London: day fifty-three

Went with Abi to Brick Lane today and spent a good amount of the day perusing the shops and exploring the streets. We caved and got ourselves some doughnuts and munched on those while we walked and admired the graffiti. While we were in one leatherworks shop, I managed to find some black leather gloves for cheap which I fell in love with and ended up walking out with; the kind with the fingers cut off and a Velcro strap across the back of the hand – gotta say, they’re pretty badass.  While trying to find the other markets, we were stopped on the sidewalk by a small knot of people who asked us if they could take our picture. We kind of had to do a bit of a double take to make sure that we had heard them right, but we had indeed as they were photography students who were out trying to get practice taking pictures of people. After our little paparazzi moment, we continued to wander the streets (unfortunately most of the markets were closed) and ended up eating lunch at a small Southern Fried Chicken stand which was located in the back of an old WWII style army ambulance; the place was called “Mother Clunker,” which I naturally found amusing.

After dropping off our leftovers at NIDO we hopped another bus over to Primark and browsed around getting a few things we needed – and maybe one or two things we didn’t “need,” per say. First, I needed a replacement for my earbuds which decided to quit on me this past week, so I found a set of black headphones for fairly cheap. Because they didn’t have the style of earbuds I like, I decided to go with the headphones this time and give them a try. So far, I have really enjoyed them but it’s still a bit too early to tell whether or not I prefer headphones or earbuds. I also decided to FINALLY replace my wallet today as the one I have is in a miserable state and is bleeding coins whenever it’s turned upside down. So I found a mint green one with a wrist-strap that was only a few pounds and which I liked. As we were browsing some more, I came across something which was just too hard to pass up: pajamas! The black tank top has big letters across it saying “I Ain’t Afraid of No Ghost” with the No Ghosts symbol substituted for the “O” in “Ghost.” The grey shorts are covered in black letters that say “Ghostbusters.” And the best part; the letters glow in the dark! I ended up getting them and of course changed into them as soon as I could upon getting back to NIDO. I then spent most of the rest of the evening online and watching TV and a movie – I watch The Shawshank Redemption for the first time tonight and thought it was quite an amazing movie; I can see why everyone likes it so much.

London: day fifty-one and fifty-two

I didn’t write anything yesterday because it was the last day of midterms and I spent the morning studying, took my test then relaxed the rest of the day. Abi and I did go on a brief little adventure though when we took the Tube over to the Barbican because we heard that there was an experimental art project there that sounded interesting. We walked into a pitch black corridor that had lights on mechanized pendulums hanging from the ceiling which would move back and forth in various patterns: that was it. “Experimental?” – yeah. “Art?” – my ass. After that, she and I decided to move onto something FAR more interesting; the antique cars at the Museum of London. Unfortunately the museum was closed so we ended up just walking around a bit, getting some nighttime photos of St. Paul’s, then taking the bus back to NIDO. Then there was that bread fiasco that I posted a picture of on Facebook…

Today, I spent most of the morning sewing some patches onto my leather jacket. This poor jacket is several years old and is literally falling apart at the seams, but frankly, I’m too cheap to buy another one right now. So I’ve been playing extreme makeover with it. My roommate went to the London Fashion Show last weekend and receive a kind of gift bag which she decided that she didn’t want and passed it off to me. I really have no need for a bag like that, but the design on it was pretty cool; a stylized dragon/snake with wings. I made the decision to salvage it for parts. I ripped it up with my pocket knife (didn’t have any scissors) and created a few rough patches with the designs. I then sewed two wings onto the upper back part of the jacket and also sewed my Pink Floyd patch onto the back just below the wings. I then took strips of the design and turned the material over; the material is black and the design on it is white, so on the backside the white comes through in a dim grey and is not quite as bold as the white. I then sewed these strips around the cuffs of the sleeves to cover up where large pieces of the imitation leather had peeled off, leaving just bare cloth. After a few more square touch-up patches, the end result was pretty satisfying. Grungy to be sure, but wearable once more (and I don’t have to buy another jacket for quite a while now).
I then met up with Cassie and we went to coffee at a place just down the street and sat chatting for a while, just catching up on everything we’ve seen and done since being in London. We then decided to go to St. Paul’s because she had not been inside yet and I definitely didn’t mind going back. This time, we started by climbing the stairs all the way to the top and getting pictures from both the Stone and Golden Galleries. We then went down into the crypt and looked around there until they kicked us out when it closed. By then, it was time for the Evensong, so we sat in the choir seats and listened to the singing and the sound of the organ fill the space and echo off the stone. Much like the last time I was there, I was turned to thoughts of questioning, especially when the priest read from Corinthians 2:

Therefore, since through God’s mercy we have this ministry, we do not lose heart. ² Rather, we have renounced secret and shameful ways; we do not use deception, nor do we distort the word of God. On the contrary, by setting forth the truth plainly we commend ourselves to everyone’s conscience in the sight of God. ³ And even if our gospel is veiled, it is veiled to those who are perishing. ⁴ The god of this age has blinded the minds of unbelievers, so that they cannot see the light of the gospel that displays the glory of Christ, who is the image of God. ⁵ For what we preach is not ourselves, but Jesus Christ as Lord, and ourselves as your servants for Jesus’ sake. ⁶ For God, who said, “Let light shine out of darkness,” made his light shine in our hearts to give us the light of the knowledge of God’s glory displayed in the face of Christ.

⁷ But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us. ⁸ We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; ⁹ persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed. ¹⁰ We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body. ¹¹ For we who are alive are always being given over to death for Jesus’ sake, so that his life may also be revealed in our mortal body. ¹² So then, death is at work in us, but life is at work in you.

I’ve been struggling with the thought that; most people believe that we were formed, shaped and created by God – in that though, if we believe that God created us to be the way we are, that includes the good and not so good parts of us, yes? But what if there is something in your DNA, a sickness or malfunction of sorts that keeps you from God? Like, say…crippling Depression? To be born with hopelessness and despair and brokenness ingrained and coded into your mind already – if I were to claim that God created me, then I claim that He created the thing in my life which keeps me from Him. Think He might have forgotten a thing or two… Because I’ve been told multiple times, “it’s probably genetic” – so, what the hell? Because I want to believe. I have tried to believe. I have torn my heart limb from limb, offered it over and over again, agonized for others, and have begged for healing since the beginning. I came because of a promise that there was peace and hope to be found. And I see those when I am in community – but then I go home at night. And when I am alone again, all that dries up and I’m left once more with my demons that leave me feeling crushed, despairing, abandoned, and destroyed. Everything that I thought I went to be delivered from.

I am angry at God.

If there is one,

Then I’m rather pissed.

Because I feel as though I were set up for failure in my fabrication. Because no matter how much I want to believe, everything that I’m not supposed to be has been knit into the fibers of my mind. Apparently I have to change who I am, who I was created to be, in order to get to where God wants me. I am tired of fighting my DNA. And every time I feel as though I am making some sort of progress, I’m met with a rude slap from just life itself that sets me back again. And I’m starting to believe that God doesn’t give a damn. If God existed in such a conscious, sentient state as to know what he was putting into me, then He is the one who created the very barrier that keeps me from Him.

So, I’m a little inclined to believe, anymore, that God is not some BEING with a separate consciousness, so much as God is the combination of the forces we know in this universe; emotion (individually and community), forces of science, nature, the capacity of human society and relationship – all compounded together, creating what we know to be “God.” But not something entirely separate that cares, unless it be the type of caring found within human community. Separate from that though, I don’t think there is a God listening to and catering to our every whim.

I’m so tired of shooting prayers off into empty space.


Cassie and I talked about our experiences with faith a little bit on our way back toward King's Cross, but it was difficult to talk about it too extensively because we happened to be heading back at rush hour and were packed into the Tube like sardines and were constantly getting bumped around by people. Sometimes the crowds here are rather insane; that's one of the few things that I think would actually keep me from wanting to live here for any great length of time - the city can get a little suffocating at times. I still remain entirely enthralled by this city though; there is so much that I am going to miss dearly.

