out into the English countryside. Even in winter, the countryside is a shocking shade of green, and the hills roll gently across the horizon like ocean swells. Little cottages and farms dot the hills, and large hedges divide the plots of land. Unfortunately, because of our speed on the freeway, I was not able to get a clear picture that did any justice to the beauty of the land that stretched for miles on both sides of the road.

When we got to Cambridge, our group was led through the cobblestone streets and between the ornate brick buildings to Market Center – a place in the center of town behind Great St. Mary’s Church that is set up as a farmer’s market of sorts. The large group was then split into smaller groups and we were each given a tour guide to lead us through the city.

Our guide first led us to the Eagle Pub and RAF Bar – one of the oldest and most famous pubs in Cambridge as it was here that Francis Crick and James Watson declared that they had discovered DNA. The RAF (Royal Air Force) Bar is also quite the historical location due to its popularity with the soldiers during WWII – many of whom graffiti-ed their names and initials on the ceiling, which can still be seen today.

Across the street from the pub is St. Bene’t’s Church, the oldest standing building in Cambridge as its Saxon bell-tower dates to the year 1033. The building is so old that the ground on which it stands is sunken down from much of the rest of the town. This marks the original ground level of the town, before years of building and of new dirt deposit throughout the years raised the ground level by about three feet. The church was small, and compared to some of the other spectacular chapels in the city, rather plain, but in some ways I found it to be one of the most beautiful buildings. The old, brick walls were trimmed with ivy and bushes grew around it, a leaf-less tree spread its branches over the roof, almost touching the iron weather-vane at the top. The little yard was, like I said, sunken down, and there were several graves that were clustered to the right side of the wooden door, quite close together and very near the walls – moss grew on the stones. Inside, it was very plain. The simple stained glass windows let specks of colored light fall onto the white walls. Like I said, it really was nothing spectacular, especially not compared to the King’s College Chapel which we saw later, but it was beautiful in its simplicity and history all the same.

Next, we wove our way through the crowded streets (more crowded than normal due to graduation celebrations going on), toward the aforementioned King’s College Chapel which commanded attention and dominated the skyline of the city. Before arriving there, we wove through some back alleys and also stopped to marvel at the Corpus Clock. A rather disturbing piece of art, not only due to the sculpture of a rather horrendous looking creature atop it, but also because of the note of truth which rings in its meaning:

“A large sculptural clock at street level on the outside of the Taylor Library at Corpus Christi College, Cambridge University...It was conceived and funded by John C. Taylor, an old member of the college. It was officially unveiled to the public on 19 September 2008 by Cambridge physicist Stephen Hawking...Taylor calls this beast the Chronophage (literally "time eater", from the Greek χρόνος [chronos] time, and φάγω [phago] I eat). It moves its mouth, appearing to "eat up" the seconds as they pass, and occasionally it "blinks" in seeming satisfaction. The creature's constant motion produces an eerie grinding sound that suits its task.

Below the clock is an inscription from the Vulgate 1 John 2:17: mundus transit et concupiscentia eius ("the world passeth away, and the lust thereof").

The clock is entirely accurate only once every five minutes. The rest of the time, the pendulum may seem to catch or stop, and the lights may lag or, then, race to get ahead. According to Taylor, this erratic motion reflects life's "irregularity".

Conceived as a work of public art, the Chronophage reminds viewers in a dramatic way of the inevitable passing of time. Taylor deliberately designed it to be "terrifying": ‘Basically I view time as not on your side. He'll eat up every minute of your life, and as soon as one has gone he's salivating for the next.’ “   – Wikipedia

From the clock, we went around to the entrance of King’s College Chapel which is right near Clare College. King’s Cross Chapel took 90 years to build, and was begun by Henry VI but finished by Henry VIII. Originally, Henry VI wanted a rather architecturally “plain.” However, when the Tudors got their hands on it, these original ideas went completely out of the stain-glassed window. Outside, the building is magnificent, but inside, it is mind-boggling. One encounters an immediate sort of sensory overload by the grandeur of the stained glass windows, the sculpted crowns and crests, the carved wood center divider, the gold organ pipes, and the breathtaking vaulted ceiling with columns that fan out on top. Everything about it is big, bold and absolutely stunning. At the east end, past the choir chairs, there is a painting by the artist Reuben which is equally huge and splendid, that was a gift to the church and was put on display after having been completed in a mere eight days; one could not even venture a guess at its worth.

