I Am Yesterday. You Are Present. We Are Tomorrow

Think about it, then. Think about it carefully.

I will never want to be young again.

Silence falls around me all of sudden. Heaven knows how much I would hate to be in love. Everything is so wrong. And everything seems to be so right.

“Can I stay while you are packing your bag?”

“Sure”

I’m leaving London one more time. It is another city that I always come back. More like my second home for me. After a long journey, you need a mind rest from time to time.  A good sunny June weather anyway. Who would ever want to miss it?

“You will forget all about this by the time you go back. All of the sudden, the mystery is gone.”

I was about to say the same thing

I always love travelling light. This time I manage to cramp everything for my seven days trip on a smallest aluminium Rimowa.  I always love this bag since I was young and still cannot afford it. I got this one like half discount anyway. It is an old model. When the new one come out, it came down to half price. I still remember when that salesperson told me:

“That might be the last one for Thailand. Another one was a display one. I don’t think you will like its condition, though”

He knew that trick is going to work.

I put everything eventually in my luggage: 12 vinyls, perhaps, from various shops in London: Camden town to Brick Lanes. Oh, gosh. Brick Lanes is indeed a cool street. I still remember when I told her I’m going to Camden Town on Sunday. She was kind of upset.

“I’m not seeing you at Camden.”

“Why? What wrong with Camden. It could be cool, you know. kind of hippies punk nostalgia. ”

I like Camden. I missed it on my last trip few months back. But normally I did Camden only because of some few second hand vinyl shop there: 5 pound each most of it. Some 10. But also some at 2.  And that was all my Camden for, actually. Just for my passion for the record. But she disagreed. I will see her after Camden then. That will do me just fine.

And then, on that Sunday, I have a feeling that I has been kind of missing her.

I did my Camden ritual. Got like six or seven in my bag and it became bloody heavy. I was thinking going back to the hotel and dump all this loading. But then, I’m going to late for her. I’d better get going.

And I did.

I met her above this tube station, Bethnal Green, on the Central line train. I’d never been to this area before. Very far east, Zone 2. I did make some notion that she was an eastern girl and I’m a western boy. She did not seem to take that joke quite well. It might be a music too old.  She was standing there at the tube entrance in a casual summer white shirt and a short kaki pant with legging. High heels as usual. I asked her whether it’s would her too much trouble with the high heel on the walking street.  She told be it is not a comfort she was looking for.  A walk is about pleasure. And high heels are THE pleasure.

I will never understand women in my life time.

And then we walk, though, starting from the Boardway Market that was closed on Sunday. The rainy sky postpone her plan for a lunch in the park. So we walked through the Splitterfield Market and then Brick Lane. I found a lot of people were on bike. I think this east side must be a good bicycle trend area. And most of them are fixies. These people are indeed stylish.

And so we got to Brick Lane. It IS a great crowd we had here. Small vibrant shops on two sides. Lots of them more on the street. My eyes looked down the lane and it was like endless heads of human down the alley. And they all appear cool and young. This is a place where local people would be and not those tourist. This is going to be cool.

She drag me through the crowd, stopped to some stall that she know. Met with some friends. I think she does know ways around the east side. I think this is HER London now.

We stopped at one large warehouse. Food stalls inside.

“Are you tired? Let’s sit here then”

I barely utter the answer. And, the decision was made.

Is that why I love this girl? I don’t know. She always ask but never wait for the answer. Her mind already made before the question. So what the point of the question? Yes. what is the point.

Do we all always seeking for answer? Sometimes we does without necessity. We just ask the question out of politeness. We always seek for the answer that was not there. And perhaps I always have to provide answers to everyone in the office. I think in an occasion like this: an opportunity to do things without answering is a privilege. Even better without a question.

“Why you always have me for the order for food? You don’t want to think do you? I bet you don’t”

“I will be my pleasure not to think. I think it is my vacation here.”

“You got it.”

We were sitting in the sun. I was having my still water and she was having her Red Bull.  The warehouse is a cool place: a mix of food and bar inside. It was such an inspiring old structure that I wanted to live with. I told her that I could possibly move my office into a similar warehouse if I could find one in Bangkok.

“I would preferred to see it by the river, or a cannel, to be honest” I explained her my scheme. ” And it could be a combination of an architect’s office, my furniture gallery, and a restaurant. Would that be cool?”

“Can you have a small artist studio in there as well?”

“That would be interesting. And she can display her work in the gallery.”

“Is that a promise?”

