157- Different Time, Different Life

I gasp as I awaken to another morning in Walworth Road. I gaze out the window of my flat. That condo across the street has been put up in a flash. It only seemed like yesterday that it seemed ages away from being built. Now the thing practically stares at me every day like a creepy neighbour.

I scrounge around for that box of pancakes I had purchased the evening prior from Tesco Express. I like the fact that my gym is only a stone's throw away from where I stay. I get to pass the grocery after I do my training runs and a some free weights.

Once in a while, I visit the East Street market and tell myself, "Boy, these are things I could use. Or not." The place tends to be full of bric-a-brack that one gets around to needing only when one finds himself/herself in quite the financial pinch.

CeX. Ah, CeX. I would always pass the place, but would never buy anything. Used CDs. Video games. Rare movies. Video game systems. Cameras. Bargain prices. Nothing ever in the "bring me home" bag.

That Korean restaurant near CeX. Always full. Tried to eat there once with my Filipino schoolmate, only to be disappointed at the lack of seating.

Burgess Park. I had run here a couple of times. Nice place. Greenery, scenery, sometimes, tomfoolery. A good place to visit in the local area.

Pretty girls milling about. Some students, some working folk. Some at the pub, some at the library, some at the gym. All with their own lives. All doing their own thing. All singing their own songs and humming along to different storied melodies.

The balcony at Dashwood Studios. I'd go there once in a while to get some air and just gaze upon my part of the city. You go places, you see faces. You say hello, and you reluctantly bid farewell. You go home but then, hey, what is home? Am I really home? Am I supposed to be here?

The search for meaning doesn't end with compromise. We only compromise because, as the word implies, we sometimes grow tired of searching for truth amidst the lies. We need to make a living. We need to meet expectations. We have to eat. Oh yes. People love to eat. We may feel full, but are our souls satiated? Do we really find fulfilment in trying to make the number work? To hell with the numbers. To hell with the odds. Once you find yourself in the middle of the wilderness, staring death in the face, will all your riches really matter?

Probably not.

When confronted with the truth that says that you've run out of time, that you've spent all of your gold coins on moments you can experience once and never get back, you can't help but sigh.

Different time, different life. There is no fairness in line with strife.

Different time, different life.

MC

156- Random Coffee Shop Musings

Today, I find myself working in a neighbourhood coffee shop called Seattle's Best Coffee. No, I am not in the United States. The Philippines features many U.S. franchises which have been transplanted to the archipelago to, in many ways, address Filipinos' long standing obsession with all things Western. Hey, I'm guilty of it. It isn't necessarily good, nor is it necessarily negative. It's just the way it is. Certain products and services from the West really are superior to what you can find in other parts of the world. In the same vein, just because it's from the U.S., U.K., or Germany, doesn't mean it's the do-all and end-all.

But I digress.

I used to work in coffeeshops a lot, especially around 5 or 6 years ago when I worked as a consultant and didn't have a permanent office address. You could easily whip out your laptop, sit on your front porch, and sip on a cuppa Joe you made yourself. That's all good, except that at home, you don't really have a "working ambience". The enzymes in your brain that tell you that it's high time you got your fat butt out of bed and onto a computer chair don't always kick in like alcohol for the heartbroken. A certain amount of prodding needs to happen.

I had a discussion with a colleague at work yesterday about how people buy "experiences" rather than "products". That is so true, and true it is on so many levels, and for so many industries. Kids want to buy Nike basketball gear not necessarily because it can make you shoot better, or run quicker, or jump higher. They want Nike because they put themselves in the "shoes" (pun intended) of Durant, Jordan, or Lebron- the focal point of an isolation play set to unfold over the last 13 seconds of Game 7 of the NBA Finals. Quite the rush, right? People go to Starbucks or Seattle's Best to have a cup of coffee or tea not because they can't have one at home, or because what they can get at the said shops is miles and miles better than what they can get at home, or from some shack in the middle of nowhere. People go to these places because they're well lit, because they can hear sometimes-cringeworthy bossa nova music that purportedly makes them relax in the same way ASMR can make them relax, and because spending 5 dollars on a cup of coffee while chatting with friends gives some a badge of legitimacy. You've made it. You throw good money away on an Americano you can prepare in your own kitchen just because you can. Grab yourself a BMW instead of a Kia. Why? Just because.

I find myself in coffeeshops more as a matter of circumstance rather than because I feel like "I need" to spend time in such places. Sundays with the parents who want to have something sweet after a heavy lunch meal? Let's go to the nearest Starbucks. Need a quiet place for a meal and some contemplation? The nearest Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf might do. I don't splurge when I'm at these places anyway. I often end up getting the cheapest fare. Because. Just because. Because association dues are expensive and because inflation is totally whipping me around like no one's business.