Outside of the Chapel, one exits out the south door and enters a large lawn that is on the backside of the gate which one sees from the road. We took the path back out to the main road and again went weaving through the buildings before returning to our starting point at Market Center. From there, we were left to our own devices for the next few hours to get lunch and explore at will. I immediately sent off in search of good photography opportunities, winding through crowded cobblestone streets and snapping pictures of the beautiful buildings as I went. Eventually, I even came across a short hike which led up to a hillside that overlooked the city. Back in the earliest days, this was once a place for the village watchtower, the building for which has long since disappeared. Now though, it functions as the perfect place to get a look at the whole city and the surrounding countryside. One can see for miles from atop this hill; see all the brick and chimney-ed rooftops of Cambridge, but also the green rolling hills which stretch out of sight in all directions. In general, the land is fairly flat, as the hills are not particularly large and there are no mountains, but neither is it boring, as the bright green is dotted with groups of trees, cut through by streams and canals, and trimmed in hedges. Even in the winter – I can only imagine it in the summer – it looks like something from a fairy tale.

Coming off the hill, it was at this time that my stomach decided to remind me that I had not yet eaten, so I wound my way back to the Market and bought a small loaf of banana walnut bread and some dried apple pieces, which I munched on while I continued to walk – wasn’t about to sit down and waste the time I had here. When I felt as though I had sufficiently covered the main part of town, I then crossed over the canal and started following a muddy, dirt pathway that paralleled the water. This was surrounded by a kind of park-like setting, with some open fields between the path and the town, and had plenty of trees, bushes, and flowers throughout. I walked for a long time that way. Even though I felt torn, a little paranoid that there were things I had possibly missed seeing in the town itself, but I couldn’t tear myself away from the green and dirt path. I played hop-scotch over puddles, and had a good time taking pictures of the water, and the foliage. After living in the heart of London for the past few weeks, I was aware that I had been craving the fresh air and space of the countryside. It was immensely refreshing and I walked until the dark grey and threatening clouds began to worry me some. I headed back to the general area in which the bus would be meeting us so that in case it did start to storm, I would be able to duck for cover quickly and easily. This led me to follow the canal and the road in the opposite direction (south instead of north of our bus) for a little while. Even though I did not go down nearly as far, I did find a place where the canal widened into a pond, graced with weeping willows at its banks. I walked around the next block and circled back toward the bus, now that it was time to be heading back.

The timing for when we loaded the bus could not have been more perfect, because no sooner had we all loaded, my prediction came true and the sky unleashed a torrential downpour. And that is an understatement. Put it this way, I’ve never seen rain like that before in my life. No joke. The wind blew it in great gusts, and it didn’t come down as individual drops so much as it seemed as though someone were tossing water out of five-gallon buckets. I couldn’t see out of the window because there was a waterfall off the roof of the bus. All I could see were the blurry outlines of the poor saps who were unfortunate enough to get caught in it, running for their lives. There were even a few peals of thunder and lightning and a bit of hail. And yet, it stopped nearly as quickly as it begun, dissolving into a drizzle as though it were saying “who me? I didn’t do that. I would never.”

And we set off in the failing light, making our way back to our home in London.

London: day eighteen

This morning, the first thing I did was take myself back to City University and finalize the mission that I should have completed yesterday: getting my student ID card. With this completed, I made my way back to NIDO and met up with Hannah in the lobby. While we were waiting for Abi to join us, we entertained ourselves with a game of foosball (which I lost terribly) and a game of pool (which we essentially tied). When Abi joined us we made our way via Tube to the area of town known as Kensington; a rather ritzy part of town off the west end of Hyde Park. We explored the streets for a while and marveled at the spendy stores and the well-dressed people who shopped around there. The street eventually led us to where the gardens of Kensington Palace meet Hyde Park, so we walked around the Palace, looking at the exterior which was fairly plain for a palace. Though we did not go in, it was interesting to learn that this was the place the Prince William and Catherine Middleton live with their newborn. Instead of paying to go in, we simply walked through the gardens and took pictures of some of the nearby statues and such. Granted, the gardens were fairly brown – it being winter and all – but we met some pretty friendly squirrels while walking there. In fact, they were actually a little too friendly – daring enough to come within a foot and easily within reach, they acted as though they would not hesitate to run straight up to you or even jump onto you. They were so close that I ended up petting one’s tail before it scampered off, and we got some rather adorable pictures.