And then she make me do promise hand gesture. The kind that you have to do your little finger and you thumb.

…

We end our walk on the Rough Trade East. This store is much larger than the one I went to in Portobello few years back. I told her I could never possibly going to find anything I wanted here. But I follow her and made it to the inside. I was completely wrong. I was even almost buy a nice vinyl player there if I weren’t reminding myself that I came with a very small bag this trip. All the vinyl I had in my bag would cause be the problem already. Even that, I still bought two more vinyl there.

And there was this photo booth in the shop: The kind with a small Rough Trade logo in background. And it was only for black and white print. Good marketing idea, I thought. And they would also charge us two pound on that.

“Let’s do this one. Ok?”

I have never been in one of this machine with other people before. So I was quite awkward when we were in there together. I still remember the moment I was with her at the installation at Tate Modern that we have to be together in the darkness. That was quite strange already. Now we are like two adults in a very tiny box, Waiting for the green light to blink three time for four stupid post. I think I would be too young for that. And what face should I made. And about thousand of things in the universe..

All of sudden. It was her smell again.

And the green light blinked. And there was some flashes.

…

I am a good packer though.

I was on my way to squelch in my last to socks into a very tight open spot on my luggage when I got my eyes on her.

Now, she was on my bed in my hotel room, drawing something nice on my iPad. What a nice body she has: a long thin body and leg. She could have been a model if she were like 10 centimetre higher. She is ON my bed. Gosh. I hate that idea. And she is indeed a beautiful one.

How many guy would resist that? How many guy would ever do?

But I was busy packing. I finally manage to get every single last piece of my vinyl in tog the luggage. It must have been 15 or 18 altogether. And with also some few books got from Broadway Market.  I made it all into the trunk.

“Ok. Now that we don’t need a new bag, I can buy you the dinner.”

But we didn’t have a dinner that night.

…

I think life is all about the choices between two things, like marmalade or strawberry, tea or coffee, egg or noodle and croissant or, I don’t know, whatever that other kind of bread may be called.

People use to think that luxury is about choices. That is why the business class of every airline offer you choices as a part of luxury. I simply think that, on the contrary, the new luxury is about not having to choose because you would be already offered the best choice that has been well considered. To make a choices is purely exhausting. While you are having your yoghurt (which simply does not have a choice), they will keep coming and ask you about the choices. You would loose a luxury in the sense that you have to provide them answer while having a food in your month.

Nega-choice will be a new luxury.

…

“I got a ten pound off my cab fare last night”

“Ten pound! Wow.. That was quite a lot”

“The whole thing was like 40 pound, you know. My house is very far from your hotel.”

She leave with her husband on the other side of London, the east side, in the place called Jam Factory.  It was the new developed building side by side with the renovated jam factory building. The prove was a large white lettering on the brick wall as a part of the old factory name.  I think the name was kind of cool.

“Well. Can I pay for tour taxi then..”

“The driver was kind of like me, though. His wife is also Thai and we talk all the way. He even put his wife on the phone so we talked. I think that might be the ten pound was for…”

It would be my lunch in Hoxton square, but it will be her breakfast.  I normally wake up like five o’clock every morning in Bangkok. Even at here, I’m still doing six. Or at least before seven. This morning I was wondering around in the Borough Market alone for my favourite coffee, Monmouth. They serve a real coffee here. Rich and no compromise. The only place in the world that a real coffee spirit lives.

The market was not yet wake up, though, so everything is so quite. Walking into a market that was still sleeping always give you a creepy experience. I walked into the Monmouth with my new hat on. I got it from Harrods the other day. It was a panama hat with tainted tan colour and leather stripe around it. A south American classic shape, I think. I know nothing much about the hat. But I started learning when people on the same table I sit starting talking about my hat. They might not think I speak english. With the round Cutler and Gross framed glasses I wear, they might probably think I am an old Japanese tourist. I kind of like the idea: traveling in the strange city without anyone knows your true identity. That got me excited a bit.

I met with her at Tate Modern. We were together here one more time. This time there was no dark sexy installation in Turbine Hall. It was abandoned. Empty.  I found her in the bookshop below ground floor. She was in blue and white stripes shirt and short pants. I think she was also with her white hat. Or perhaps that was the other day. I don’t remember quite well. But what I surely remember is that she does look like a summer candy. She always appeared like that: a sunflower in the spring field.  I saw her from afar. And I walk closer. And closer.

