I Am Yesterday. You Are Present. We Are Tomorrow

Only a grass that can be grown in one day. A tree normally takes years.

A nice winter wind is so beautiful. It blew just right pass my shoulder and flew above the top of the grass in the lawn of my backyard. The winter breeze is the most mystique kind of wind. You can feel it in the air long before it arrives and bring fresh scent around you. You can breath it and feel love in your arm. As well as the loneliness.

The grass leaves move a little when the winter wind blew over it. I can’t say it was cherished and breath by it but it surely flickering. Like a twinkling star in the dark and deep night sky. But the grass is just a grass: small plants that was normally overlooked. Just a normal plant: a considered background. Nothing is important but a garden could be quite empty without it.

Grass can love the winter wind in a different way from larger trees. A wind that blows over the tip can be turned into a new breeze with different feeling. A scent of the winter got mixes with the scent of fresh grass. A loneliness that flies above nothingness and become one.

But grass can be grown in one day but trees do not. Trees take years to grow fully. It branches can take wind of all season from cold and lonely winter to dry summer or a stormy rain. Larger and stronger can endure everything. It will surely miss the gentle gust of wind that blew intimately above the tip of the lawn but it might not eventually care. Especially the winter breeze.

I’m still standing on the grass lawn. And I take a very deep deep breath.

It is definitely not a good day for a hat.

A cold and windy London can easily blow your hat of few hundred feet from you in three seconds. So one of your hand have to be constantly on you head, wearing on the hat just to make sure it will stay there. And you keep on walking. And walking.

Windy London seems to be normal for the city: dark cold and partly wet. Sprinkles of rain from time to time during the day. The city was much different from last time I’m here in the sunny sky.

I am standing now in Borough Market on Sunday morning, trying to get a cup of my favourite Monmouth coffee. Bad idea. Everything is closed on Sunday morning in Borough Market. I mean everything. With my desperate need for a morning coffee, I ended up with a simple local coffee shop somewhere in the corner of the street. It was a quick fix.
A wind blow with a thought of a friend of mine in London.

And I send her some text as an obligation of a friend visit, keeping my finger cross she might not get mad at me or anything as such. She send it back to say hi. Good. So we are now obviously still a good friend. I’m glad. I don’t normally prefer to hate and be hated. I felt so much relief. In my mind I thought of good things we did, great time we had and wish she would share it further with her husband.

My head is so clear now under the cloudy and windy sky.

I found myself later in my ritual Camden Town for few vinyl shop that regularly visit. I know that it had become so uncool to be in Camden these days. But I have been returning for the last ten years. As I said, it has already became more than a habit. It became a ritual.

It look like a same old Sunday it has always been here in Camden market for the last ten years. New construction has finished at the end of this Stable Market in the end but mostly the market still look and feel the same. A good design indeed. Not many times I see an architect’s work that increase the property value whilst still keeping it’s integrity. I wish all can work there way like that.

I’m standing in one of the very tiny vinyl shop in the middle part of the market. I always have a feeling every time I visited the shop that the guy who runs it is a bit rough. He is like mid 50 with white hair. He never speaks to any of client for than it would be necessary. Not even smile or trying to provide extensive recommendation to any of the records. He always acts cool.

And today is the first time I manage to buy something from his shop. After my digging, I found the rare 80’s -90’s pop album form PH.D. ‘Isn’t It Safe?’. I have always been looking for ‘Try Biology’ album from Billy field but at least this one is close enough. It could be the same year in popularity, I think. So I handed to you with 3 pound coin in my hand. And he gave me back more than a service record sale. Something I never expected from this ever rock cast steel cold face.

He gave me the kindest smile.

It could be that when you are in love, the world always smile at you, even if it were from the coldest man alive. Someone even say it would be branded in your face as something like ‘Look at me I’m in love’ kind of message. I have never feel that treat until now. Or I might have never been in love at all. Or you simply have to be in love with the right one to make it work. Or it is just simply because you did smile first and it still stay at corner of your eyes.