Following this, we took a short cut through Hyde Park and brought ourselves out near the Price Albert Monument. We followed the next street down and ended up in the Museum district (between the Science Museum, the Victoria and Albert Museum, and the Natural History Museum). This last museum we decided to spend some time in, and spent a great deal of time going through the wing which contained the dinosaur skeletons, as well as some following exhibits on mammals, one room which displayed the skeleton of a Blue Whale over top of a full scale model of one of these huge creatures, a room devoted to sea creatures, and a small room dedicated to amphibians and reptiles. By far, the dinosaurs were the most interesting part, however, it was also fun to go through and look at all the different types of animals; some of which were entirely new to me. Most notably, I was surprised to learn that there is a type of small deer, no bigger than a large dog, which has fangs instead of antlers; yeah, actual fangs, like a saber tooth tiger. That was a new one to me for sure.

After the museum, we actually took the Tube back over to Kensington again because we wanted to stop at the Whole Foods store we had walked by earlier in the day. This was where we had dinner, and afterwards, from there we took the Tube back to King’s Cross. Now, earlier, while walking, someone was handing out pamphlets on the street for a comedy club, in which contained a voucher for free student admission. Discovering that the club was no more than a block away from NIDO, we made plans to go ahead and check it out that evening.

The place was surprisingly small, seating no more than sixty or so people, and at first we were worried that the whole thing would be a bust as we were one of the first ones there (granted, we were quite early). Eventually though, the place filled up until people were standing in the back, and our worries were eased. This particular night, the comedians had been arranged in a “circus” of sorts; various acts coming on and doing their thing, each pretending to be a certain act in a circus – ringmaster, clowns, magician, jugglers, bearded-lady, and so on. Each had their very own style and most were actually quite hilarious. My favorites though turned out to be the magician and the jugglers, mostly because they were lighthearted, but they were also quite talented. The two jugglers were, by the end of their act, throwing six pins back and forth, and the magician did a series of card tricks, meanwhile explaining a little bit about his technique for remembering the particular cards and sequence of the deck – a technique called the Method of Loci, which I actually happened to be quite familiar with as it is something I heard of years ago and messed around with for a bit, but then stopped. However, coincidentally, I have within the past few weeks been reading up on it again – being reminded about it after hearing it mentioned again in a TV show. It is an interesting method, and generally a highly useful one. I had recently begun trying to pick up where I left off years ago, so it was funny to hear it mentioned by name in public for the first time within the same exact week. The show lasted for about two hours and was pretty good, we definitely did get a good laugh in. Afterward, we made our way back to NIDO, and as per the norm, I have since been bumming around online as well as writing.

Tomorrow, really bright and early, I’ll be heading off on a day trip to Cambridge – so keep an eye out for lots of pictures!

London: day seventeen

This morning I made my way through the pouring rain to where my class – Modern British Novel – was meeting at the British Library (just the other side of St. Pancras/King’s Cross, so essentially just down the street from us) for our lecture. Here we were first set loose in the one part of the Library which is open to the public, a large room that houses numerous first, and original editions of some of the world’s greatest books; first editions of printed Shakespeare, Marlowe, the original handwritten and illustrated version of Alice in Wonderland, first copy of the Communist Manifesto, the Codex Sinaiticus and the Codex Alexandrius, as well as handwritten scores of music by Beethoven, Mozart and Hayden. There were also letters by Michelangelo informing his father that he had completed his work on the Sistine Chapel, sketches and notes by Leonardo Da Vinci, a letter from Darwin defending himself and his belief in natural selection from the attacks of a friend, a feverishly paranoid letter from an Issac Newton suffering from Mercury poisoning in which he informed his friends that he could no longer see them anymore, and of course the Magna Carta. Now the Magna Carta itself is not actually one single document, in fact, they don’t think that there was ever only one copy of the document drawn up to begin with, rather there were seven or so initial copies made based on the meeting itself, and then sent out – so the British Library has two of those copies. After having explored this room, spending a good amount of time thoroughly combing over everything it had to offer, our professor then bought us tickets to go into the exhibition that the Library was hosting; a look into Georgian England – life, style, household objects, books, writings (including some of Jane Austen’s letters as well as her writing desk), sport relics, maps, architecture, entertainments, and so on, providing a general picture of what life was like in Georgian England.