London: day fifty

Struggled my way through a Psychology midterm today and emerged on the other side more or less intact…I think. I felt confident about a good deal, but after checking my notes after the exam, I realized that I did make a few big mistakes. It’s aggravating to realize that and it took me a while to cool down a bit and realize it is no longer in my control – at least I have a better idea of what the next exam will look like, and I’ll do better then. On my way back I stopped at the grocery store and loaded up on some food for the week – trying to go with some healthy options this time, and absolutely anything but PB&J’s (I am not going to want to even look at a PB&J for a LONG while after this semester is over). Later, Tula and I hung out a bit and watched Sherlock, so that was a good way to wind down a day after a difficult exam.

***

You know, this year I have had my home completely altered by the divorce, have had the hope and image of a future spent with a man I loved completely torn up, I have lost large pieces of my faith and am still trying to figure out what to do with the skeleton that has been left, I don’t know what I want or what to hope for anymore, and it seems as though everything I thought most secure has disintegrated, leaving me alone with the person I despise most of all – myself.

And it hasn’t been pretty.

Still isn’t.

But, through it all, there has been one very distinct thing I have held onto and have not let go of since the beginning of it; make sure my sister is okay. Like I told her on the day that I was given the news about the divorce, she was my priority. I like to hope that I did alright being there for her even though I was physically removed. We have talked more than we have ever before and on a different level. We’ve grown significantly closer to one another through all the shit we’ve faced this past year together. As the older sibling though, there comes a sort of innate sense of responsibility to watch out for the younger (even if she does grow to be taller than you :P lol). I have tried to do that in many ways throughout our childhood, but as happens with kid siblings, not everything goes smoothly all the time, and into my teenage years I was definitely not as attentive to her as I should have been. Something I wish I’d done better now, but which, at the time, there were reasons for. Still, there’s never been anyone I’ve loved or cared about more. So I have made it my top priority to ensure that I am there for her now and that I always will be.

But that hasn’t been easy. The same demons that kept me distant from her during my high school years have been pulling on me harder than ever before, and there’s a lot in me that I’ve had to fight against so that I can remain accessible to her, especially due to physical distance. And I’m tired. Exhausted to my core, and just so tired of fighting this thing in my head just so that I can keep doing the right thing. But watching out for her, having that reason to keep fighting, is the only thing that has gotten me through. I couldn’t have gotten through any of it if I didn’t have that. Because I don’t care if I get better, if I heal, if I pick up the pieces and move forward; I just don’t, and that’s the truth of it. But I care that she does. I need her to. So I have to get better, I have to heal, I have to pick up the pieces, and I have to move forward, because I need to be there to make sure that she does. She’s my little sister, the one I still picture as a kid who follows me around wherever I go and copies everything I do, with that big smile, round cheeks, and big, sparkling blue eyes.

But last night I was reminded that she’s not a little kid anymore.

She’s grown up into the strongest, most caring, most talented, and most beautiful person I know or have ever known.

And I couldn’t be more proud of her.

Because in watching out for her, I have forgotten that she watches out for me too. And I haven’t realized it. I’ve been too concerned with giving her the advice I personally haven’t been able to follow myself, and hiding the parts of myself that would make me look weak. Because she needs someone strong to look up to. How can I help her if I have all these screwed up things that I am constantly trying to deal with too? And if she copies me, like she did when she was a kid…I could imagine nothing more devastating. Because I don’t want her to be like me – I want her to be better than me. So, in my mind, I have been one half, a guiding voice, and the other half, an example of what not to do. But I have forgotten something. I know her so well that I can read her actions and emotions like an open book, I can sometimes even accurately guess what she’s doing at that moment even from a state away, and I know forwards and backwards what will make her smile and laugh or what will annoy or aggravate her. But, you see, what I have forgotten is that she knows me just as well. And she always has.

Every time I have tried to keep up that stronger older sibling façade, she has seen right through it. And she has tried just as hard to be there for me as I have for her. She knows even the darker sides that I have always tried to hide the most from her more than anyone else. And I didn’t even know until she told me last night. I didn’t know that she was aware of what I struggle with. I didn’t know that she was watching out for me. I didn’t know that she understood me more than anyone else ever has.

I didn’t know that she thought I was brave…

Because even I don’t think that of myself.

And I still can’t quite believe it.

But to know that she has been there, still, when no one else has; it’s terrifying and relieving at the same time. Because I am so grateful that I have her as my sister, and am so proud of her. Because if she has grown to be someone who can have faith in me; then she is stronger than I am, and I couldn't wish for anything better than that. But I am also filled with anxiety of my ruse being shown for what it is. Because, I have a few years on her yes, and do have a responsibility for her because it’s my job as an older sibling to look out for her, but at the same time, I don’t have shit figured out myself. I’m fumbling and stumbling through, making it up as I go along; I’m not an expert. But part of me still feels like, in order for her to be able to look up to me, I need to be the example of having it figured out, because I can’t let her down. But for the first time last night, I was the one listening to her and taking in what she had to tell me, without really being able to reply. This connection doesn’t go one way, and it doesn’t have to. That’s what she taught me. Because we’re two halves of one person, and nothing has the power to change that.

London: day forty-nine

I’m afraid I have just another boring post for you. Believe me that this one is going to be really short.

Up early this morning, I spent most of it reviewing novel themes and characters for my Literature and Place exam. That was broken up by some quality time with my guitar, which I am still thoroughly enjoying. I am so, so grateful that I was able to bring it with me here to London despite the hassle of getting it here. It has been so worth it, not only have I been making great headway in finally learning how to play the thing, but it has also proved to be a perfectly therapeutic outlet for me. It is not nearly as time involved as drawing (something which I also have a hard time stopping and starting, as when I get started on something I almost always want to work on it until it’s finished), and it is really easy to pick up and set down again while still requiring a great amount of focus when I am playing – which definitely helps to take the mind off any stressors. Plus I am just absolutely thrilled that I can play some of my favorite songs!

So that was my morning. At two I met up with Tula and we made our way toward IES, stopping at a café called “Candy and Coffee” (yeah. My name is written ALL over it) for some coffee and Tesco for some lunch on the way. We sat in Bloomsbury Square and ate lunch because, even though it was overcast, the weather was rather warm and nice today (first day I didn’t need my coat). We then spent the next two hours in a midterm exam. I feel like it went well, and am confident I did well. I had plenty of time to write down everything that I wanted to say and I didn’t get hung up on any particular question. It’s still a little draining though, so I went back to the dorm and relaxed for a bit (more guitar, naturally.) and then begun studying for the exam I have tomorrow which will be my City University Psych class – which, I swear, is going to drive me insane by the end of the semester (Oh, the irony…). The test I have tomorrow is worth 10% of our grade, which seems alright until you realize that I only have three tests in that class; the first two are worth 10% each, meaning that the final is worth 80% of our grade! So I need to do well, 1) because I’m going to need all the help I can get, and 2) because I need to make sure I understand all the material completely before I get to that final exam. This is, by far, my most difficult midterm, and on that account I am cutting this post severely short so that I can get back to studying…

London: day forty-eight

So today might sound pretty boring from the outside, but it was one of those days of a great deal of personal productivity.

This week is midterms and I have three coming up; Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday. My first is “Literature and Place” which is a two hour in class essay. Tuesday’s is my City University Psych course exam which has me most worried. Wednesday is Shakespeare, which I am probably least concerned about. The midterms for my other two classes happen to be essays which aren’t due until next week (and fairly short ones at that, so I’m not worried).This Psych course though has me quite concerned; it’s not that I don’t understand all we’ve covered, because I do, so much as it is ensuring that I remember the names of all the processes and parts – it’s just about remembering what everything is called. That’s part of the reason tests frustrate me so much; because I can understand the whole thing, yet if I mix up names or forget what something is called, I get it wrong. For me, it doesn’t do justice to the actual knowledge I have. So I have been studying that today, and will probably be doing so late into the night. I also met with Alyssa and we spent two hours thumbing through the Shakespeare plays we’ve read, marking quotes to use in the exam (thankfully it’s open book) and re-familiarizing ourselves with themes and characters.

When I was not studying, I spent the rest of the day primarily on Spotify, discovering new music through the Radio option which I recently discovered the value of. Not surprisingly, I found some new music that I enjoyed. One song in particular kind of stuck out to me and I played that on repeat for a while listening to the lyrics and the guitar individually; both of which I loved. The song is called “Ugly” by The Exies – a band I had not previously heard of.  I then proceeded to find Tabs and a Youtube video and spent several hours learning how to play the entire song on my own guitar. I played until my left wrist ached and the side of my right thumb turned black from the strings. But it was worth it, because that meant I not only finished learning how to play Three Days Grace' "I Hate Everything About You" but I also learned another entire song within the same day (and one I had only heard for the first time today, at that!).

