149- London Southbank

When I first arrived in London, I used to spend my free time taking strolls (or doing training runs) along the River Thames, at London's Southbank. From what I know, the area used to be rife with criminals and vagrants. It has since metamorphosed into a haven for art, food, and relaxation.

I never really felt lonely in London, not because I always had company, but rather, due to the fact that I am used to existing in solitude. Walks and runs help me clear my mind. To go on such in utterly scenic surroundings helps calm me even more.

I'll miss going to the BFI centre to watch free archival film footage, and browse through the institute's gift shop. I'll miss getting mulled wine from stalls during the winter time. I'll miss looking at the city lights from across the way.

Where words fail me, memories and the radiance of the future inspire me.

MC

148- Musings on the Home Stretch

Less than two weeks to go in the UK, folks. Homeward bound in a blink of an eye. I am thrilled, but not thrilled.

Some fool is probably going to say that I am being less than patriotic by saying this, but, seeing the world tends to muddle your notion of the value of home. Family, loved ones, and other interests aside, I don't really know of anybody who would want to go home to horrific traffic on a daily basis, a system of government that seems to built of corruption and the systematic pushing of deceit unto its people (for many administrations now), education and healthcare structures that leave much to be desired, and an abhorrable lack of planning that simply makes one wish to shake his/her head and say, "What were they thinking?" I know the answer to that. They weren't thinking.

Sadly, all the rubbish I've just mentioned refers to my home country, the Philippines. My motherland has struggled to get on its feet for so long. And yes, many of us have gotten justifiably tired of waiting. Maybe if the reasons for failure weren't "self-inflicted" and done by some in the name of absolute self-indulgence, then, people might be more forgiving. In the same vein, many have become afflicted with an odd form of amnesia. People complain about systems, governance, and all the bits and bobs related to hot issues such as poverty alleviation, peace and order, etc. People also elect the same officials who had gotten the country crippled by stifling social ills to begin with. People stand idly by and allow decay to happen. Those who care, then, slowly begin to care less. Being among the minority who care is a lonely battle. At some point, you have to lay your arms down and think about how you're going to earn your keep, and the sort of world you want your children to live in.

Sure, I'd love to see people I care about, and experience things that are familiar to me, but for the most part, I feel like I am done with all the stupidity, immaturity, and chaos that my country has made all too familiar in the minds of its people. Again, this isn't because I am unpatriotic. Like many Filipinos, I have just begun to think more pragmatically. We are always told to try and "suck the marrow out of life". Well, you can't do that if you choose to stand aloft a slowly sinking stone, can you?

It's going to be an interesting next couple of months. I want to be happy to be on my way home. I do feel a sense of bliss, of accomplishment that my time in London has borne fruit. I too, however, know that I have changed since two years ago, and no longer wish to have those I hold dear be burdened by the "limitations" which "life as we have known it", has tended to hamper our horizons with. I am unaware of what all this means in terms of concrete plans and next steps, but yes, enough is enough. Life is meant to be lived. Play the game. Don't let it play you.

MC

147- Displacement

Every person yearns to have a center, a place he or she can call home. What happens, however, when the notion of "home" is muddled by the reality that one's place of origin is no longer hospitable enough to be called "home"? Does one's newer, more resplendent environment, then, become "home"?

It's a problem many an explorer have dealt with for what seems like an eternity.

MC

146- Impatience

I like to read. I m fascinated by the stories books tell. I am, however, notoriously impatient when it comes to going through thick volumes of text. I have come to a point in my life wherein I just can't stand extremely wordy bits of text. My eyes hurt whenever I go through diminutive lines of text. My head aches at the prospect of reading something 500 pages long. I often find myself wanting to learn- through bite size pieces of knowledge, anyway.

I love that London seems to put a premium on providing the public with access to information. There are libraries everywhere. There are museums for most every topic one can conceive of. It's beautiful, really, that emphasis is placed on broadening one's horizons.

I visit libraries here once in a while to stimulate my mind. I ocassionally find myself reading a book in bed, or at a branch of Pret A Manger. My impatience leads me to go through several books simultaneously. This isn't the ideal setup, but it is better than a total mind block.

My restlessness might be a generational thing (my predisposition on digital innovations which tend to totally smash a person's attention span), or a byproduct of my insomnia, or, being a daysleeper. Maybe it's because I sometimes prefer to do rather than to bask in the glory of reflection. Both avenues have their share of merits, and downsides.

Writing this blog post, in itself, has tested my patience. It is not because I hate writing or am unwilling to share my views on matters of note. It is more because I have a trillion different things on my mind now. I'll be leaving London soon. That too has made me restless. I want to get all the packing and sightseeing and final commitments, over with. Shed the tears, say your goodbyes, and fly. I know I am just saying that because I immersed "in the moment". It is in hindsight when we often realize that the roads we take en route to our final destination are more remarkable than we had ever considered them to be.

Enough with this rambling. On to the next task. My unrelenting debate with productivity compels me to find something to do.

MC

145- Breakfast.

When I lived in Manila, my default breakfast during hectic (or extremely lazy) days, was black coffee and cereal with whole milk. In London, this has transitioned into a combination of black coffee and some type of bread and/or yogurt.

