*I never realised just how strongly scent is linked with memory. A couple of mornings ago I used a perfume that I hadn't touched in over a month, and so many memories - not to mention emotions - came flooding back to me: London in the springtime, the beginnings of a new relationship, languid mornings, homemade meals, everything about my boyfriend that I miss so, so much.
*It scares me somewhat when I witness a change in someone and it is unclear whether this change is for the better or the worse. I begin to wonder whether I'm seeing them differently than everyone else is.
*I have determined that two months of not having cracked open a textbook has rendered me absolutely incapable of doing so ever again.
*Every morning I have been waking up feeling filled with such dread at turning on my laptop, logging into my homepage, and discovering that another bombing has occurred in the city that I love. Strangely these horrible occurrences that now seem de rigueur have made me love and miss London even more than I already am.
*The other night I fell asleep holding a framed photograph of my boyfriend. I stared at his smiling face, at each minute pixel of that image, dreaming that the pixels would merge, take shape, forming someone tangible that I could touch and hold, and I missed him so much that I ached. And then the photograph became just a photograph again, and so the dream was shattered.
*Bermuda. Tomorrow. Some things, I think, are well worth waiting for.
See you all in a week.
two weeks later
Words cannot describe...
I lived on Warren Street this year.
Keep London and Londoners in your thoughts.
home
Well, I'm back.
Like they say, it's been the best of times, and it's been the worst of times. I can't possibly encapsulate our month-long holiday without frequent usage of superlatives - Italy was just as beautiful as I'd remembered it, but perhaps better. Words cannot describe the eerie, shimmering waters of the Blue Grotto; Capri was picture perfect, and Lake Maggiore a gorgeous resort town with the scent of flowers wafting in the breeze. I enjoyed Milan - in all its London-like, business-and-banking glory - as well as Pompeii, which was much larger, and certainly much better preserved, than I'd anticipated. The highlight of Italy, however, was being blessed by the Pope from his top floor window in St Peter's Square - which was an experience that I found surprisingly empowering (being only mildly religious).
France, however, was my favourite, particularly Monaco and St Tropez, two glitzy, extremely affluent coastal cities which I would gladly have a winter home in. The famous bronzing strip of the Plage de Pampelonne in St Tropez turned out to be topless through and through - shocking for many North Americans, no doubt, due to the lack of signage. I was unfazed, but what I did find shocking were some of the breasts on display that most certainly should not have been. Three, perhaps four times, my eyes seemed to implode: the leathery knee-grazing look, or butt-plug nipples for that matter, are not particularly attractive. Breasts aside, the French Riviera was
the place to be. I loved every minute of it - even in sweltering 40C weather.
Our trip was scarred, however, by news of the London bombings, which occurred when we were in Avignon. I will never forget that moment - just as I will never forget the moment in Art History class when we heard news of the 9/11 attacks - D was in the shower, and I was channel surfing, which I rarely ever do in the morning. When I saw the headline (at that moment it was still thought to be a power failure), it was the first time that I have ever associated the word 'fear' with my beloved city. An impending sense of dread told me that the timing and location of the occurrences were too coincidental. And then - the bus bombing.
Perhaps it was inevitable, but I never expected to see horrible images of buildings on my own university campus splattered in blood and debris. Only a month ago, prior to our trip, we had frequented those affected areas and walked those streets, particularly the region where the bus had been bombed, and to make it worse, we had taken those very tube lines. When images of the missing began to surface, the nightmare became more real: this had all hit too close to home, and I felt completely powerless and far away from a city that I loved. I cannot even begin to fathom what those involved had experienced, but in the aftermath, I loved London even more, after seeing just how resilient, defiant and brave Londoners are. Disgust has left me without words to describe the bombers, but I can only hope that the scales will one day be tipped in favour of decent, law abiding citizens - not those who despise the culture and beliefs of a country that they themselves choose to live in.