If you’re interested, the lyrics are as follows, along with a link to the song itself:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4QS-mKQWOZI

Are you ugly?

 A liar like me?

 A user, a lost soul?

 Someone you don’t know

 Money it’s no cure

 A Sickness so pure

 Are you like me?

 Are you ugly?

[Chorus]

 We are dirt, we are alone

 You know we're far from sober!

 We are fake, we are afraid

 You know it’s far from over

 We are dirt we are alone

 You know we're far from sober!

 Look closer, are you like me?

 Are you ugly?

 Turn a blind eye

 Why do I deny?

 Medicate me

 So I die Happy

 A strain of cancer

 Chokes the answers

 Are you like me?

 A liar like me?

[Chorus]

 I don’t care, you don’t care

 I’m bitter, you’re angry.

 You don’t care, I don’t care

 You love you, just like me

 I blame you, you blame me

 I’m bitter, you’re angry.

 You don’t care, I don’t care

 You love you, like me

[Chorus]

 Are you Ugly? [X3] 

***

It is hard to explain why I find this song relatable; it’s one that I am glad that I personally found, but which, I would be sad to hear if someone else also found it relatable. It’s not positive, per say, but I think it says a lot.

And, I keep fumbling for the words here…typing and then backspacing because it doesn’t sound right, over and over again…

Because this song gives the feel of something that there just are not words for.

That ugly inner darkness that some of us are far too familiar with. A darkness that warps your reality and cuts you off from everyone else. And while it’s as insidious as cancer, too often it goes unnoticed; either people are apathetic, put off by the outward shield of bitterness, or they buy the loose and lame lies that cover it up. It would not take much to look closer, but so few do. This kind of depression makes liars of us. Because it’s easier to fake it than to explain how you don’t know yourself anymore, how you don’t recognize yourself in the mirror, how lonely your reality is because it is so different from those around you, how it is slowly choking the life out of you but people still think the pain isn’t real and can’t understand why you are incapable of letting it go, how it is actually addictive and all the addictions that come with it and how a person can be turned into a user without being addicted to any actual substances, the disappointment in yourself, sleepless nights, vanished appetite, crippling fear, the medications that seem like a Band-Aid placed on the stump of a missing limb, the bitter disillusionment, the frustration others feel when they don’t understand why you keep yourself distant, the numb feeling that makes it seem like your soul has dropped down into some black hole, and the fact that no matter where you are, how much money you have, or how privileged your life is – there is no escape because you can’t escape yourself.

When that is your reality, the surface appearance lies. But underneath;

It’s ugly.

“So look closer,

Are you like me?

Are you ugly?”

London: day forty-four, five, six, and seven

Sorry for the huge gap in postings; midterms are next week so writing hasn’t exactly been a priority for the past week.

So I’ll just catch you up on what has been going on.

Wednesday after class I met Hannah and Alyssa at Camden market and we spent a good amount of time just walking through the market shopping. Before they showed up, while I was just waiting near the Tube station I had two guys within a ten minute period tell me that I was “beautiful” or “hot” – but in that creepy, leering way; so I wasn’t too thrilled about it. Thankfully though it didn’t take Hannah and Alyssa long to show up and we were able to set off on our mission. The main intention for going out shopping was to find Hannah a club dress as we were planning on going to a place called the Piccadilly Institute this weekend. It was also a good way of getting out of the dorm on a nice night. Eventually Hannah was goaded into finding a dress that she liked by the determined Alyssa who was playing the role of a big sister; excited to straighten Hannah’s hair, get her into a pretty dress, and apply make-up despite Hannah’s reservations. The two of them were adorable and definitely did seem like sisters at that moment. For the most part, I just watched it ensue and let Alyssa take over the show – in the end though she did a very good job (I’ll get to that in a moment).

After Camden, we stopped by Primark to finish up our shopping. Since I did have a dress, I figured I’d club it up a bit by adding a belt, fishnets and a bold statement necklace, so that’s where I was able to find those items and Alyssa and Hannah were also able to put the finishing touches on both of their outfits. I honestly think that at least half the fun in going someplace dressed up is actually in all the preliminary stuff; shopping and the actual getting ready.

Thursday was another morning of class, but then Hannah and I met up because she wanted to have a tour of Soho and Abbey Road like what Abi and I had to do for our British Youth Culture class on Tuesday. And, I am going to be brief about this because we pretty much did the exact same route as I did with class. For me, I got to see everything for a second time, point out the details to Hannah, and then take as many pictures as I wanted – many of those which I had not had time for while with the class. We did get to explore the streets of Soho and Carnaby Street much more thoroughly though, so I was able to get a wider feel for the area. I love the Bohemian attitude of Soho and Carnaby, the whole place is filled with a kind of artsy, and fashionably grungy air. This is made all the better by the fact that Carnaby Street is intentionally set up parallel and in stark contrast to the ritzy Regent Street. Personally, I appreciate those times when lower classes or those suffering some sort of social persecution very decidedly, and sarcastically but intelligently and tactfully give a big middle finger to those above them raining down judgment. This was the exact purpose of establishing Carnaby Street parallel to Regent.

Friday was rather interesting, especially the evening. In the morning, because it was a nice day, Hannah texted I and we decided that it would be a good day to go to the top of Tower Bridge. While we were downstairs making plans when Abi and Alyssa also showed up even though we hadn’t planned to meet up with them and they hadn’t planned to meet with us because they were on their way to get theater tickets. We all decided it’d be more fun to stick together so first we accompanied Abi and Alyssa to Liester Square where they bought the tickets for the play they wanted to see, and then we went over to Tower Bridge after some lunch. When we got to the bridge though, after some talking we kind of decided that it would be better to conserve our energy for the club instead of spend it all climbing a shit-ton of stairs; so we decided to come back later.

After some time just hanging out at NIDO, we all started getting ready for the club. When I was finished I met up with the other three in Abi’s room where Alyssa was straightening Hannah’s hair and putting makeup on her. At the end of all Alyssa’s work Hannah stood in a gorgeous, fitted black dress with straight, shoulder-length hair and a light makeup that only highlighted her natural beauty. It was hard to tell whether or not she approved of the makeover, but the rest of us thought she looked gorgeous, and I think Alyssa was pretty proud of her work.

We then took the Tube to the Piccadilly Institute and went inside to find our table. The place was blaring loud even early. No one was dancing yet so we started with drinks and food. Even though I had two B52 shots, a margarita and a shot of Fireball I think the drinks were spread out over too much time and I never even came anywhere close to feeling a buzz; I think this was true for the others too as none of us were obviously drunk. The club itself was quite an interesting set up; divided into six rooms with each room having a different theme – the “Chamber” (kind of a mad scientist set up), the “Clinic” (the weirdest one because it had giant pictures of eyes behind the bar and dummy people fastened horizontally on the ceiling – I think they were trying to go for a psych ward effect), “Decadia” (which was unfortunately closed for a private function while we were there but which is decorated with various retro items), the “Fruitbox” (which is all plants, flowers, and tropical), “Shrink” (which had leather chairs and was wood paneled), and then there was the main area where we were (don’t think that one had a name). Dancing with the girls was a lot of fun and we had a good time. The only thing that was annoying was the insistence of many of the guys there trying to dance with us or single us out. For that reason, I would say that clubs are definitely not my thing, which is kind of a shame because I had such a good time hanging out with friends. But when guys act like absolute dogs, it honestly ruins a lot of it and I would not feel any deep loss if my first club experience was also my last. Eventually we got tired of fighting of the guys and decided to leave. 

Immediately upon leaving some guy on the street asked us what club we were headed to, as though he wanted to come with, and then another few guys wolf-whistled at us in the Tube station – by then I was definitely done and that’s part of the reason (the other part being homework) I spent all of today being completely antisocial. Something interesting though, just before I went down the stairs to the Tube station last night, someone came up behind me and tossed a scarf around my shoulders. By the time I had turned around, whoever it was had melted into the crowd, and even though I thought I picked out who it was, I could identify absolutely no reason at all for it, nor did the person give any indication of having done it, so I couldn’t be sure. It was a warm scarf too but I had no need for it and it wasn’t mine so I folded it across the handrail of the stairs and left it there, figuring someone would grab it (halfway down the stairs there was a homeless guy, so I figured that if no one claimed it that he would find it as soon as he went up the stairs).

