Août, I always think that's the weirdest month in French. Anyway, it's August, it's England and yes you guessed it it's raining.
The week ending July was fine, and the beginning of August was sunny, but now the winds are cold, the rain is unending, and the wind has already claimed a life, felling a tree on a car at Clapham Common.
I'm still hustling, having to wake up at 6 (Yes I'm complaining, in Uni the average wake up time is 10) travel for 1 and a half hours, watching folks go about the daily grind in the City known as London. Get on three different trains, commute with hundreds of people, all minding their own business, reading a copy of the Metro, white earphones hanging from their ears, some have their music turned up too loud, but nobody says anything. We are in London, no time for small talk, people only react in case of an emergency, we are arguably in the capital of Europe, where you are guaranteed to hear a foreign language spoken on the trains. We are in London, each person to himself, busily shuffling to work, and at five shuffling back. Oyster cards swiping, tickets entering and ejecting, people mutter on their cell phones, some divulging rather personal information.
We are in a city, networked with what must be miles and miles of rail track, Underground and Overground, countless engineering works, and many fatalities on the track.
We are in a city deluged with tourists, you can spot them, all sorts of cameras in their hands, walking slowly looking at buildings. Some go for large high-tech Canons and Olympuses, other prefer compact versions, while some snap away on their phones.
I love this city, I loathe this city. It's brilliant, and it's boring. It's uniting, yet also very fractioned.
I've been giving a lot of thought into moving to London when I gruaduate next year, surely working in PR in the capital would be many people's dream, and it is mine, yes, one of my dreams, but I'm stuck in a paradox, there is something appealing and unappealing about big city life. The drone-like routine bores me, the choreographed commute, the lifeless souls. I don't know if London is for me, but time will tell I guess.
An island is what I always dreamed of, a small island, not like Britain, a small island like Fiji, like Bermuda, Barbados...but if I lived on a small tropical island I doubt it's public relations I'll be doing.
This is just the ramblings of a young man, currently tuning his dial to the final frequency at which his life would be set at for years to come.....I'm still tuning