It's crazy how much of a "meal" traditional Filipino breakfasts are, though. In Manila, it isn't uncommon to see office workers, students, and all sorts of other folks having rice, egg, and caramelised pork slices (Tocino) for breakfast. My friends from Europe and America who have been to the Philippines are often surprised at Filipinos' appetite for "full meals" regardless of the time of day. I noticed that residents of Western countries tend to abide by specific quantity distinctions in line with different segments within a day. Filipinos aren't always as strict in this regard. To them, if you're hungry, you eat. It doesn't matter what time of day it is. It's part of an almost esoteric gastronomic doctrine for Pinoys. Many think it's crazy, but to Filipinos, it makes perfect, basic, sense.

I've been really lazy to cook lately, and this has not boded well for my meal spacing over a 24 hour cycle. My circadian rhythm has also been a little bit off kilter, ergo, my "breakfast time" tends to be pushed towards odd hours of the day. I think it may be a byproduct of the cold weather. The cold climate makes it hard to move.

I look forward to breakfast the most not only because I love to eat, but, also because there isn't anything quite like the perk up one experiences after getting the gurgles because of a long, calorie-less, slumber.

I guess this means that I have at least one reason to look forward to every morning, eh?

MC

144- Today at the Coffee House

I decided to have lunch today at a coffee house around five minutes away from where I live. Upon arrival, I was greeted by a friendly waitress who, judging from her physical features, was clearly of Asian descent and roughly between 20-24 years old. She asked me where I was from. When I said I was Filipino, she was surprised and said she thought I was Japanese. That was a first. I have been mistaken to be Portuguese, Malaysian, Spanish, Singaporean, Chinese, and Indonesian during my time in London. Somehow, me being thought of as Japanese was fitting given that I have recently pondered on a trip to Tokyo to no end.

London is, without exaggeration, a melting pot of people. The diversity is staggering. A fellow postgraduate student from the Philippines once told me that the thing he would miss the most about being in the UK was how open people generally were to diversity. As with any country, I am pretty sure that GB has its share of folks who are not all too accepting of what they perceive to be "different". In general, however, people around here are used to a multicultural and multiracial mix. Taking the tube everyday should provide ample evidence of how people from different backgrounds exist side by side in London. A Filipino exchange student thumbs through his notes in preparation for an examination. A Swedish girl nervously taps her fingernails together as she prepares for a modelling audition. An African banker stares wearily out a darkened train window, dreading another 8 hour showdown with his worst enemy- spreadsheets which show low annual productivity. Different folks, different strokes. It's quite beautiful when you get right down to it.

As I sipped on my frothy cup of coffee, I tried to rationalize points A and B. People are inherently competitive, yes, but also seem to be inherently peaceful creatures when push comes to shove. I think people really do care about each others' welfare. This is brought into the realm of doubt, however, whenever we hear of cases of modern day racism, and instances involving senseless violence being perpetrated upon the weak for the sake of eliminating the weak. This embodies the age old conflict between faith and cynicism. Why trust when you can be alright on your own? Why help when you probably won't be helped when your time to fall, comes?

One cannot always be expected to be a Good Samaritan, but, whenever we do manage to right by our neighbors, we sleep more soundly at night. Peace, it seems, turns out to be the most valuable of all currencies. Many may deny it, but it's the truth. With togetherness, with acceptance, there is peace. With peace, there comes a chance to truly make the most of ourselves, and bring the world closer to "essence", as is mortally possible.

Deep, eh? It's amazing what a vegetarian platter and a relaxing lunch can do for the reflective process.

I really should avoid skipping meals.

MC

143- Bus Journeys

I usually take the bus alone in London. In many ways, I like being alone while being so far away from home. It gives me a chance to think without being burdened by the usual stresses that being in "familiar surroundings", brings.

So there are the 29 and 141 buses which I take when I want to go into Central London from where I live. I connect to the 12, 176, and/or the 133 or 35 if I want to go further South, to where I USED to live and where my university is at. When I resided in Southeast London I would hop on the 68 or 148 whenever I wanted to catch a show in town, and I would grab the C10 whenever I needed to go to Victoria Train or Bus stations for a trip outside of London.

Living abroad has made my senses attuned to the smallest of details. Years from now, when I will likely find myself far from the British capital, I will probably remember small things about my time in London and the UK. How one need not own a TV set to be entertained (thank you, Netflix, Prime Video, etc.). How one who enjoys running has a seemingly endless supply of amazing spots to pound the ground on when in Britain. How I bolted off to Chesham one random summer Saturday to run several miles, only to later hop back on a Metropolitan Line tube train to Wembley Park later in the day to, well, bask in the glow of (sports) outlet stores. And oh, the many trips to the British and London Transport Museums, how could I forget those. The thrill of having run a full marathon in Brighton- a race that saw the demise of my Samsung S6 mobile phone (maybe it has gotten wet?). So many, many, stories to tell.

I am now on the 243 that goes from Waterloo station in the London Borough of Lambeth, all the way to Wood Green. Many people detest long bus rides. In some ways, I do too. However, it is these long bus rides that tend to ignite my creativity. Such represent moments of silence, away from the maddening crowd.

Riding buses in Manila could literally cost you your life, and driving in the same city definitely kills one's patience. Needless to say, I am enjoying as much "bus ride solace" as I possibly can.

MC