We walked together across the Millennium Bridge. I told her about the story of its engineer who left the office and started his own practice few days earlier to the news of the bridge structural instability when it was newly opened. A life-time tragedy indeed. She appeared pretended listening. She also told me the story when she was made to sketch people walking on the bridge on a cold winter day in her school years. It was a good sunshine day that day. Cold winds, of cause. I can imagine that cold breeze running through her nice pair of legs. It was bare naked without any stocking this time. A wonder of summer.

….

“This is where everything began”

She told me when we were standing in Hoxton square.

“You remember the Shoreditch area I took you to last time? The whole vibrant of the East started from here.”

And she showed me the Hoxton Square: a nice peaceful garden surrounded by the artists’ and photographers’ studio, galleries, bars and restaurants.

The creative cradle.

We had lunch (my lunch-her breakfast) at The Breakfast Club. This is where we met with few of her friends there. And I also met with Sean. Sean is her young fellow with a slim body and and a nice baby face. He appeared to be very gentle. While we were having lunch-breakfast, he showed us his work for the cover of the magazine. His illustration are more to be created in real rather than computer generated. One of his work is a photo shoot of and object in six sided mirror box that generated endless reflection of the object and light source. The trick is where ton put the camera, he told us.  He appeared to be more eager when he talked about his work. Other than that, he seemed to be very shy.

I looked out the window. Sunshine is casting on the street outside. A bicycle leaned to a white brick wall. A small white pipe running beside it and made a perfect composition.

Is everything around here is art? Or it was just me?

…

We were walking on the street in the area around the Shoreditch. I was stroked by the one street doors with orange and blue colour in the bright sunshine. I notice her light up the cigarette and ditch the match on the ground. Very Parisian in a way.

And suddenly she pulled me into one dark coffee house.

To my professional reference, this coffee house is everything in opposite of me. The space is very dark and tiny. The owners appear to be like a Russian or middle east gangster but with a kindness in their eyes. I was surrounded by decorations. Lots of decorations. My eyes were blinded with overwhelming of elements for few minutes. When I have this psychological adjustment, I started seeing things. All oversized victorian sofa and armchairs cramped in the space. I have a feeling like dining in the old furniture warehouse. But it is kind of cool in certain way.

The light passing through a reddish curtain and bled everything in the room in red colour, including her face. My blood ran in to my ears quickly. I felt that I was, somehow, got excited. Is that why people always related the colour to love and passion? Must be something that work with the chemical in your brain.

Perhaps some tea will help.

I choose indian chai tea. Hers was English Breakfast. We sit side by side without talking so much. Just us and tea. With a lot of red sunshine coming through the window.

And the wind outside.

“I think we should move on”, I proposed. “Or we are going to miss the sun”

We were then heading to the other side.

…

We ended our day at Sacchi and Sacchi Gallery on Slone Square. She did not do much underground but I insisted to save some money since it was a long way from where we were.

“I normally prefer the buses”.

But we could not figure the bus that travel that far. So it was underground then. She appeared awkward in the underground, I had to admit that. It was not reallybfor her kind of London.

We finished the exhibition and sitting in the Gallery front stairs, watching school children playing football on the sunshine field. Should we call then pupil then? I thought. Never heard of that word for a long while.

She lit up her last cigarette.

“I thought you just got the lighter, like an hour ago.”

“I couldn’t find it.”

And she ditch the burnt match on the ground again.

…

I hate the idea of sending people off at the airport. They have to travel a long way for nothing. An absolute waste if time and energy. Not very good from the ecological point of view.

I called her to say goodbye before I left London.

“If it doesn’t mean anything to you, then I won’t send you off”

“I will, actually. But I simply don’t want you to”

She went in silence. But it might because it was too early.

The concierge asked me weather I needed a taxi to the airport. I told him I  would do the train.

And all of sudden, I walked through the door.

…

I am now on my plane to Hangzhou. Far far way again from everything I know. Especially London.  Living in the world of luxury of choices again- chicken, lamb or veggie.

Everyone has a dream, I think. And all living organism live on some purpose, if not many. I know specifically what I live on.  Sometimes you need someone to evolve yourself around. She can be your purpose, your dream, your muse or whatever you want to call it. Definitely, she is your friend. But as I told earlier, I would never want to be young again. Young lovers live on with a different purpose. It is good, then, but only to the young ones.

I look out the window. I see the horizontal line of the sky at the fairest of my sight.

You see it but you will never be there.

That might be the purpose of my life.

…

I look at the calendar and booked on the certain date in July. I marked it as personnel and wrote down.

‘A friend visit from London’.