A Girl in the World

London

Some walls are just too beautiful to photograph bare. Sometimes, you need subjects that can make a statement, subjects that can bring a wall to life.

This was taken in Hoxton Square Bar, a treasure of a place in one of London’s trendiest post codes.  Vaulted ceilings, dimmed cave-like lighting, industrial walls and floors.  It’s as if it were designed by a true artist: the cavernous room his canvas, and the bodies inside his paint.  Every shadow and angle can be a photograph. Dark corners, chiseled profiles, grainy shadows that inspire a girl to write.

A kiss was the only option here. Passion the only way to compete with Grande.

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Stolen moments in a deserted tube station.

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It’s a hot September Saturday in the “capital of the world” and in just a few days, I’ll be bidding farewell and boarding a plane back stateside. Every time I leave London, a little piece of my heart breaks. I love and loathe this place like an ex-boyfriend that will forever haunt me in my sleep. Too many epic memories to cherish, one too many differences left unresolved. It’s the city of dreams and possibility, heartache and loneliness, the too-beautiful lover that captivates you the way delicate young women can drive old men mad. London is a city that cannot be tamed. It will never be mine.

Friends, relatives, writers and poets have attempted to capture the essence of this place and every time they do, I learn something new. A chance encounter with a new-found friend today had us talking about London’s amazing ability to give the gift of appreciation. In the absence of open spaces and quiet corners, you somehow find a gratitude for these exact things that you took for granted back home. Abundance from the void.

Barbara Chandler’s Love London is a visual account of the city captured through a series of film photographs and a collection of quotes. I’ve perused it now for over a week and each time I do, I am captivated not only by her ability to present this city in its rawest form (grimy, beautiful, crowded and grande), but also by the places she chose to feature in her collection.  She’s presenting a London that is quintessentially hers but also a city that I feel can be mine, yours, theirs, everyones.  I recognize the monuments, the bridges, the murals, the buildings in her book and instantly feel a kinship with her, the photographer behind the lens.  It is not a tour guide, nor is it a travel book.  Neither is it a collection of pretty postcard photographs that you find at the train station or the airport.  Actually, at first glance, the images are not stunningly impressive nor conventionally beautiful.  But look closer and you’ll find the book’s voice.  Love London is a Londoner’s testimony. It’s an attempt to vindicate the roughness and softness of this city we’ve called home.

How delighted I was to see Barbara’s perspective of the SCARY mural that I stumbled upon in East London just a few weeks ago, her photograph somehow validating my need to take mine.  Her London vindicating my London.

SCARY mural East London

But perhaps what enamors me most of all is the collection of quotes included in the book: so eerily relatable, they give me pause.

“You may be alone and in Company at the same time.” – Henry Fielding (p. 164)

” [In London] love and scandal are the best sweeteners of tea.” – Henry Fielding (p. 142)

“The parks are the lungs of London.” – William Pitt (p.120)

“London is far more difficult to see properly than any other place.” – G.K. Chesterton (p. 116)

“She [London] is just like a vast ocean where sardines as well as whales are living together.” – Yoshio Markino (p. 101)

“…it was a good place for getting lost in, a city no-one ever knew.” – V.S. Naipul (p. 92)

“This melancholy London – I sometimes imagine that the souls of the lost … walk through its streets perpetually.” – W.B. Yeats (p. 71)

Page after page, a feeling of nostalgia hits me.  The grain in her images, the out-of-focus portraits, the ugly beauty of the not-so-glamorous corners of this town.  All of it presents a London that is real. Unpolished, grey, chaotic, hard. Just like mad blind love can be.

Suddenly, my London experience doesn’t feel so existential.  Love London vindicates my complicated love for this city of dreams.

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Waiting for the very last train home after a night on the town, the quiet underbellies of Westminster Station had never looked so beautiful. Brushed steel and glass, a cavernous network of escalators and staircases engulfed us as we descended down. Why hadn’t we noticed the scale of this place before?

Place is so strongly defined by time in London. A platform that just a few hours earlier had been hot with the chaos of Friday’s commute suddenly transformed into a sensual escape for two. Even the lights held their breaths as stolen kisses echoed in the breezy tunnels.

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After a dinner out with friends last Friday, we decided to walk home from West London all the way to London Bridge. It’s an hour long stroll along the riverbank and is probably my all-time favorite thing about this city; the walking.

London is the only place that I’ve lived where you can wake up on a Saturday morning, walk to breakfast, walk to the park, walk to coffee, walk to the museum, walk to dinner, walk to drinks and walk all the way home all in one day. If you’re blessed enough to have the opportunity to live in the center, this weekend walk will encompass some of the most beautiful landmarks that the city has to offer: the Tate Modern, Saint Paul’s Cathedral, the Millennium Bridge, Tower Bridge, Big Ben etc.

This is what old Europe can offer that no North American city (barring NYC) can: a walking culture amidst small cafés, hidden green spaces and old buildings. Every day is a history lesson.

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A friend once told me that you can live a thousand lives in London and still not discover every nook and cranny of the place. Sure enough, I was reminded of this a few days ago after a work meeting when we wandered into Shoreditch, a too-cool-for-me neighborhood in East London.

There’s a new, industrial, hole-in-the-wall ad agency around every corner, and boutique shops and coffee houses with patrons that look like they’ve come straight out of Rolling Stone magazine. One minute you see a punk-rock ballerina with blonde hair, pink tank and polka-dot tutu saunter across the street and the next minute a mirror image of Lucille Ball from I Love Lucy walks outside to have a smoke, curlers still in her hair.  And every single time I land in this borough I can’t help but feel like I don’t quite belong.  Actually, I feel like a fish out of water.  But that’s what London is.  A city full of surprises.

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I’m in London for the next few weeks and it feels like deja vu from last summer. August in this crazy city I used to call home. It feels different these days; a stronger hint of violence in the air, a little more crowded and chaotic, people less available and more hurried than before. It has changed. Or maybe I have changed.

A few days before I flew out, I was having lunch with a friend who had the opportunity to transfer here for work for six months. We mused about London as if it were an old lover, our voices laced with desperate longing as we spoke about our old haunts, past friends, and the pure, addictive energy of the place.

I lived my twenties here. The weeks were novel and sleepless. I’ve never played and worked so hard in my life. There was always a new friend to meet, another new destination to visit.

These days, I meander the city with a quieter peace inside me. Sometimes I can’t decide if cities shape people or the other way around. I feel like I’ve experienced it both ways. Today, I see past the big monuments, touristy red phone booths and new hipster hangouts. These days, I notice the subtle beauties that sit quietly on the fringes.

This wall, for example, sits behind Guy’s Hospital near London Bridge tube station. I think it’s meant to hide the hospital boiler room. I’ve walked by here countless times during previous visits and hardly noticed a thing. How great is the texture of this wall? And how amazing that it sits in an anonymous street in the back alley of an ugly old hospital? So great.

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London, Hyde Park

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.

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A River Walk Through London

February 25, 2011

A Saturday walk by the River Thames.

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Beautiful Bermondsey

November 19, 2010

We’ve been living in East London this past week and wow, do I love it here. Compared with the congested tourist hubs of the West End (Notting Hill, Kensington, SOHO), this place feels like a gem. There are small green squares and playgrounds. Corner pubs and flower shops. Restaurants and coffee houses in converted brick factory buildings. And a sense of slow and quiet that teases at you as you walk the cobblestone streets, a quietness that’s just enough to let you feel like you’ve been transported to another world.

This city has the power to eat you up and swallow you alive. After traipsing through the buzzing pedestrian streets and rathole networks of underground tube lines, it’s nice to find a place to run away to and breathe.

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