And like I said, today was just spent doing homework and killing time online. Now you're all caught up.

London: day forty-three

Today was one of the days in my British Youth Culture class when the lecture did not take place in the classroom. Instead, we met in Soho and went on a walking tour through the streets of Soho, through Carnaby Street, and then took the Tube to Abbey Road.

At the start of our excursion, we stood on Denmark Street looking down toward the Alley Cat Bar which was a venue for many of what would become some of the most famous bands to emerge out of London. We stood directly underneath the flat that the Sex Pistols’ manager owned, and where they more than likely met and played. Around the corner and across the street we stopped in front of what used to be the Grand Marque (now the Montague Pyke); the venue at which both Led Zeppelin and Pink Floyd as well as many other well-knowns played some of their first performances. This is right next to what was the London School of Fashion.

Down a side street, we passed by Ronnie Scott’s. Across the street from there, was the Bar Italia right next door to where Mozart lived and wrote during his time in London, and above which is the apartment that the demonstration of the first television was revealed. We stopped briefly in front of the flat where Karl Marx lived while in London, where he wrote Das Kapital, and then we cut down a narrow alley and ended up at Trident Records, the place where some of the biggest names in music recorded their albums; the Beatles, Rolling Stones, David Bowie, Black Sabbath, Queen, Elton John, and many others. We went down Wardour Street, known as the home of London film, and ended up on the street corner that Oasis’ most famous album cover was photographed from. We also passed by the public toilet that one day while recording, a bored John Lennon donned a top hat and tails just to have a laugh ushering people in. Just a bit further down, there was a plaque on the wall of one of the apartments commemorating the painter Canalleto who lived there. Canalleto was one of the first artists to set up shop in Soho, he would never know the influence he had, because since him, artists, musicians, filmmakers, fashion designers, actors, any and everyone with creativity in their blood has since flocked to Soho ever since. From here, they have changed the world, over and over and over again.

Not far from here was Carnaby Street. Unfortunately we did not get nearly as much time here as I would have liked (will just have to come back), but we did get to see some of its history. Right at the corner was a plaque commemorating John Stephen who is one of those credited with starting the “Boutique Revolution” – setting up shop intentionally parallel to the street which held all the designer stores for the wealthy. We also popped into a small courtyard where apparently many fashion shows were given, at one of which John Lennon met his future wife.

When we left Carnaby, we passed by the Vogue House, the London branch of one of the biggest names in fashion today, and the place where the real “devil wears Prada” worked. It was a little further from there where we came across my favorite part of the whole excursion; Jimi Hendrix’s apartment. Hendrix made his name in London due to the racial boundaries in the States which continually held him back. He quickly became a star overnight, and when he returned to the States, it was as one of the greatest rock stars ever to have lived. His heart remained in London, however, and ultimately he came back (to a different apartment, not the one we saw) and spent the remainder of his life there. The best thing, which Hendrix also appreciated, was that right next door to this apartment which he lived in when he first moved to London, was the place where George Fredrick Handel lived and wrote many of his greatest works – including the Messiah chorus. Like Hendrix, Handel was forced to leave his country due to being oppressed (for him, on religious grounds), and come make a name for himself in London. He also ultimately returned to his German home-country and was regarded as a celebrity. Before moving on to Abbey Road, we stopped briefly to look at a plaque on another wall marking the place of the original HMV Store, “the world’s most famous music store.”

Then it was the one you’ve all been waiting for: Abbey Road. And yes, we took our picture walking across the famous crosswalk. I do not have that picture yet as they were all taken on one camera from someone in the class. My professor suggested that someone go barefoot like Paul McCartney did in the photography, and looked at me, “I’m looking at you because I know you’re hardcore.” While I considered it, ultimately I decided to keep the shoes due to the cold, rain and possible glass on the road; maybe if it had been warmer. We then stood outside of Abbey Road Studios and wrote our names on the white barrier wall before it (they whitewash it every so often to make room for new signatures). Unknown to many, Abbey Road was famous before the Beatles because it was where the composer Sir Edward Elgar recorded his symphonies, breaking the barrier in the classical world and becoming the first to record classical music to vinyl, consequently making classical accessible to a much wider audience. There is a plaque next to the door with his name, and it is rumored that every morning before entering the studio, Lennon would lean over and kiss it. This really is speculation though as the plaque honestly is quite a little distance from the door and as our professor implied, all the band members were pretty hopped up on drugs during those days, and he doubted someone who was high could manage to reach over the railing that far without ended up face-first in a bush.

So that was our excursion, and it was by far the most interesting day we have had in that class up to date. There’s something about seeing the places where these legends lived and worked that makes them more real in a way, and it is quite an inspiring and, to a degree, a quite inexplicable experience. 

London: day forty-two

Hey guys,

I feel like I need to apologize a bit; I’m aware that my blog posts haven’t been quite reaching the standard that I set at the beginning of the semester. Truth be told, I’ve been having a hard time focusing on them and have been a little bored and impatient with writing them every day, and I know that makes them boring to read too. I have a hard time writing about days (like today) that nothing really happens, but on eventful days I’m usually too tired by the end of them to want to write either. But I need to keep writing, that’s part of why I am doing this in the first place; to train myself to write every day, no matter what, and develop a habit that will help me continue future writing. Unfortunately, not every day is necessarily going to be “good” writing, so I apologize for the past few rather dry posts, and thank you for sticking with me through the good writing and the bad – and the ugly, depending on what you really think.

The past few posts have been very much a we-did-this-then-that-then-that-then-that kind of style, and I really haven’t included many details about myself in the midst of this. Honestly, there’s been a great deal on my mind that has been too complicated to cover in a short blog post. Frankly, it would quickly fill a book. I can give a sort of idea of it though, I suppose.

The biggest thing, I think has been the severe doubt which has come up about my faith. This has been very troubling to me and I really don’t know what to do with it. I have discussed it a little previously, but it has been a very consistent train of thought. Every time I stand in one of the Cathedrals here, marveling at the architecture and colorful windows, I cannot help but wonder, “God, where are you?” And in my mind, I kneel on the cold floor and ask for the return of my faith, please. But I’m tired of kneeling. I’m sick and tired of it. I have pleaded and begged so many times for healing, for help, for hope, for peace, for rest since I first began claiming a faith, and if I am really honest with myself, it hurts to say that I don’t think any of these prayers have been heard. If anything, they have only seemed to have become more remote the older I get. I am tired, physically, mentally and spiritually; and I have been for a long, long time. I hardly know anymore what it feels like to be “okay.” And I have tried so hard to be heard. I have tried so many times to escape this. But I can’t escape myself. They tell me it’s biology that’s holding me back, and that it’s not my fault, I can’t help it. But, if anything, that makes me more angry; because if it’s not my fault, then who’s is it? If God “created” me, then he left out some key ingredients in my biology; did a rather poor job of it. Ironically, if it is my biology, and we continue to claim that God formed me and knows me fully, then it’s also being said that He created me with this unbelief. I want to believe, desperately, but He won’t let me. So it’s easier to say that it is my fault that I cannot think outside of the pessimism, cynicism, depression, doubt, anxiety, insomnia, and anger, rather than implying that “God” has asked me to walk with Him, but forgets that He cut me off at the knees even before the start – because that couldn’t be true, could it? God only has my best interest at heart? He cares and would never do that, right? What the hell does someone do with that?

So I have a hard time believing in a God “being” that is all caring and exists inside of and is concerned about every single aspect of not only my existence, but innumerable others throughout every age of history. It just doesn’t seem possible that “he” cares that much. And when they say that “God is Love” as though that is something undeniably good; in my experience love is painfully fleeting, and never seems to last. Even the very best of love which was supposed to withstand the testament of time and trial because it was “faith-grounded” or was “the life worth fighting for” – both failed in the end. So I still don’t know what unconquerable love is. I am supposed to believe in God when I can’t even believe in love? I can’t place my faith, my trust, hope, heart, soul, and self into something that is going to tear another piece of me away when it ends. Too much of me is already compromised, I can’t afford to keep losing parts of me. Because already, I don’t know what is left. I don’t always recognize the face in the mirror - because it’s not what’s underneath. I put my faith in God. I tried. I poured my heart and soul in. I cared. I gave. I trusted. I studied and read and wrote. And I asked; over and over again. And after it all, I’m still sitting here disillusioned in a cold Cathedral, looking for something I never had.

