1. Quipping

I really had rocks in my hands. Pretty ones.

I would like to put some pictures up but my laptop is behaving cranky. Maybe he/she/it/I don't really know what it is really is slighted at being unused for too long a time. Even my spacebar is awol so I'm typing this manually via an onscreen keyboard. Whoopey.

On an interesting note (it's all relative) I went for my first sitar class today and nearly sprained my thighs having to keep the playing posture. I dread tomorrow. Russian Culture and iffy administration and forms to fill. Oh yeah. This is my instant induction to normality. To what I have left behind. To what I have to return to.

Listened to this and it made me cry. And I don't really know why.

Listening to this. Thank you fellow Sufjan fan. I am loving it. Very very much.

Halfway There

I am home. I have returned to a dusty bedroom, to a desk drowning in paper and mess, to half a family.

A rat managed to make a home out of my parent's bedroom. This is what happens when you leave a house to the males in my family. They adopt furry friends.

It's nearly 5a.m. now and I find myself wondering (and calculating) what time is it over there now. A lot of things can happen in 21 days. A lot of things can be made, found and lost. Many people have asked me to describe what England is like, and what have I made of it. I would love to write an entry detailing the last 21 days, but as it is, I can't even remember what I ate last night.

(p/s: I did journal my meals, but stopped after the first few days)

Leaving was awful. The journey through the airport broke me - having to say goodbye, being body searched, and having my loaded cameras and used film forced through the x-ray machine. They never had to go through those machines when we flew in, so I tried, in my confusion, to explain to the personnel (who wasn't interested at all, except maybe for the strictly practiced doctrine of 'x-ray or death'). She even dropped a camera, and instead of offering an apology she unpleasantly told me off for not holding them myself.

I hate you Heathrow. Hate might be a strong word, but it fits the alliteration ('hate/Heathrow'). It makes sense that way.

Tonight I will dream of the past 21 days. I will dream of the people I have grown to love. But it will not make sense, it will be in fractured pieces, and it will mess my mind. And when I wake up I will not be able to know if the entire trip was merely a dream, something I made up in my head or if it really happened.

One day in York we found ourselves in a small touristy gift shop flooded with trinkets, keychains and a Yorkshire sheep magnet which I thought would sit nicely on my fridge. I spent a few minutes staring at it, wondering if I should spend 3 quid on it when I felt a strange, panicky feeling stirring and pulling within. Next thing I knew I hated the sight of the magnet, and the thought of it sticking on my fridge door a reminder of the lovely time we've had, which will in turn become a painful reminder on days of clockwork and ordinariness. It does not make any sense, I know.

So much to capture, so much to learn to love and so much to keep.



(p/s: I will posting little by little over the week on my 21 days in England.)
(p/p/s: For Shireen. I'm sorry if it steered too heavily onto the depressing side.)

Staking Out Streatham

Just a quick note (have to catch the tube, train and some walking in 10 minutes!) to let you know I'm well in London (quite well, besides the nagging cold, cough and such) and I really have no time.

<3

Still White Horses

We walked up to see a limestone carving of an ancient white horse and had curry at Bradford and shopped at a shop that looked like it could have been teleported from Jalan Masjid India.

Am at a beautiful countryside home at Coxwolds. Someone is playing the guitar downstairs with spurts of harmonica and conversation.

Today is a pretty great day- we spent some time at the National Film and Photography Museum and I walked away with a Lomo sampler.

It couldn't have been better.


P/s: 7 more rolls of film to go. And a Holga yet to be duct-taped and used. Whoppa!

Cold Feet

Am safe in pretty York. Internet connection is not guaranteed, but am trying my best.

There's a plate of haggis next to me now, all steaming and laden with mashed potatoes and turnips.

Oh yeah.


p/s: Still jetlaggy.