There are times in life where the path ahead is quite clear but times where it is covered and you have to see through the mist.

Dear Blog

Dear Blog,

I am sorry I have neglected you. I promise I'll let you out when I get my life back.

Inner Child

She literally bounces as we enter the room. It reminds me of Tigger and that damn catchy song. She's giggling away, showing her toothy grin running in and out of the furniture only to pop her head around a table leg or a door to shout 'boo!' I ask her what she's laughing at- she looks at me, doesn't reply and just continues giggling away as if in her own world.

It takes a short while before she's snatching all the photos around the room to show me again, impressively remembering all their names but not recognising me, without my glasses, in one of the photos. This, she insists cannot be me. I play the same game with her in one of HER photos. She giggles some more and brings out proof of the huge pink glasses she is wearing in the picture. Soon, she's taking out all her toys to show me, one by one, giggling away as I start to play along with her.

Being around kids is refreshing, not least because there's no need to form an intellectual conversation or even coherent sentences, but because they, this girl is so full of energy. I find it rubbing off on me until I'm blushing pink, part from giggling along with her and the other from holding up her baby brother who, mesmerized by the TV and the current season of Dancing on Ice, is actually dancing with his feet bouncing on my lap. I suddenly have a new found appreciation for mothers.

I wonder how I came to this point, as an adult. Kids know exactly what they want, if they haven't got it then they'll scream the house down. At some point then, I knew exactly what I wanted, my mum never misses an opportunity to tell me what a nightmare baby I was, crying persistently. Now my wants are riddled with apprehension, self-doubt and inhibition. So much sometimes that it becomes disguised underneath it all. Was it experience and knowledge of the world and how it works that has set my heart back a notch? Maybe I'm having some kind of mid-mid-life crisis but I think its too early to be becoming all bitter and twisted.

Sometimes I wish I could have just a slice of that kid-like charm. To see the world through fresh eyes, without that skepticism or tainted view that sometimes holds us back. And that energy- its incredible, I can feel my blood pumping through my veins, something that working in an office compiling audit papers doesn't give.

But I'm here, barely beginning my adult life wondering what I can do to get that spark back.

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Wabi-sabi

From wikipedia:

Comprehensive Japanese world view or aesthetic centered on the acceptance of transienorce. The aesthetic is sometimes described as one of beauty that is "imperfect, impermanent and incomplete"

The art of imperfection.

Sometimes its not about the grand gestures, the airbrushed photos or effort to make everything 'perfect'. In our mass-produced, globalised, constantly changing and fast-moving culture where iphones are disposed of yearly for a newer, better models which have none of the shortcomings of its predecessors, we crave something else. At least I do.

I know that if I kept up with this race of technology, I'll never be satisfied. There will always be something faster, more powerful and more efficient. If it weren't for this our economy could not be growing the rate it is (on a global scale- not exactly UK at the minute), businesses couldn't be more efficient or be able to serve our growing population and consumer needs. Those days of economics 101 come into play where we're taught to shift the production possibility frontier outwards and try and solve the basic economic problem; limited resources, unlimited wants.

But in our own lives, we have to reach that level of satisfaction. Level with ourselves to appreciate what we have, of course this doesn't mean giving up our dreams to become an astronaut, international rugby player or sucessfully carry out our plan of world domination. Just to be content with being. I don't know if this contrasts what I've said before; can we strive for more-be better people and have that incentive to invent and develop better products whilst being at ease with who we are, whilst appreciating our imperfections and what we have?

Perhaps its just all about finding that balance.

Its nature for me. Pure uncensored, uncontrollable, authentic beauty of nature. It may have its flaws- leaves fall off and decay as Autumn turns to Winter. Weathering can leave cracks in the rocks and trees are subject to the mark of time. But there's an aching magnificence about it. Its the muted beauty of the sun peeking out through the trees, a lake so still any ripples will be magnified and fresh morning dew settling on newly sprung daffodils. It somehow instills a quietness of mind, an inspiration of stillness and of contentment. The need to just be rather than do.

And so I had that priveledge this morning. An early rise leading to a morning walk outside on the grounds. This place is the heart of Birmingham, just a few minutes away from the chocolate factory and literally right next to the main Bristol Road. Yet, it manages to be a closed retreat- a getaway from the hustle and bustle of the mad London rush and the piercing Brummie accent. There was no-one around, save for a few geese who had not yet been chased away. Just the morning sun, fresh air and the breakthrough signs of springtime.