I have found myself in these havens for serenity all over the world. Some branches have been nicer than others. Pret A Manger near Trafalgar Square in London. Starbucks in Schiphol Airport in the Netherlands. UCC cafe in Rockwell Center, Makati. The neighbourhood, cinema-themed, coffee house right beside Turnpike Lane station in North London. Many faces, similar fare, different locations, same search for peace. We all seem to be in the same quest for that perfect spot for reflection. We all seem to be lost about where to find it.

Some might say that I'm a bit too stream-of-consciousness. They're right. I've lately become very fleeting with what I want to say, and who I want to talk to, and why. That's how life tends to be. At first you want a cuppa Joe. Next thing you know, you realise that you are not supposed to be spending a chest full of coins on one.

You move on. You start over. You vocalize your frustrations. You hop on a train. You arrive at your destination- or so you think.

Then, it happens all over again.

You wake up and find yourself still in search for that perfect caffeine rush.

MC

155- Focus

It has been raining again in Manila. Rainy days like this drive people towards introspection. It's natural. It's to be expected.

I have experienced rain in the Philippines, rain in Cambridge, rain in London. It's all the same really, save for some of the aesthetics. A building in Makati is a building in the same, generic, way a building is a building in Bangkok. 

Focus here is focus anywhere. It is the ambient noise that varies from place to place. No two places are the same because of this. 

We are in the midst of typhoon season in the Philippines. When I look out the window of my flat, and look at all the raindrops that have built little water tents on glass, I am, for some odd reason, brought back to footage from Anthony Bourdain's final trip to Hong Kong, months before his untimely demise. He sits onboard Hong Kong's iconic Star Ferry, musing over what it means to see the world, but feel like you really haven't seen a damn thing. Travelling can be the greatest, and the loneliest thing, all rolled into one. 

I have been fortunate enough to have seen quite a bit of this world through my travels. There are times when I feel less thrilled to be someplace because of the nagging reality that in the end, something will be lost in the retelling. Hard as I may try to tell my parents, or my friends, or my significant other, about the sight of amazing fjords, or the smell of the air when standing close to heritage steam trains, nothing will ever compare to the real thing. Reality is the champion of the focus game. It never loses. The sensations associated with reality are unparalleled. 

Rain here, is rain anywhere. It's the noise that makes things distinct. There is real, and there is man-made. Focus, in and of it self, can be relative.Maybe if I focus on the performance of memory, the relevance of both the content, and the performance, to who I'm talking to, I may be able to steal some focus from what is real, and make my version of experience, a little more compelling. 

MC

154- The Revival

This blog is not dead. I'm not dead. 

Well,that much is obvious. 

Despite the fact that I have gone domestic for the last few months, I have not lost ny passion for travelling. I guess I've just had to be more wary of a shrinking financial cache, and have had to allot time to adjusting to a new job. 

Whenever I harken back to my days in London,the first place I think of is the Elephant and Castle. I remember the place to be old, somewhat grimy, and in need of repair. From what I have managed to read,the Southwark council has made attempts to kick start full scale redevelopment in what was once dubbed as "Picadilly Circus South". These efforts have been stop-and-start at best, mainly because of opposition from residents and local business owners. 

My presence at the E&C represented this South London transport hub opening its arms to an international audience,as it had always done. I did notice while I was there,though, that the locality had begun to get younger and hipper while in the process of welcoming visitors from all over the globe. The infamous Heygate Estate had been knocked down between 2011 and 2014, ushering in the first major signs of gentrification. 

The Elephant and Castle is a reminder of the resistance that has long met efforts to embrace the future. The brutalist box type building is dilapidated, highlighted by a Tesco and a Peacocks,and connected to the E&C's tube and Thameslink lines. I spent a lot of time in this antiquated consumer paradise, often restocking my pantry after days of eating while slaving over coursework. 

Across the Shopping Centre, we have the London College of Communication. Mi casa. The site of many a fond memory, a heated debate, and second, minute,and hour spent studying. Renovating LCC- and putting in new, more reliable lifts- would be very much welcome. Sometimes though, we cling onto things from the old world not necessarily because we like what we see. We hold on, perhaps, because these types of aged monoliths remind us of simpler times, and emotions and sensations you will never find in their original incarnations anywhere else. 

My heart still has a firm grasp on London, nearly six months after flying out of Heathrow and back to the Philippines.

Like a forlorn lover, how I long to dash into the arms of London again- sooner rather than later. Tomorrow. At a moment's notice. As quick as a dream that makes you feel like the world shines, and like the hymns of angels line your fondest days past.

MC