Septembers were my favourite. The walk home from work took an hour and required a diagonal cut through Hyde Park. Belgravia to Notting Hill.
Autumn had never felt more grande than during that evening as I looked down the long lane of tall maples that hugged Park Lane. The crispy crunch of red orange leaves and a warm cool breeze had me bursting with joy. I purposely left work at work; no laptop, no bags, flat shoes and a light coat. Nothing to weigh me down on this most precious of evenings.
After several minutes of walking, the park’s vast open spaces swallowed the traffic of the city streets. The silence surprised me. But for the chirp of a bird or laughter between lovers, I had no idea it was possible in a metropolis so big. Vast blue skies were possible too. Not a building could be seen on the horizon by the time I reached the Serpentine and suddenly the day’s worth of meetings, deadlines, phone calls and emails vanished.
On this particular evening, I strolled more slowly than usual, admiring the hummed chirp of summer insects as they readied for the night. On the grass friends gathered in their loosened ties and unbuttoned coats, joy washing over their faces as they sat with Tesco wine, paper cups and plastic wrapped cheese. Mist hovered softly over the grass, kissing their scattered shoes in the dying light of an Indian summer eve. I smiled for them, amused by the simplicity of their make-shift picnic out. A pang of loneliness came over me.
I wondered what it was that they laughed about as a peered at them from my bench. They’re bitching about work, I thought to myself. The usual chit chat after a long week. The nothing details in conversation that we are compelled to share with people we trust, nurturing intimacy as we open up about our naked, unglamorous lives.
I had left everything and everyone I knew behind to pursue a new life in a new land. I had opportunities to pursue, new places to see, new limits to test. It had been my decision to come here, my decision to start fresh. But in that moment, I longed to join them in their reverie, to be invited into something bigger than my hermit crab shell built for one.
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This is an excerpt from a creative-writing piece about my life in London from 2005 to 2009. The finished product is coming along very slowly. I’m posting drafts for practice and feedback; my slow-cook approach towards publishing.