From there, I then made my way to Birkbeck where I was meeting Hannah and Aaron for the same free lunch that we went to last Thursday. (Unfortunately this time there was no sign of our Austrian friend). We had lunch, grateful for the warm food due to the biting cold wind that decided to kick up today – even though the rain thankfully stopped, it remained one of the coldest days we’ve encountered thus far. And unfortunately it was the same day that one of the buttons on my coat decided to abandon its post…will have to sew that back on later, but regardless, I wasn’t able to return to NIDO for a different coat and ended up having to hold my coat tightly around me with folded arms for the rest of the day.

After lunch, I parted from Hannah and Aaron and made my way to IES where I printed off the documents I would need later in the day to finalize my registration and get my ID card at City University. The paper I was consulting said I didn’t need to be there until 3:00 however, and finding myself early, I opted to hang out in the IES study room for a while, just writing and mapping out the route I would take to get to City University from there. When it was time, I set off and found my way, fairly successfully, to City University. The walk was nice, albeit cold, but I did get to explore a new street I hadn’t been down before. Forty-five minutes later I arrived - the last bit, I had to hurry so as not to be late, but when I finally did arrive at City University I entered the first door and asked reception for directions, she then directed me around to the front door, where I again consulted another registration desk, was directed down some hallways and up the stairs to the third floor, down more hallways and much out of breath, found the room I needed…which was dark…

Confused, I looked at the paper I had been looking at from before, and my heart jumped when I realized I had been reading the wrong time for the wrong day – I had missed it. Though I was right that I had to be there today, unfortunately, the time at which I should have been there was back when I was in class. Basically, I not only missed it, but I’d missed it by quite a long shot. Sweating and quite frantic by this time I called the number of the International Program – the second time I called, the lady picked up and kindly informed me that it was alright, I could come back tomorrow morning, no harm done. Already quite footsore, and still recovering from my panic attack, I slowly made my way back to NIDO, listening to some calming music on my phone so as to try and bring my heart rate down. Additionally, due to the panic, this time I was rather grateful to be back out in the cold air which was helping this time to cool me down.

Back at the dorm, I flopped down on my bed and retreated for a while into the silence. Unintentionally, and without realizing it though, I almost immediately started to drift off. It wasn’t until my roommate came in that I was brought back from what I believed to be thoughts but which had unknowingly become dreams as I was starting to fall asleep. With some effort, I shook it off and forced myself to go to the kitchen and down a PB&J.

Not a whole lot later, Hannah texted me to see if I was interested in going out for dinner; she wanted to check out a pizza place on the East Side – and also just an excuse to go explore over that way. We hopped on a bus that took us over to Shoreditch. Once we got our bearings, we were able to find the pizza place, but to our surprise it turned out that it was closed for a private event that night. So we went back to the drawing board, and chose a direction to walk, hoping we would stumble on a place to eat. A couple blocks down, across the street from an absolutely beautiful stone church, we found a little pub that showed promise. We went in, found ourselves a seat and ordered up some food and drinks – pizza and a cider for Hannah and a little plate of hummus and pita, a cider, and a shot of Jack Daniels for me. All of it was good, and I rather enjoyed ordering my first shot in a pub. Of course there was no effect whatsoever, but it was something I felt would be fun to do as a first while here. I also laughed a bit at the fact that I am the kind of person who doesn’t like tea unless there’s a decent amount of sugar in it, and yet, I like whiskey straight (haha).

Once we were warm enough and full, we set out to explore. It didn’t take us long to realize that we were in the part of town where what they consider to be East Side meets with “The City,” or the more downtown area of London. We figured this out when we rounded a corner and all of a sudden, there was the Gherkin building, large as life, towering above. Because we were so close, we thought it wouldn’t hurt to go check it out; on the way joking that most of the others in the program were almost definitely out partying and getting wasted at the moment, meanwhile the most exciting thing we were going to do tonight was go touch the Gherkin building. Which, even though we were joking, of course, because we said it, then we HAD to go get close enough to touch it. So, yep, we found the Gherkin, went up close and touched it and then walked all the way around it for good measure.

We made our way back to King’s Cross via Liverpool station and once back at NIDO Hannah showed me how to set up my computer so that I could watch American TV shows while I’m here in Britain. So after quite the tiring day, I have been lounging around, getting caught up on Supernatural, talking to you lovely folks, and am going to now fulfill my poetry quota (even though it’s almost 1:00 am) and go to bed…

PS: again, I unfortunately do not have any pictures of the Gherkin excursion as I left my camera back at NIDO - sorry!