Edit: Why this post came out in strange font I have no idea. I struggled for 5 minutes trying to get it to change back to normal but the realised it was against the whole nature of the post.

The path of destruction

It starts life as just a seed. All it takes is that one passing comment, one flicker of uncertainty to plant it in the dark recesses of the mind.

From time to time, you forget about it. Forget it exists. Then its as if its a spark waiting to happen, like a fire needing the three crucial elements to burn. Without one, it would flicker out. With all three, it has the power to destroy.

And once it starts up, its difficult to put out. It continues along its war path, no particular direction or form, just continues to gather speed and pick up anything-good or bad- that should fall in its way. So then you forget what caused it in the first place, what ignited that one spark that turned it into a fully fledged monster.

Instead you can only look back at the path of destruction it has made. Look to the path ahead and find a way to control it. To put it out and salvage what there is left.

Who listens to our soul in its search to be heard?

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If life were a musical...

I've just come out from STOMP, the rhythm and beats still ringing fresh in my ears.

I board the night tube at Liverpool street. I tap my fingers against the plastic bag I'm holding in my lap, as we've learnt tonight everything (except banana peel) has a sound that can be exploited.

A man gets on with heavy workers boots covered in drippings of paint. He's carrying a paint can. His boots would make the perfect stomping material to accompany the rhythm in my head. His paint can could just as easily be turned into a musical instrument to tap along to.

Right on cue, two men board the tube at the next stop each carrying fosters cans. The lighter rat-a-tat-tat of the aluminium cans would go in perfect harmony to my heavy workers boot stomp, plastic bag rustle and paint can tap.

In reality of course, I sit there tapping my fingers on my bag, an imaginary rhythm playing in my head whilst the strangers in question are completely oblivious to their cue to join in.

How awesome life would be if it were a musical.

People sketching

New blog!

http://peoplesketching.tumblr.com/

Nope, everyone is too busy ranting about how the trains are all cancelled and delayed once again.

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Back to early mornings

There's a gorgeous sunrise today. Beautifully vivid colours which somehow blend themselves together subtlely. I wonder if anyone has noticed it but me.

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How Economics saved Christmas

http://blogs.forbes.com/artcarden/2010/12/09/how-economics-saved-christmas/

The salesman

Right beside me sits a largish bloke, perhaps no older than 35. He has the gift of the gab. He chats animatedly to his mate beside him, a conversation that the whole carriage can be expected to hear. I sit beside him, carelessly flicking through my Evening Standard, pretending not to eavesdrop. He talks of his newfound love for Jeremy Kyle after watching yesterday's hot topic of the day, 'I know you cheated on me because I got an STD', nothing less is expected on a train to Southend Victoria, in the land of Essex. You cannot help but hear every word they are saying. The man is a comedian at heart, a salesman by occupation. Its no wonder he has learnt to charm the crowds. 5 minutes later and this man is still endorsing Jeremy Kyle as the cure to every man's bad day. He speaks of one having had a shitty day at work coming home to a round of slagging matches on TV after the subject's boyfriend/friend/brother cheated/lied/had a baby with other guys/best mate/mother/mistress (delete as necessary), stories almost prevalent in every episode of Jeremy Kyle. Stories that somehow puts life in perspective after you realise that yours isn't so bad after all.

A man opposite him, dressed in a sharp business suit suppresses a smile behind his Evening Standard. He catches my eye and we both smile. The salesman is still ranting away about Jeremy Kyle. The smile turns to a chuckle and soon enough this salesman has drawn us in. A lady opposite is intently reading a book titled 'Life after death', supposedly a book written by a friend of hers. Its not long before the salesman spots her and after confessing she's been reading the same line over and over, she too is drawn in. Soon, passengers seats across get wind of today's hot topic conversation and soon enough the whole carriage seems to be in on this conversation. The mood lifts and what was once a bunch of strangers dressed up in their work attire~ uptight suits and tight ties has turned into a place of lively banter. Weary, robotic travellers are suddenly brought to life. All due to the power of the salesman.