But this has only been a small portion of where my thoughts have been. Generally, they writhe in and out of these types of musings. Because I also feel as though faith has been my best shot at finding what I’ve lost. Even if I can’t quite believe in God as some mysterious, ethereal being, then I mean faith in community. Because the closest I’ve come is when I am in a “faith community.” The steps forward I have taken have more often than not been because of other people who care, or at least care at the right time (as oftentimes relationships change). So I do believe in God in that sense, I suppose. And in that context, yes, it’s been one of the best and most helpful things I’ve ever encountered.

My thoughts switch back and forth violently and constantly, throw emotion in there and it quickly becomes a hot mess. I am exhausted from thinking. And many of my emotions have seemingly dried up - or are at least not what they were. Everything I stood on has turned upside down and I am trying to regain control but it’s hit or miss. I am on vacation right now. But I dread going back. I dread the next thing that turns me upside down and gives me a good shake. And anything that comes along, I look at with a suspicious and cautious eye. There is so much more that I have securely behind a wall and don’t intend to invite others into. I have much to do yet, and I keep trudging through. But at the moment, I only know that I am here, in London, studying and exploring a new place. I know that. Unfortunately though, it’s impossible to escape the grips of a troubled mind. There is much more, and a far deeper level to much of this – I don’t feel as though I have done it any justice in such a short summary. And there is much that there just are no words for. That is my greatest struggle; being asked to put into words what there are none for – so it just rots inside. Even writing such a short amount, poorly and vaguely, has been enough to give me a headache. Probably doesn’t help that it’s 2:30 in the morning.

So I guess the point has been that, I am sorry for the frank and distracted nature of my recent blog posts; but I cannot help that my mind has been elsewhere…just bear with me. I’ll circle back around.

London: day forty and forty-one

Another short night, then up early this morning. Alyssa and I made our way to IES where we boarded a coach bound for Stratford upon Avon. On the way there, our bus was diverted due to a major wreak on the highway that had caused a traffic jam. Our other bus which had been ahead of us luckily called and told our bus to get off the highway and take the back roads. The weather here has been uncharacteristically brutal; very strong winds and rain that has caused a great deal of flooding. Even though this extended out travel time, it was worth it for getting to drive through some of the English villages and see the countryside better – the bright green hillsides where sheep grazed. I also spent a good amount of time while on the bus to get another round of editing done on my short story. We rolled into the town after nearly a two and a half hour drive.

Upon arrival, we made our way to the Shakespeare center where we waited in line to enter the small museum which would then take us through a side door and let us into the house which Shakespeare was born and raised in.  Alyssa and I took our time going through the house, taking pictures of every corner and stopping to listen to the information guides. In one room we also had the chance to hear two actors perform a few scenes from some of Shakespeare’s work. Little did we know that our group had already finished and was waiting for us, at least not until we got a phone call informing us as such. Fortunately, by then we had finished and hurried outside to join the others. Our professor then took us on a walk, winding through the streets, past the market, and past the church/school which Shakespeare attended his earliest education, to the church in which Shakespeare was baptized and where his tomb now lies called Church of the Holy Trinity. The cathedral itself was small compared to some of the others we have been in (especially Canterbury), but it was still beautiful. I never get tired of seeing these cathedrals, even the smallest ones, and I wish there were places back home that are even half as stunning. We paid fifty pence and then got to pass through the middle of the church, past the choir and approach the altar, in front of which, on the floor, are the tombs of Shakespeare and Anne Hathaway. The epitaph carved into the badly worn stone reads:

GOOD FRIEND FOR JESUS SAKE FOREBEAR,

TO DIGG THE DVST ENCLOSED HERE.

BLESTE BE Y^E MAN Y^T SPARES THESE STONES,

AND CURSED BE HE Y^T MOVES MY BONES.

After we had completed this tour, we were free to wander. Unfortunately, because the buses had arrived late and the road conditions were still unfavorable, we had to cut out the part of the tour which would have taken us to Warwick Castle, and we had a limited amount of time even still to explore Stratford. Alyssa and I spent some time in a pub for lunch and then hurried back over to Shakespeare’s birth house where we completed getting the pictures of the outside we had not had time to get before. Then, with just enough time, we spent a few minutes in the gift shop getting souvenirs; I got my sister something (won’t say what in case she is reading – yeah you, thought you were going to be clever, didn’t ya? :P ) and I got myself a postcard which was done with an old style print press that has the “To be or not to be” speech from Hamlet on it – my favorite of Shakespeare’s works and quite possible my favorite work of literature, period. Right on the dot, we boarded the bus and headed back to London. Alyssa promptly fell asleep and I did yet another two rounds of editing before finding myself staring tiredly out into space. I cannot sleep well on buses or planes at all (well, I can’t sleep well in general, but kind of not the point), but after having gotten so little sleep for three nights in a row, I found myself nodding off for ten to fifteen minutes. After that little micro-nap, I found it easier to keep my eyes open and watched the English countryside go by as we made our way back.

Today, I spent pretty much the whole day in the kitchen at the table working on homework (much cooler in the kitchen than in my room, also I can focus easier there), and playing my guitar. I actually made some great progress today and taught myself the opening passage of “Stairway to Heaven.” My repertoire is starting to expand as I have, since December, learned “Never Too Late” by Three Days Grace and a good majority of “Animal I Have Become,” “Pain,” and “I Hate Everything About You,” Nirvana’s “Smells Like Teen Spirit,” and “Come As You Are,” and now this first part of Zeppelin’s “Stairway to Heaven.” I am loving having some form of music back in my life that does not bring any stress with it. Even though I would like to keep my skills on the viola, I can’t help becoming stressed even when I am trying just to play for the enjoyment of it; my hands sweat and sometimes are a little shaky, I get really hot and quickly become frustrated. I didn’t have stage fright when I first began, and I enjoyed it greatly, but as the years went by, and the more serious the atmosphere surrounding it got, the more it began to wear on my nerves. I wanted to be good, that was the problem. But I didn’t have that natural edge, never quite had the ear that could distinguish the exact pitches. So no matter how much I practiced and converted it into muscle memory, if I was slightly out of tune, I couldn’t tell. I practiced hard and played a lot throughout high school; string quartet, chamber orchestra, Coeur d’Alene youth orchestra, private lessons, played in the worship band, and additional gigs when we could get them. I tried out and auditioned for competitions and honor orchestras; but every time I failed the audition or ended up as the “runner up” it carved a bit more away on my nerves. Each time I became more frustrated, but even though I was good, I was never good enough – perpetually the equivalent of fourth place; up there, but never on the podium. The frustration compounded and with each new audition, I became more nervous so that it became a distracting. One instance, I was auditioning for the Coeur d’Alene Youth Orchestra concerto competition, got up there and the piano played the opening bars, but right as I was supposed to start, my mind went completely blank. I could not even remember the beginning note and my heart pounded as everyone stared at me; waiting. I had to go find my music, come back and start over – it was a disaster. The worse this got, the less I wanted to or saw the point in practicing and when I did, I couldn’t do so without becoming entirely tensed. By the end, my last solo performance at State Solo, I felt as though I had the flu from nerves and spent the whole day lying around, barely able to move before forcing myself to go play. I played it, left, and never looked at my score. By then, I knew that I no longer cared. I was done. In college, I wrote my name down for an audition time, went back to my dorm and spent some time deep in thought, I then went back and erased my name from the sign up, and didn’t go back. But, you see, I LOVE music, and I do want it in my life. I think it is good that viola didn’t work out for me though as it ultimately ended up not being congruent with my personality by the time I had figured that out in high school – but after a long break from music, I feel as though I am slowly getting some of it back, and this time it fits ME, and I enjoy it. I can sit for hours playing my favorite songs over and over again until my wrist is in stabbing pain and my fingers try to lock up. I never want to actually play for anyone or try to make this into a big part of my life, however. This is just for me, and it’s going to stay that way; I won’t risk losing this too.

