I don't like going to London much.
I don't like going to London, because I don't feel comfortable in big cities with all their crowds in haste.
But mostly I don't like going to London because I like it too much. Like Paris. Like Berlin.
I spend the day doing the touristy stuff, pushing my way through crowds, being pushed myself, clinging on to my handbag and to Paul's hand so that this whole unspeakable energy and movement would not suck me in and make me disappear.
But then we sit somewhere for a drink and I start watching people walking past and my mind starts imagining the lifes they have, what it would be like to be their friend or colleague or neighbour, and I spot a street with particularly nice (interesting, unusual, ugly) houses (trees, shades, lamp posts, you name it) and I start wondering what it would be like if that street was mine, if I lived there/walked past it every day, if the pub/cafe I'm sitting in was my pub/cafe, what friends I would have if I was hanging out here, what kind of job I'd be doing, and a whole new unknown life starts unravelling itself in my mind.
The itch.
Later on I get back home, I wash off all the metallic dust of the underground, and I feel relieved that all that buzzing and chaos are far away from me and I am safe in my little house. The itch subsides a little.
But then I go to bed and I fall asleep listening to the cars driving past my window and I wonder where they are going to, are they going to one of those unknown lives I lurked into earlier on that day? Or to yet a different one, in yet a different place?
What is it like? What would it be like to live there?
And it saddens me that I will never find out...
Showing posts with label roller coasters. Show all posts
Showing posts with label roller coasters. Show all posts
Thursday, 26 August 2010
Wednesday, 22 July 2009
On not being adapted to living on this planet
I realise that I haven’t been posting as much lately but to be honest, there wasn’t much to post about. Unless I would keep posting about being disillusioned with the system and drained into numbness.
And now the school’s over. I should be jubilant. When I think back at how I felt most of the time, I can’t help thinking that the main thing I should feel is relief.
It isn’t.
I’ve spent last three days just crying uncontrollably and being angry about it, cause look, my life is great, there’s lots of good stuff happening and lots of good stuff to look forward to, but I can’t help it.
I think it’s because I’m just so exhausted and I have been sucking it up for such a long time.
And because whatever I might have been saying and however horrid these kids have been to me most of the time, I did get attached to them, I did get somewhere with some of them, and some of them really did care for me too. I had a proof of that last few days when I was inundated in cards, flowers, presents and hugs.
And because yes, the upcoming changes are good, but they are also scary. In any case – I’m off to France now, where there are people who know me with a big supply of wine and tissues. And I’ll drink, talk, cry and relax and hopefully eventually I’ll stop crying at last.
And now the school’s over. I should be jubilant. When I think back at how I felt most of the time, I can’t help thinking that the main thing I should feel is relief.
It isn’t.
I’ve spent last three days just crying uncontrollably and being angry about it, cause look, my life is great, there’s lots of good stuff happening and lots of good stuff to look forward to, but I can’t help it.
I think it’s because I’m just so exhausted and I have been sucking it up for such a long time.
And because whatever I might have been saying and however horrid these kids have been to me most of the time, I did get attached to them, I did get somewhere with some of them, and some of them really did care for me too. I had a proof of that last few days when I was inundated in cards, flowers, presents and hugs.
And because yes, the upcoming changes are good, but they are also scary. In any case – I’m off to France now, where there are people who know me with a big supply of wine and tissues. And I’ll drink, talk, cry and relax and hopefully eventually I’ll stop crying at last.
Thursday, 7 August 2008
On squashed organs and near death experiences
The big plan for my 30th birthday was for me to go on a roller coaster. I had never done that before, and I found it quite pathetic to be 30 and not had made that experience. However, with the move to England and the PGCE and all, it just didn’t happen. When I told Paul about it, he agreed that it was definitely wrong and a few days ago we went to Alton Towers, which is a big amusement park not far from here.
And so I lost my roller coaster virginity on Oblivion, which mainly consists of you dropping from 60 meters into a black hole. It felt like I was about to die. It felt like if all of my organs were squashed inside of me and I would never be able to use them again. Talk about easing me in!
I survived. But I still do not understand why one would do something like that to themselves.
Maybe I’m weird, but I somehow preferred the rides when you could giggle and scream to the ones where the air was compressed back into your lungs or where all you could think of was stabilising your head so that it would not rattle all over bumping off the sides of your seat. Even if the former do not give you an adrenaline rush like the latter ones do. Although I’m starting to suspect that it is a little bit like with child birth – with time, you forget how painful it was but you can still remember how exhilarated you felt after it was all over. So I might do it again, you never know.
And so I lost my roller coaster virginity on Oblivion, which mainly consists of you dropping from 60 meters into a black hole. It felt like I was about to die. It felt like if all of my organs were squashed inside of me and I would never be able to use them again. Talk about easing me in!
I survived. But I still do not understand why one would do something like that to themselves.
Maybe I’m weird, but I somehow preferred the rides when you could giggle and scream to the ones where the air was compressed back into your lungs or where all you could think of was stabilising your head so that it would not rattle all over bumping off the sides of your seat. Even if the former do not give you an adrenaline rush like the latter ones do. Although I’m starting to suspect that it is a little bit like with child birth – with time, you forget how painful it was but you can still remember how exhilarated you felt after it was all over. So I might do it again, you never know.
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