Also when you are in love, you are not very much quite lonely. You may be afar from your love one, but once your soul is completed, your heart will work the missing part in a different way. You don’t feel the loneliness pierce into you and make you cry. You always feel her love around you and every time you think of her, you will wear a small secrecy smile in the corner of your eyes. And perhaps laughing to your self like a nutty.

It is still a windy street of London and I still have my hand on my hat to prevent it from being blown away. But I do walk the street with the warmth inside. I know I’m not really walking this street further alone. And it will be like that at least for a long while more than I could possibly remember. And I will keep on walking, with my hat on and a hand on my hat. And the road will still be dark and windy.

And all of sudden, a glimpse of sun sneaking through those dark clouds.

…

‘I don’t need a manual. We do improvisation. It is a jazz music and not classical. I believe in persistence disequilibrium. Machine need manual but not living organism. What the fun of living without life or surprises? Don’t worry, I am a good leaner and I am mostly very clever. I understand your concept and it will surely work for us both. Forget the manual and don’t be afraid. I’m not going to hurt you and you won’t hurt me, as long as we are honest to one another. My feeling is so strong this time, even I haven’t met you yet. Let us talk normal and act normal. Everything is going to be fine. Don’t build walls. I’m tired to break walls just to prove anything. Especially my love.’

‘Writing and delivering your thoughts is like a poem. I like it a lot. No no. I love it.’

Through her text, I can feel her smiling.

It is going to be the longest five nights of my life.

Just when you found love, you will always be torn apart from it.

I’m on my way to London tonight and it is going to be bloody hurt. Wind in Bangkok starting to blow from a different direction. I know that winter is coming. Several winter has gone by with emptiness in my soul and coldness in my heart. I know this year it is going to be different. But how much different? I don’t know. But a human always live on hope and feed by dream. And I’m just a human.

Like any other human, I have obligations. Obligations that hold you back a bit from dream and pull you back to reality. Just like gravity. The same gravity that all way pull you back to earth and crush you. But as long as you are still living on earth, you are bound to the present of it.

My mind is traveling far away on the island with lesser lives but more soul. A clear water and blue sky. A white sand beach. I can see two birds feeding each other on love and dream. No more window glass to fly into: just simply reality. And they would be always flying, from the earth to the heaven.

Against all gravity and beyond.

…

I’m smiling to myself.

…

“Anyone who is watching us right now might think you are leaving for a year or something.”, she said that, laughing.

She is showing me her notebook. It was a image of half a girl.

‘It was like half of me is being torn away.’ She wrote in the book.

We were sitting in the car earlier, watching into the darkness sky. I knew it is going to be only four nights. I always do four nights away and it always seems quite simple. Somehow, this time it is going the hardest.

I was originally very dramatic about what I’m about to say. I thought about whispering the word into her ear under the clear blue sky on the white sand beach. But now we were sitting in the car on the roof top airport parking garage with few hours away from my departure.

And it was absolutely incredibly romantic.

My chest was about to burst into pieces and fill up the whole darkness in the sky. I couldn’t say much. I was watching into her eyes. A strong connection. A deep dig into the abyss. You felt you already plunged into the deep endless hole. And you are still falling. Keep falling deeper. And deeper. Every second passing by.

And I said the word.

It was the word that I haven’t really utter for years. I always secure it in my deepest part of the empty soul. My personal stupid rules, I think. And I only give it with my honest feeling. My last sanctuary.

Her hat tug away her beautiful eyes from my sight. But I can still found her smile.

“Thank you, really.” Still with that smile.

Next thing I knew I was holding her in my arms. Her body fully but softly melt into mine. It was so warm and gentle. I could almost feel the heart beating. And the whole night plunged into absolute silence. The world stop moving. Time stopped. Only the heart still beating.

And with the perfect harmony.

I guessed this was how love should be found.