London: day thirty-nine

So last night, like I said I was going to, I enjoyed a drink, some chocolate and a movie. Well, as it turned out, there was one factor in that combination that I did not think of; caffeine in the Coke that I mixed with whiskey. So I was awake ALL night. Good thing: I worked a great deal on my short story and reached a point with it that I am fairly happy with. Bad thing: I only slept two and a half hours. Even though I finally went to bed at six (forcibly as I still wasn’t tired), I awoke an hour before my alarm went off and tossed around for a bit trying to claim that extra hour, but which I was ultimately unable to do. So a night of two and a half hours of sleep compounded on the five hours of sleep I got the night before. Honestly, sleep has been hard to come by. I am not on my sleeping pills at the moment, and have been using the insomnia as a way to maximize my time while I am here – explore during the day, homework at night. So far, it has worked pretty well – albeit coming down with a cold as a result. But I have been getting only an average of five to six hours of sleep a night, rarely over seven. So far though, it’s been surprisingly alright, I think the lower stress level this semester has helped with that. Still though, I admit that two and a half hours was not NEARLY enough and I was quite tired today because of it.

One of the other good things about being up that late, however, was the chance that I got to have a conversation with a dear friend whom I haven’t seen in years. So that was very good and something I enjoyed very much.

This morning, Alyssa, Abi, Hannah and I all met up and made our way over to Harrod’s, where we spent quite a while looking around at the ridiculously priced name-brand merchandise. When I left this morning, I got ready just as usual, however, by the time we got to Harrod’s I had remembered just how ritzy this place was, and remembered the kind of people that shop there; high class, and loaded. So walking through the door in torn jeans, Nirvana tank-top, coat, studded boots, and hat with the Pink Floyd buttons; basically, I looked like a bum. Harrod’s is quite the marvel, and again, just as the first time, I felt as though I were walking around with a constant expression of disbelief on my face. A belt buckle that cost the equivalent of a year’s worth of college tuition at UPS, real fur and leather coats, bottles of whiskey upward of £13,000 (double that if you want the dollar amount) - I was afraid that if I just so much as touched something, it’s value would decrease by 10%. The funny thing though, was that whilst walking around, I kept getting some pretty interesting looks. There were definitely one or two out-rightly disapproving glares, but even more times getting looked up and down by other customers shopping there. You could tell who was wealthy by how they examined you and how they (generally) lifted their nose afterward in that “better than you” way. Honestly, I wasn’t surprised, it was very obvious I didn’t belong to that crowd, and also because there is a very strong sense of class division here in England. Where many of those social divides occur in America along racial borders, here, it is all about class – whether or not one comes from a family of “old money,” basically, families with a long history of prestige and wealth sit on the top of the food chain, just below royalty. So you can imagine all those looks I was getting.

After a while, we took the Tube over to Tower Bridge which we crossed over to the other side of the river. We had heard a rumor that a chocolate company near there was handing out free chocolate in celebration of Valentine’s Day, and so we thought we would try and snag some before checking out Tower Bridge. Well, when we got over there, the wind along the river was quite cold and the rain was getting more intense, so we opted not to go up to the top of Tower Bridge today, but leave it for a nicer day. However, we still wanted chocolate, so we began hunting around the pavilion where it was supposed to be. Not finding it, we asked some security guys if they knew where it was, and they uncertainly guessed that a nearby gym was passing it out, so we went in, and sure enough they were handing out purple boxes with a red heart balloon tied to them. We took our prize outside and opened up the box; face moisturizer. It had been the wrong place, there was no chocolate at all. We wandered around a bit more and took some pictures. I had to laugh because while everyone else’s balloons were perfectly heart shaped as they should be, mine was a deformed blob somewhere between a heart balloon and what a normal balloon should look like. When I let it go, it kind of bounced along on the ground instead of floating up as it should, eventually it did but we joked, “yeah, I’m sure that’s not a metaphor at all.”

Because we had not gotten through nearly as much of Harrod’s as we had wanted, we made the decision to return there and spent the next few hours continuing to wander amidst the marvels. At one point there was a grubby short ladder propped against a wall (probably someone fixing some lighting), and I told Hannah, “Ha! Now that’s probably the one thing in this store I could actually afford.” We also decided to get lunch in the grocery section, however, the one thing Harrod’s doesn’t have is a casual sitting area where people can sit down and eat lunch, so we wandered around and eventually came across a stairwell. The stairwell was pretty vacant – not many people choose the stairs when they have the option of escalators and elevators – so we sat down and enjoyed our meal there.

When our feet were too sore, a couple hours later, we left and took the bus to a part of town where Abi said there was a great place to get Bubble Tea and some good Philippian snacks. We spent a while there, eating dinner, resting our feet and just talking before eventually heading back to NIDO. Even though it was Valentine’s Day and none of us had dates (or whose boyfriend was long distance), it was a really enjoyable day anyway. I felt certain today that I had found a great group of people to hang out with because we had a good time and no one was hung up on either the sardonic side or the extremely mushy side of Valentine’s Day. We had a lot of laughs today and made the very best of it, in the end, pulling off a successful and enjoyable Valentine’s Day. 

London: day thirty-eight

Hey there!

Per the norm, class went well. Today, I had my Modern British Novel class, which I particularly enjoyed today because the literature we discussed was, up to date, my favorite of what we’ve read so far; a book called Regeneration by Pat Barker. The novel is a series of three, yet we only read the first. It had a similar feel as One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, which so happens to be one of my favorite novels. Most of the class didn’t enjoy it, and understandably, it was one of the most difficult novels we’ve read so far; of course, naturally, makes it my favorite. For me, it was the imagery that attracted me, there are moments within the book that are just absolutely heart-wrenching, and I always appreciate an author who can elicit strong emotions like that; especially from me as I am generally a fairly unemotional reader.

I then spent most of the day at NIDO working on a short story of my own. I found a short story competition through the Artists and Writers’ Magazine that I thought would be fun to enter. It is a British magazine, but it is open to all nationalities. The topic is listed simply as “the visit,” and it is due by midnight this Saturday. When I read that prompt, an idea was sparked, so I thought I’d give it a shot. The only thing is that I have a very short time to write a 2,000 word story – so a good amount of time was spent on that.

About the time that the sun was going down, I was in need of a break from my writing. Seeing how nice the evening was, I decided to go for a short walk which took me all the way around King’s Cross Railroad Station. The full moon was absolutely beautiful in the clear, evening sky (the clearest it has been in quite a while) and the wind wasn’t nearly as strong and biting as it has been the past few days. On the way back, I stopped into a convenience store for some sugar for my tea, whiskey and chocolate.

When I got back to NIDO I decided that I would celebrate my own solo version of Valentine’s Day a little early, as most of tomorrow will likely be spent with friends and I am doubtful that I will get much time for myself. This perfect solo Valentine included all my favorite things: no homework, time spent writing while listening to classic rock, playing my guitar, drinking Jack and Coke and eating chocolate while watching my favorite movie; Donnie Darko. Now, contrary to what some are probably thinking, no this is not a bitter middle finger to the institution of Valentine’s Day itself. I think it is perfectly fine, and am rather impartial to it; I don’t hate it, but I don’t love it either. But this is a fairly constant perspective and one that hasn’t changed with my relationship status. No, honestly, I am kind of using it as an excuse to have a little “me-time” with a night of all my favorite things.

