United Kingdom

Copy of Copy of RAW (1)

I miss living in England for many reasons, but mainly because of the randomness and the people I’ve met there. The okay-ness concerning all absurd appearance and preference is shocking, at first, but then gives you enough room not only to become yourself but to outstretch your limitations and become a person you are not, as in living in places you would normally consider below standard, feed on cheese and toast or green beans and peas. Never cooking, vintage clothing, underground clubbing, salsa nights, walks in the park..

Going to the supermarket with a friend and ending up just browsing and not buying.. Walking in the never-ending flat streets at night (sober) and realising you are the only sober one – whilst crossing a wave of out-of-control lunatics, attending the gay parade even if you are not gay, just for the heck of it. People-watching, bar tending, matching your outfits in a creative obscure way – yet in perfect understanding with mancunian fashion law, drinking pints of draft in dodgy pubs, walking in the street and suddenly being engulfed in pungent fish-n’-chips oily stink (as if the particles of deep-fried oil actually penetrate your nostrils), the vast wide variety of sandwiches available, room with a view, the smell of rugs everywhere, endless escalators and elevators, shopping malls, cute cafes..

yorkie fun (30)

Roaming around english country in a train for hours.. green endless fields, silly cows, remote essex, intellectually posh york, rave sheffield, hen-night blackpool, tubed london, yoga manchester, bmx derby, everything that ends with shire, fucking stoke-on-trent, damned crew and alsager, birming ham, eggs on toast, baked beans and hash browns, paper-cup tea held by frozen fingers, smoothies, cordial, woollies, hoodies. The rain..

Leg warmers, King’s cross, piping hot tea no milk, Liverpool street, the tube, pedestrian streets and bicycle traffic lights, Brick Lane and 1001 thoughts..

Penny Lane and rainy skies, Paddington and our backyard with a small marble statue right in the middle of it, high-tech minute-small kitchen and nutella in the refrigerator.

A scriptwriter, an artist, an anthropologist and an economist, living under the same roof, combining perspective and sharing moments.

Smoking cigarettes, drinking earl gray tea with milk (even if not supposed to put milk in earl gray..) creative afternoons, living-room meeting at nights, talking endlessly about philosophy, getting lost inside our thoughts, watching movies, cuddling under soft blankets, deep sleep, Morpheus and the traveling lucid dreaming of Don Juan..

Going out. Laughing loudly inside the the bus, in the middle of the street, wherever. Nothing matters here. There’s always someone louder or weirder. No one is paying attention to you. You can be anyone.

Soho’s record stores (somewhere/something inbetween Empire Records and High Fidelity), So-High-Soho and the weird assortment of arbitrary stuff it sells.. Snowflakes on the tip of your tongue. The smell of skunk on your fingers. Constantly feeling cold. Even if wearing layers and layers of clothing. Getting lost in the rain. Hurrying home. Putting the kettle on to make some home-brewed tea.

Feeling free. Feeling different and individual, even if within a whole.

Hyde Park. Walking on moist grass and being able to hear it. Licorice smoking rolling papers. Humid air. Breathing-in fog.

Loosing yourself inside Hyde Park and feeling ridiculous. Night falls and mist covers the park like a mystery blanket taken out from a Sherlock Holmes story.

Being in love from a distance.

Missing Home. Missing the sun.

Making the return home so much more worth it..

Being young. Feeling creative..

Growing up..

Being content.

Copy of Copy of RAW (1)



2 thoughts on “United Kingdom

  1. Mesmerizing trip down memory memory lane…
    Thank you for the emotional reminders, what a journey England was.

    When you’re living in it you think you’ll never leave it behind you, you’ll never forget…And the truth is although you may pidgen hole some of these experiences in the deepest layers of your mind, and they might not surface in your every day life – post uk – they are stamped in your memory and self forever.

    It was random, it was intense. It was at times naive and dangerous. But so giving, so enriching. Your post made me think: “So why did I ever leave it behind?”

    So, I went back to my writings, especially of my last year in London, and I disccovered this poem. I think it is most fitting…

    London gives. London takes away.
    No one can say ‘I’m here to stay’

    Too cold, too grey but miles ahead
    It teaches, it creates, messes with your head

    But on the whole a journey of gold
    if one can give up the love for the old

    Maybe it’s me; maybe it’s the Greek in me
    But I have reached a point of death
    The pain is great, no longer English can I be
    I need to return to mother earth and live on salty breath.

    There I hope it’s not too late
    to reconnect with those I used to hate
    Yes, those narrow minded, backward Greeks
    Who may see some of us as freaks…

    But London cannot give me much any longer
    It cannot make me any stronger
    No, now it’s time to leave
    A knowledge of a different kind to receive

    Maybe now it’s time to give…


    • indeed the Mediterranean awakes within. but.. you never feel ‘at home’ until you find where “home” is.. so you have to try it all.. . to see if the glove fits.. . i suppose.. .. . you reckon?

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