Power of the net

uk.news.yahoo.com/5/20101208/tuk-wiki-war-hacktivists-take-down-visa-45dbed5.html

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The first snowfall

It's snowing! I can't help but feel all excited and I'm sure I have a silly childish grin on my face at the first snowfall of the season. I waited half an hour in the cold, my feet are numb and the bus ended up getting stuck in the snow for a while. I would normally be in London by now but have only just boarded the train. I'm rather impressed that the trains still run pretty much on time though. I'm travelling right through the snowy untouched white fields where the snow has left its mark with a frosting just enough to coat the bare branches of the trees. It's so beautiful. But all I can hear around me are workers calling their bosses telling them they'll be late or people rather absorbed in their usual morning busying.

It's snowing! And I feel like I'm the only one who is excited.

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Back to the bubble

I went up to visit Warwick this weekend. In the midst of the lead up to exams (2 weeks now!), it was a much needed break from the city. I needed to go back to Warwick as the place where I learnt to find my own way, fend for myself and where I had made a home for myself for three years. I wanted to see how it had changed, how I'd changed since entering the working world.

And so there was no place better than my favourite haunt by Jack Martin lake. I'm pretty sure its not called Jack Martin lake but that's what it will always be known as to me. Its a place I used to visit often just to let my thoughts simmer, take in the fresh air or even attempt to study (though somehow everything around was always far too distracting). Its not the greatest of natural wonders; a murky lake, the contents of which are somewhat debatable, a few bare trees in the winter and only a badelynge of ducks sauntering around hoping to poach food from the few visitors that pass. But netherless being around nature allows me to breathe and inspires the belief of something greater.

On that cold winter weekend- early Sunday morning, there was hardly a soul wandering the land which gave me the perfect opportunity to claim the lake as my own and snap away with my new camera. It was more of a trial and error effort in an attempt to stay away from the cheat's auto mode and learn for myself. As such, I adjusted far from enough settings and so a lot of the photos from my shooting frenzy were out of focus and somewhat blurry. The playback screen had deceived me into thinking they were not so blurry! But as this is my first attempt at shooting from my new toy, it can only get better. I have to admit I enjoyed a good hour in the cold, snapping away in all manner of positions until my fingers were so frozen they might have dropped off. Anyways, just a few of my newbie shots from the weekend:

"People sketching"

I glance around the crowded carriage in an attempt to pick my first victim. There's the lady with the large Louis Vuitton bag in front of me, make up and nails immaculate plugged into her iPhone whilst simultaneously tapping away at it. There's the lady right next to her- tight pencil skirt reading the metro with her hands dressed in pink leather gloves. For now, I can only define them by their objects, the key pieces they carry or wear that sets them apart from this suited up crowd.

My eyes fall upon man just across from me. His business attire would not warrant a second glance, indeed he blends in with everyone else. Black tailored suit, white shirt, pink tie and polished leather shoes. He reads the Times, again standard for this working class, flicking between the pages and pausing every so often to read an article of interest. He hasn't any defining features, one could quickly pass him by unknowingly in a crowd but something brings him to my attention nevertheless. He has the air of being good looking in his younger days but the signs of the years passing are evident in the faint lines on his forehead. He's so absorbed in his paper, in his own world that he doesn't even glance up to have a nose around every so often. He doesn't even notice the train pull into the final station and when he does look up his forehead wrinkles up and the lines deepen. As the mass of people rush off the train, he takes the time to dress himself, to slowly put on his coat and reach for his bag on the overhead shelf. He is the last in the carriage, still on the train as I finally get off, as if this morning ritual, this five minute ritual helps to prepare him for the day ahead.

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Brewing beneath the surface

These nights I have trouble falling asleep. It's the worse feeling being tucked in underneath the covers, all ready for a good nights sleep then finding yourself still awake after an hour. Then as you get more desperate, checking the clock to watch the minutes change into hours and the darkness turning to light before its time to get up again.

I never usually have trouble sleeping, I can sleep through almost anything...even the sound of cy snoring isn't enough to stir me when I'm in my deep sleep. It's only when I'm troubled that thoughts start to brew in the recesses of my mind. But until they bubble up to the surface, I'm not sure what has provoked them.

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The London commute

As I sit here tapping away on my phone (I say tapping but my fingers still haven't quite grasped the concept of a touchscreen phone yet), I am outnumbered by iPhone users. Seriously with so many other phones on the market, why does everyone seem to have iphone? I feel somewhat special with my HTC and smile proudly whenever a fellow HTCer should whip out their phone.