London: day sixteen

Hey guys, keeping this one really short tonight because I have some catching up to do on some of my other writings – been working on a volume of poetry, trying to write one every day during my time here, but I’m two days behind, and I can’t let myself slack off. Anyway, today wasn’t super eventful. I went to class and it went well, still a little unsure about this professor, though I do like the reading so far. We just discussed two short stories we read: “The Dead” by James Joyce and “The Lieutenant Died Last” by Graeme Greene. Both are good reads and I think I grasped the concepts and themes well.

I often joke and sometimes feel rather cynical about my choice to pursue an degree in English; there’s part of me that I suppose finds it a little cruelly ironic that all my true talents – artist, writer, poet, and so on – are all collectively very difficult fields to make any sort of living in. I cannot tell you how many times people have joked with me, saying, “Oh, you’re going to be poor!” or “I hope you don’t mind poverty!” Usually with a smile, like that’s going to make the snide comment go over any better. And if it is not that, the most typical response is, “Oh okay, so you want to teach?” Well, no not really, I never said anything that indicated I wanted to teach – I have no interest in teaching. But people assume that because they believe teaching to be the only option I have to maintain a steady income – money is the first thought.  But truth be told, money is not the first thing I think of when I think about my studies. It’s actually quite far from the front of my mind, and frankly, I don’t know what I will end up doing. But, even though I joke, and say “Why couldn’t I have been talented in mathematics, science, business, or technology; why did it have to be art and writing? All the jobs are in those other fields,” really though, I do feel very confident in my choice of study. I am talented. I am good at it. And generally, my foremost thought is that I want to be better. All I want is to keep learning and honing these skills which I have discovered. I don’t know what that means career-wise – being an editor or publisher of some sort may be interesting, and is an idea that attracts me, however, I am more interested in seeing how much better I can get and letting that take me wherever it will.

I am not the person I was at the beginning of this year, and I know I won’t be the same person when I get back from England. There is a lot that has changed in a very, very short amount of time, and there are, honestly, some big things that I am questioning right now. It doesn’t only end with my faith, I don’t know whether or not I am cut out to be a parent, I don’t know if I am cut out to be a wife – that’s the honesty of it, and I genuinely don’t know. There used to be no doubt in my mind, and people still assert that I haven’t changed that much – but I’m not so certain. I do know that my writing and art IS something that I can throw myself whole bodily into, and in doing so, strive to leave my own dent on the literary world. I could do that. I could try and be great. But the more I learn about the lives of other great authors and artists, the more I realize just how much they do give up when they choose that life. They are remembered, certainly. But sometimes it seems as though one can either be remembered or content – but not both. Granted my sampling may be skewed. I am also a pessimist, always have been, always will be.

My main point is that I enjoy what I do very, very much and I genuinely do not care whether or not it will buy me a comfortable life. I may even be completely willing to forego comfort altogether. But I also trip myself up with uncertainty, and constantly hold back out of hesitation. I really, honestly, genuinely don’t know what they hell I’m doing with my life right now. And it’s really frustrating. So, at the moment, I’m just trying to be as present as I can be while I’m here in England, and I am enjoying having the opportunity to study something I love deeply, in a foreign and altogether wonderful city.

As for the rest of the actual day, Tula and I got some lunch/dinner and I headed back to NIDO. Since, I’ve been simply working on some paperwork and just messing around online. Later, Tula and I will probably end up watching Sherlock. Before then though I have to get my poems written, so I’ll be back tomorrow!

London: day fifteen

Okay, day fifteen.

Today was a good one. Went to class and sat through another lecture on British Youth Culture, still pretty interesting, and as I predicted, the professor is starting to warm up to us now that the uninterested ones have dropped. From here out, I think the class will go smoothly and be quite interesting. After class, I made my way back to NIDO and bolted down a PB&J sandwich (REALLY need to learn how to cook other things – I’ve had PB&J’s for FAR too many meals than I care to admit) and met up with Hannah. We took a look through her guide book and decided to go check out the Camden Market.

