The other day, and I know it's a bad post if it starts with those three words but I can't help it. The other day means what I'm about to relate happened so far in the past that I can't even remember the exact date. I'm breaking the cardinal rule of blogging, which is being current. But over the last two weeks my life has been filled with lots of work and lots of joy, and I just haven't got around to posting much.
The other day, I was tired of work and the same-old I see every day. I get up in the morning, ride my bike to work, work, go to the cafeteria for lunch, work, sneak out to check the new arrivals at the Oxfam bookstore five minutes from campus, work, ride my bike back home, (cook and) eat, and engage in a variety of evening activities that are pleasantly wide in scope but don't necessarily force me far from the familiar surroundings of South Kensington or Shepherd's Bush. I could be living in a village – as long as the village offers exactly the things that I'm interested in, I might be happy for a while – but I live in London. There is more to it than the little sliver I see daily.
The other day, I went to where normally don't tread and entered the touristic heart of the city. Normally, this is not a good idea. Tourists are a nuisance, always in the way, always stopping to gape or take pictures, always on the wrong side of the escalator and blissfully unaware of the rules. But if I choose to be among tourists out of my own volition, I instantly turn into a tourist myself. I enter vacation land and are engulfed by the euphoria that emanates from it. My face turns into a big grin. Buildings become attractions, portrait cartoonists cute, and shopping window decorations works of arts.
The other day, I spent about two hours just walking around the Strand, Covent Garden and the Royal Opera House, a bit of Soho, Leicester Square, and Piccadilly Circus. I didn't notice the crowds or felt the pushing and shoving that's inevitable. I marveled at the six-pointed carpets of light that hover above Regent Street, giving it a festive mood. I was enchanted by the giant inflated snowmen inspecting the proceedings on Carnaby Street from above. And I scratched my head over the oddly chosen minuscule lights festooned across Oxford Street. Was their dimness supposed to mirror the mood of the local shoppers, battered as they are by a deep recession? Being a tourist, I didn't care.
The other day, I returned late at night from a quick city break. A quick tube ride took me to the heart of London with all its sparkle and lights. Back in my apartment I realized how blessed I am to live here – and also how wise it was to take residence in a city others have high on their vacation wish list. I can visit London any time I want, at the spur of the moment, and for small change.
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