Commuting takes up a huge chunk of my day. My friend and I once sat on the bus on the way to school calculating how much of our lives we had given to travelling the bus day in, day out. But I'm not alone, the trains into London are always crowded with people who live outside the city despite the inconvenience. Perhaps it gives them space to breathe away from the towering office blocks and transports them back to their own lives, outside of work- to their kids, partners, pets, friends and loved ones.

I too have disappeared into the commute; I grab the Metro on the way to work and hastily pick up the evening standard on the mad dash home. I've mastered the art of balancing it when I'm crammed onto a crowded tube but haven't quite got to doing the crosswords at the back yet. I tut as people cross my path or stop abruptly when I'm dashing and weaving in and out to catch the next train when I know I've probably done the same thing to others. I get annoyed when people don't stop to let others off the train despite the reminder we get from posters and the lady with the megaphone to mind our manners. I feel secretly pleased when I manage to score a seat on a crowded tube during rush hour and cringe at the mention of a tube strike though it somehow works out fine in the end. I now know that the beeping sound before the tube doors close is not to warn us to step away but rather to make a James Bond like dive for the doors for the sake of saving a whole 2 minutes of waiting. I watch others as they tap away on their blackberries, are plugged into their music, doze off to sleep, read their books, newspapers or catch up on their knitting. Perhaps I should start knitting, think I could probably finish a scarf by the end of this year. Though it seems like an odd thing to do on a train, I guess it makes good use of all the time spent travelling. Maybe I could start selling my creations too.

It's hard to imagine sometimes these people are all individuals with their own lives, thoughts and emotions. It's all too easy to lump them into the mass of commuters floating in and out of London day by day, staring lifelessly out into the distance, marching from place to place as they get to their workplaces.

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A childhood memory

It is early November, around the time of bonfire night when the anticipation builds u as you hear the odd cackle from the neighbour's garden and rush to the window in excitement. I'm dressed head to toe in winter woolies wrapped up tightly by my mum. We are all stood outside in a small field behind the infant block of my primary school; me, my mum, dad and little brother who sits snuggly in my mum's arms. We only had one field for school events which used to transform itself during our school's sports days and summer fetes. There was always a good turn out, people left their busy lives to revel in the simple pleasure of fireworks and as such there was always a strong sense of community and school spirit, or so it felt like back then. We waited eagerly with our jacket potatoes and hot dogs warming up our insides awaiting those magical bursts in the sky. It was all about the jacket potatoes back then, especially as the fireworks always seemed to start late.

15 years on, I'm standing in another field at Blackheath. The winter chill is ever present and I'm bundled up in my scarf and gloves. The field is larger by a long shot and filled with a throng of people who have trekked from all ends of London. I crane my neck to get a better view and as I do sparks fly and illuminate the sky. The fireworks are no doubt bigger and more expensive than my school's own production but the feeling is just the same. Despite the cold, the crowd ooh and aah in all the right places. Our eyes shine brightly and inside that coldlike wonderment is ignited. There are the ones that glow coming in an array of colours, those that fizzle out into the darkness, ones that seem to take on a life of their own and the ones that are launched into the sky with a piercing cry. It takes me back to 15 years ago when I would crane my neck in awe but with my hands laced firmly over my ears to block out the sound. The only thing missing now is the jacket potatoes.

Fireworks at Blackheath

I've lost my blogging mojo

If there is such a thing, I appear to have lost it. It's not that u haven't started writing anything, they just never made their way to be posted. I just can't seem to string my thoughts together and that worries me. It's almost as off Im unsure of who I am anymore, unsure of the thoughts I want to pen down, unsure of myself. People retreat to all parts of the globe, take gap years, travel to cultures different from their own all in an effort to discover themselves as if we are lost souls waiting for that turning point to reveal whatever it is we hope to see.

I'm so bogged down in trying to find out where I'm going, what I'm doing, thinking for the future; my future, our future that I've forgotten about the now. I've forgotten what its like to feel truly excited by something, to have that adrenaline pumping through my veins, to feel so eager to finish something I don't mind staying up all night. I hope this is not what it means to be working as I am, sucked into an endless cycle of work and exams.

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