Camden Market, or Camden Lock, is a place where there used to be a type of farmer’s market surrounded by stables, and set next to the Regent’s canal and locks. It started out pretty ordinary, but then the British youth culture got a hold of it. The stables eventually closed and became an extension of the market, it became a gathering place for eclectic and “hip” youth; the Rockers, the Mods, Punks and Goths, among other youths. As a result, the place is now packed full of vendors selling band t-shirts, Gothic clothing types, flashy and bold accessories, some paraphernalia of sorts, quirky items, food vendors, music shops, souvenirs, tattoo and piercing shops. All around a pretty eclectic place with some equally different people. In short: it’s AWESOME. For a while, in the States I’ve been searching for a tank top with the Nirvana logo on it (the smiley face one set on a black background) as well as one with the Jack Daniels logo – designs that you think would be easy to find, yet I have not seen ONCE even after months of searching; and finding them online means paying fifteen bucks for one t-shirt, plus shipping, which is of course ridiculous. At Camden, it took me maybe five minutes to find all the designs I was looking for, plus some – and at a much more reasonable price 4 for ten pounds. Also up for bargaining as the whole place has a feel of Mexico or Honduras where each vendor is trying to get you to buy from them so they start bartering the price with you. Makes me sad there is not a place like this back home, because it was SO easy to find clothing and accessories that were EXACTLY my style – cheaply.

After bumming around there for a while, checking out the sprawling expanse of the whole market (very dense and vendors crammed in between equally interesting shops), we walked until we found Regent’s Park – the second largest city park in London aside from Hyde Park. There we walked through the beautiful gardens which, surprisingly still had a decent amount of flowers, and past the zoo. It was nice to get a dose of green grass after living with nothing but concrete in sight for so long. One thing is certain, you don’t take grass or green trees for granted here – you don’t realize that’s what you’ve been missing until you actually walk through the park, smell the grass, and realize that some fundamental craving within you has been filled. As it is a park of some considerable size, we just walked and talked for a while, weaving in and out of the garden and along the shore of the pond, taking some pictures as we went.

When we reached the other side of the park, we consulted a map and realized that we were not at all far from Baker Street, so we made for there. Because Hannah hadn’t seen it and because on my previous trip there with Tula I had forgotten my camera, we made a stop by 221B – not going in, but at least to check it out and get some nice pictures of the outside. A block down we caught the Tube and rode it to Angel where we made a necessary pit-stop at the store and an equally necessary pit-stop at a cupcake shop that caught our eye – yes it was necessary, especially if you’d seen how amazing they looked. I got some sugar for the tea that I have been drinking – yes I have for the first time in my life found a tea that I like, it’s called English Breakfast, and even though I have NEVER been a tea person, I think the problem was that when anyone ever had me try tea, they never put any sugar in it. So I’ve been drinking this tea and with sugar, I’ve discovered that I actually really enjoy it. I know, if you had any doubts that I was in Britain…But yeah, that’s become my substitute for coffee since 1) it’s too expensive to keep up a caffeine addiction like that here, and also 2) since my doctor said I should probably try to cut back on said addiction…But so far, so good; actually not addicted anymore and eased off it over Winter Break, so the headaches were at least manageable, and now I haven’t needed crazy amounts of caffeine to keep me going throughout the day (also mostly credited to my medication though, that has helped significantly and is actually probably what made breaking that addiction even a possibility in the first place). But, also at the store, I decided to try these shortbread cookies with strawberry filling called Jammie Dodgers. I remembered a reference to these cookies that occurred in an episode of Doctor Who where the Doctor pretends that a Jammie Dodger is a self-destruct button and uses it to bide time with the Daleks, and save the world and so on and on.  I am absolutely a Doctor Who fan, not obsessively so (as much anymore), but I do dearly love the show. So when I saw them, it was kind of a “hey, I’ve heard of those” moments and since they’re a pretty characteristically British snack I decided to give them a try – which turned out to definitely be a good decision as they are very tasty.

We walked back from Angel, and settled ourselves to the task of making dinner. I actually made pasta for the first time since being here – something other than PB&J!!!! It actually turned out alright even though I overestimated how much I could eat, so, I guess I also made lunch and dinner for tomorrow at the same time…maybe breakfast. There’s rather a lot of pasta.

I’m not a chef.

If I don’t live with someone who cooks, I swear, it’s going to be PB&J and coffee until the day I die…

Anyway, making dinner and chatting kind of eventually morphed itself into Hannah and me both sitting with our laptops open, comparing favorite music for the next couple hours. Though our tastes weren’t completely the same, we did find some good overlaps, and really were just enjoying listening to music and talking.