I don’t regret my relationship, but neither do I disdain being single. If anything, I am rather enjoying being single again, and I feel that it is a good place for me to be at the moment. This doesn’t mean that I’ve been void of emotion regarding my recent breakup; believe me, the usual feelings are there. But over the past year, I feel as though I have steadily come to some realizations about myself and my own personal beliefs. I feel as though I have, in a way, come to the realization that I don’t fully believe in what we call “love.” With aver 50% of the country being affected by divorce, and the recent example a little closer to home, I just don’t feel like it is something that complete faith can be placed in to last. Now don’t get me wrong, I do think it happens and to quite a few people. But my inner cynic can’t help but wonder how “happy” the majority of those other relationships really are. The sliver that is left, that’s the prize, the exception to the rule that everyone dreams of. But as with fame or wealth, I feel as though it belongs to a select, and lucky minority. Being the pessimist that I am, I just can’t bank on finding that kind of lasting love in a union that encompasses a lifetime – the odds just aren’t good enough for me. But the realization I have recently had is that I can be fine with that. I don’t need to be married in order to feel validated, and I have other things that my attention, heart and soul can be absorbed by. Besides, I am rather doubtful that I am cut out for that kind of devotion and responsibility for another person; I am not even sure I want kids for the same reason. I don’t think I would have what it takes to be a wife or mother; and the paranoia that would ensue of affecting a husband, or more especially a child, with the aspects of my personality that are less than desirable would be enough to drive me mad with worry. They would be better for it without some of my influences. I’ve never had an aversion to being alone. Single, I can remain fluid; travel, move for work easily, spend more time with family, live in smaller, more affordable places, and so on.  I don’t shut out the idea that maybe I’ll be one of the lucky ones that gets struck by that lightning; but I don’t bank everything I have on it. Sometimes, I am not sure that I even want it at all. Nor would I have to endure the heart-shattering experience of having it fall through; that’s something I never want to be remotely near again, and not something I would ever dream of putting my child through. So perhaps this is the better option, maybe this is what I am suited for, maybe I am meant for other things; and I know there are others out there who feel the same. To each his own.

NOW: on a different note, if your interest was at all sparked by my mention of writing a short story, please consult the next blog post...

London: day thirty-seven

*None of these photos are mine: photos weren't allowed in the theater

The beginning of the day was really not worth mentioning as it was a pretty general morning filled with homework and then class. I went back to NIDO afterward and then hung out until 6:40 when I met up with Alyssa and Hannah and we went to the theater. We had been fortunate enough to land half-priced tickets to the production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream playing at the Barbican. For only 17 pounds, we got pretty much the best seats in the house; right in the middle on the lowest level. Because of the slant though, we were place at the perfect height to the stage. The Barbican is an absolutely beautiful theater, round lights on each side, comfortable, sofa-like seats, high-tech gates which slide shut at the end of each row when the show begins, and a hard “curtain” which actually looked more like a shell that would raise up from the floor and descend down from the ceiling to seal off the stage during intermission.

This particular production was recommended to us by Alyssa and my Shakespeare professor, who told us during class that even though she has probably seen A Midsummer Night’s Dream performed upward of 35 times, this particular production probably ranked about second on her list; indicating the promise of a very good performance. So we booked the tickets. This particular production was interesting though as it was characterized by a rather eclectic and almost Steampunk setting and costume style. There was also a beautiful use of abstractions that contributed to the success of the performance; holding up rough-cut boards, and moving them around in dancing motions to indicate the character of the forest or the ethereal movement of Titania’s wings. Tapping on the boards, combined with chimes and singing also added a fitting musical quality to the performance. Because this is the same production company that is currently also putting on War Horse, there were complex, artful puppets used throughout the show. These puppets definitely incorporated a mechanical, Steampunk style in their creation, and while a bit abstract, were used masterfully in their representation of the faeries. 

Oberon was represented by a great head which was raised aloft at arm’s length and a single, giant, mechanized hand which was used to gesture. Titania was also represented by a head held high aloft, but, instead of a hand like Oberon, the gestures of her movement were expressed by the moving boards which other actors danced around with and moved together in synchronized patterns. Puck was composed of several separate parts, held by three actors together; a head that looked something like a watering can, a body which was a handled straw basket, a piece of scrap metal for one arm, what looked to be a giant fork for the other, a hand broom for one leg, and a wooden mallet for the other; but seriously, who knew you could get so much expression by moving around a collection of odd, everyday objects. At one point, they made him look like a dog, at another time he resembled a snail. The three actors would also alternate his lines, and sometimes speak together for emphasis, giving Puck an ethereal and fluid quality. Most hilariously though was Bottom. Now in the original, Bottom is simply cursed with having an ass’s head. However, this production went the whole nine-yards; not only did they make Bottom into and entire donkey, being completely transformed, no, they also made him an ass. The actor came out lying face down on a wheeled contraption which he pedaled with his arms and held his legs, bent at the knees in the air. Sort of flippers had then been attached to his feet which resembled ears and leggings on his calves with glass circles on them represented the donkey’s eyes. On his head, there had been fastened a tail which he flicked about by moving his head back and forth. Oh yeah, and the most attention commanding detail; no pants. So his ass actually functioned as the majority of the donkey’s body; an ass transformed into an ass made of an ass. 

One of the most well done aspects of the play, I thought, were the transitions between scenes. There was never a pause to change scenes, rather, the actors in the following scene were almost always incorporated in the previous scene. For example, a scene depicting the lover’s in the forest utilized the trick with the boards being held up and moved around, one moment the lovers were in the forest as the trees moved in closer in a threatening oppressive manner. The lovers jumped up and ran off stage followed by many of the board holders which created a moments of visual confusion by moving the boards around in an erratic fashion, suddenly, three or four of the board holders tucked the board under their arm as though carrying a board for building, and then launched into the next scene (as the ones holding the boards had been the actors playing Quince, Bottom and the rest of the crew rehearsing a play for Hippolyta and Theseus’s wedding). It was those kind of seamless transitions which made the whole thing flow beautifully, keeping the audience enraptured for its entirety.

After the play, we took the Tube back to King’s Cross where we then decided to seek out a restaurant or something for a good dessert. We first stopped at a place just across the street, and while I was getting money out of the ATM, Hannah went inside to see if they were open. The restaurant wasn’t so she asked if the cocktail bar would perchance have desserts. Apparently, the guy at the bar then asked her what she considered “dessert” to which she replied, “oh I don’t know, something like that –“ pointing to a plate of sugar coated doughnuts in the window. According to Hannah, the bartenders found her “cheeky” and so decided to just give her three of the doughnuts for free because they were closing up anyway. Even though we had scored sugar already, we decided to also stop by McDonald’s for a McFlurry and some fries, because, we figured, “why the hell not? It’s girl’s night.”

Walking back to NIDO, there was one thing that kind of put a sort of solemn end note on the night; we had stopped at an intersection because the pedestrian light had just turned red. However, a woman was walking very, very slowly across the crosswalk and did not make it to the other side before the traffic light turned green. Thankfully the car she was in front of was aware of her, and waited patiently, the next care whizzed by but the one after that also waited for her. No one honked even though she still crossed slowly and paused for a moment to look at the traffic before putting her left hand to her ear and cupping it over her ear with a clawed hand. Traffic continued after she gained the sidewalk. When the light turned green for us, we crossed and it was not long before we were coming up behind the woman who was walking very slowly still. Just as we were about to pass, she stopped in the sidewalk, spread her legs out, kind of straddling, and just started peeing on the sidewalk. She had a dress on, so of course it immediately created a puddle that one had to step around. We passed her without saying a word, and I could not see her face because her hood was up. But I believe that she was probably suffering from a mental illness of some sort. It was a bit of a sobering moment because I don’t believe that there is nearly enough aid and attention given to people suffering these kind of ailments, and more often than not, they are the ones who end up homeless, living on the streets in squalor because no one wants to take care of them, they can’t take care of themselves, and they have nowhere to go. I also think that there is a tremendous amount of damage done by various stigmas that many put on people suffering from mental illness (i.e. that those with Depression should just “buck it up” and be happy instead and quit seeking attention and trying to do as little work as possible, etc.). I have noticed it in the States but have not been made aware of any intention to change it. Here, at least, I saw at least one sign on the Tube which stated how “Mental Illness can happen to anyone” and asked to “Stop the discrimination of those suffering Mental Illness.”

Despite that sobering end note, the night was a fantastic success and we had a wonderful time. If I get the chance, I am hoping to go see Les Miserables while I’m here, that way I will have covered some of the quintessential “London Theater.”

London: day thirty-six

Sometimes on days when all there is to do is class and homework, compared to the days of adventure, on occasion they come across as strikingly boring. But it’s impossible for every day to be a grand, take-two-hundred-pictures kind of day. So on the in between days, you kind of get left with this feeling of “I’m not doing anything. Crap. I need to be doing something.” And even though it is homework that you need to be doing, somehow that just doesn’t feel productive at all; no matter how much of it you get done. So you can imagine the type of restlessness that ensues when you only have two hours back at the dorm in between classes; just enough time to eat lunch, and, then what? Well, today, apparently this kind of disintegrated into dancing ridiculously and singing along to “Livin’ on a Prayer” whilst alone in the dorm room – don’t ask me why. I don’t even know if I like Bon Jovi or not; some days, a song comes on and there’s nothing better, other days, I can’t shut it off fast enough. Apparently today was a Bon Jovi day…

On my way to City, something interesting happened as I was crossing the street. Here in London, people very seldomly wait for the pedestrian light to turn green before crossing, instead, they kind of just cross whenever the traffic is clear, or in between the traffic. It kind of works just because there are so many people and so much traffic, so it does save time; but it’s also quite dangerous and I’ve already seen a few people get hit. Well, the road near City University isn’t super busy, so I did this and crossed quickly before the light turned green, and apparently a guy coming the opposite way had the same idea. Just as I was almost to the center median, he was passing by me and was, well, definitely staring at me. Girls get this a lot, we’re kind of used to it by now, and he wasn’t attractive so I scarcely returned the attention. However, he was apparently too preoccupied with looking at me that he failed to look to the left before waltzing out into the next lane of traffic and he almost got clocked by a turning van. The driver laid on the horn hard and slammed on the brakes just in time. A little spat then ensued with the young man yelling at the driver and the driver returning in kind. They lingered there for quite a while, having quite the heated conversation which ended just as I was entering the building. Admittedly, it just ended up being funny to me and I couldn’t help laughing about it.

Anyway, class was good, both of them. While walking back from City University, some lady asked me for directions and I was actually able to help her out; so that was nice to know that I’m finally learning my own way around.

Also, on a completely random note, look at these flavors of yogurt! They're all really different, but so far have been good:

Banana & Custard, Orange w/ sprinkles of dark chocolate, Rhubarb, Turkish Delight also with sprinkles of chocolate, and Smooth Toffee 

London: day thirty-four and thirty-five

Firstly, I apologize for the brevity, tardiness and sporadic publishing of my blog posts this weekend; my concentration has been off because of being sick (almost better now though) and also just a lot happened so I’ve been really quite exhausted.

Yesterday, Hannah, Alyssa, Marissa and I went to Brighton. Much like our trip to Canterbury, we caught an early bus out of Victoria station and then spent the next two hours cruising southward through the English countryside. Fortunately I was the only one able to stay awake for the entirety of the trip there, and I’m glad I was. On our way out of London we passed by the Battersea Power Station and I managed to snap a few pictures before losing sight of it behind the buildings. For those who don’t know, Battersea is the building with the giant pig balloon floating between the front two smoke stacks on the front of the Pink Floyd album “Animals.”  The countryside was absolutely gorgeous on the way to Brighton; green as ever with the characteristically English rolling hillsides dotted with farms and traced by hedgerows. I even saw a fox – unfortunately, it was one that had been killed by a car – but even still, it was a reminder of sorts that even the wildlife are different here; foxes being much more common here than in the Pacific Northwest. As we drew closer to the coast, we began to see seagulls flying overhead, indicating that our destination was near.

The bus rounded a corner through a narrow gap in the hillsides, and on the other side, Brighton suddenly sprawled into view. We wound through the city before darting down a surprisingly narrow alleyway, the kind that makes you jump for the briefest second when, at first, you don’t think the bus is going to fit, before parking.  As we stepped off the coach, we were subjected to instant disarray as the wind greeted us with a gigantic blast. Immediately, my hat was nearly blown from my head and my coat tried to turn me into a kite. This wind never let up the entire day.

The four of us didn’t need to do anything but cross the street to find ourselves on the boardwalk. After some photos, we descended the stairs and made our way across the rocky beach toward the water. The waves were massive and crashed against the sea wall and the pylons of the pier, and stroked the beach with long sweeping breaths. It was at this time I took the opportunity to put my feet into the water so that I could say that I had been in the Atlantic Ocean for the first time. This was my first time ever being at the Atlantic Ocean (I had only seen it from a plane before), so I braved the cold, and had my friends snap pictures as I checked another item off my bucket list. They thought I was nuts. And probably rightly so as it WAS quite cold. But at least I have now been to the Atlantic Ocean.

After I had shoved my numb toes back into my boots, we continued along the beach for a bit, walking away from the pier. Anytime I am near the ocean I find myself in a state of wonder at the beauty of it all, and am especially fascinated by what one can find on the beach itself. Even after living in Tacoma for nearly three years, I STILL come back from the beach with a handful of shells and stones every time I go. So you can imagine how many shells I was lugging around by the end of our day in Brighton; especially since the shells that wash up on the beaches here are entirely different than any I have ever seen on the beaches of the Pacific. We eventually reached a sort of sea wall that jutted out parallel (yet not as far) to the pier. The four of us walked out onto this as far as we could and spent some time admiring the beachfront and the crashing waves. When we tired of this, we followed the boardwalk back the way we came and brought ourselves to the pier. After a brief stop at a churro stand which looked too good to pass up (and it definitely was), we went out onto the pier. 

From here, we got a beautiful view of the beachfront part of Brighton which sprawled in either direction along the water. To the left (when facing the end of the pier) along the shore, way far in the distance, just barely on the verge of being obscured by the fog, one could see where the ground rises up and the green grass outlines great white cliff-sides. I am certain that these cliffs mark the precursors to the Straights of Dover, which is indeed not far to the East of Brighton. I imagine, that from the cliffs I could see, they only get bigger and grander until they crescendo up into what we know as the White Cliffs of Dover. My friends and I are planning a trip to Dover, but until then, I chose to take a white rock from the beach which seemed to be made up of the same sort of stone as the cliffs, to remember them by. On the pier there are a variety of carnivalesque activities including an amusement park at the end of the pier, but also a large building which houses about a hundred different carnival and arcade games as well as gambling machines. Alyssa even decided to get her cards read by a Tarot reader. While she claimed that he was accurate, I couldn’t help finding him the slightest bit peevish and even though I was curious, I didn’t find his generalized answers worth paying ten pounds for; I’m too much of a skeptic anyway. We walked all the way out to the end of the pier, taking pictures as we went and stopping occasionally to watch the waves or stare out into the horizon.

After we had walked the entirety of the pier, we then crossed the street again and, leaving the beach behind us, walked further into the town part of Brighton. It did not take us long to walk by the Royal Pavilion – a palace that looks like it belongs in India and not England. In fact, I believe, it was a gift from the Indian royalty, but I did not read about it extensively, so I couldn’t give much history about it. I do know, though, that the architecture was stunning and made for some really beautiful pictures. There was also a museum in the same area which was constructed in a similar fashion. We cut through the gardens behind the palace and then continued to follow the main street until we reached Trafalgar Street, where we took a left turn. We went up this street particularly because supposedly there was a piece of Banksy art there – however, we failed to find it or it had since been removed. We did see plenty of other fantastic graffiti art, though, and got to check out some very interesting shops and markets along the way. I even found a shirt that I couldn’t pass up; grey and white, thick American Eagle flannel that was only five pounds.

By this time, we figured it was time for a late lunch, so we headed back toward the water and found a fish ‘n’ chips place that looked promising. Being on the sea, Brighton is quite renowned for its fish ‘n’ chips – if you’re going to get fish ‘n’ chips anywhere in England, better make it Brighton. Fortunately, Brighton’s world fame came through and we enjoyed a warm meal, leaving nothing on our plates at all.

After lunch, we returned to the pier, wanting to stop for some souvenirs; I ended up getting a vinyl sticker of the Union Jack which, when I got back to NIDO I put on my guitar just below the bridge – thought it would make a good memento of my time here. We then returned to the beach, this time on the opposite side of the pier. Even though the Ferris-wheel turned out to be too expensive to be worth riding, we did spend a good amount of time beach-combing, taking pictures, and marveling at the water and sky. As I looked out at the horizon, I couldn’t help but think about how strange it is to be halfway around the world from everything I’ve ever known. I don’t miss being home as I am enjoying my time here too much, but I was filled with a sense of awe at how big and yet how small the world is at the same time, and I guess I can understand how some people find that frightening. While this experience has exceeded every one of my expectations, and has been nothing but perfect, it is also a lonely experience. Often you can’t explain what these experiences and this new knowledge are doing to you. There are things shifting around at a fundamental level, I can feel it; but I won’t know the full extent of the changes until I have returned home. And even then, it may remain impossible to explain.

 

Today was a just a day of class, errands and an evening devoted to catching up on writing and homework; nothing special really.