…

“I think I should be going.”, she says that, hesitating.
“That is right. I don’t want to see you drive very late at night. And thanks for driving me here.”
“It is ok. I will tell you once it is not ok.”
“Promise me that you won’t change.”
“It is more to you that I should be worry.”
“I love you”
“I know.”

…

Simply the thought of her can keep me company during the long night. Now I know how to define love that separates myself form a sheer loneliness. Love make absence smiling, not crying. When you know you are being loved, you know that you are not alone. Love travels with you everywhere you go and surrounding you; embracing you. You have the warmth, you have the confidence. You are missed and you will no longer obligated to being lonely.

She gave me the music before I left. She said it is the only song in the album that she has been listening over and over again for the past few months without particular reason. It is about two people that were found with certain strange similarity. They were both different to the others and always find themselves do not belong. And once they found each other, it became a perfect harmony.

‘Never thought of the day we would have found each other standing here,
Only that we met, we can feel. There is something going on.
And when we talked, there is more to the meaning of the words,
There must be something between us two that completed bounded.’

Suddenly, it was the sound of the plane wheel squeezing onto the runway that woke me up. Two birds in my dream were also pulled apart in all of the sudden. I woke up again into the reality: The reality that separated us.

I’m back in London again.

If I were a glass of water, I’m here because the bottle of water.

I haven’t met her for ten years at least. The first time I met her I knew immediately that it must be her that I had been waiting for all my life. No, actually, I didn’t know. How could I possibly know. But I had such feeling from time to time. It was a very brief moment that we firstly talked. But it was like heaven.

And a short while after we met, her life gone wild and have had a time of her life. She became so many things that a woman can dream of: art director, writer, character, TV show host and simply being clever. She became famous. And I disappeared from her life ever since. Perhaps it is my personal style to remain cool with famous friends. This time I think it was rather stupid thing that I did.

Now she is sitting in front of me for dinner. She is approaching her forty’s but still look like an angel. She says it must have something to do with her irregular hormones thing that keep that look with her. I’m pretending that I’m listening. In fact, I can’t take my eyes out off her face.

We both have certain things similar in our memories: built on love and torn by love. She did mention this in her book and compared it to a bird that keep flying into a glass window. The glass is there and then the bird, trying to fly through, hit it once and fell. Then, it would get up and still flying through the same stupid direction. With that persistence, it keep on trying and keep banging until death stop it. Poor bird. Now I found two of them at the dining table.

It was a dark sort of pizza restaurant in a strange corner of Bangkok. Almost like you own the restaurant because of lesser people at the table. I try to remember what is our conversation but it couldn’t. I feel like I was eighteen with sweet nothing dialogue. But it was so fluid and comfortable. Again, I feel the strange harmony coming. No, it is not just that. It is more like falling into the big deep hole. I was standing on the edge of the hole and about to throw myself into it. Part of me is so afraid. Part of me is so excited.

We talk about each other’s lives and beyond: trying to catch up after all this long ten years’ time. Was it because of something she said? I’m not quite sure. But I keep on smiling. I don’t speak much but we are surely having conversation. A very good conversation.

“Have you ever read my book?” She asked. “It was like ten years ago thing.”
” I didn’t know you wrote a book. Or, wait, perhaps I’ve heard of it. But, no, I never read it.” I confessed.

And I am feeling a bit embarrassing about that. But, hey. How would I ever know that we will both come to this table?

“Not many does anyway. In fact, only 200 of them perhaps.” I know she was disappointed about that. It does show on her face. “Anyway, it was such a kind of book that only few people will understand anyway.”

I wish I could have read it.
“I will find you a copy.”

And it was even before my request.

….

A journey into her book was such an amazing dive. A brief trip into an abyss of her simple and sophisticated mind. It was telling mostly about nonsense things that make sense. At least it gave me the idea on her passion about cat and life. Especially her love.

Her love is larger than this world. I never met with any woman who are more sensitive than myself so I am very much jumping. I know by the way she described those details: perception of love, how much she was moved by it and longing for it. Any man that she gave her love to must be the luckiest man alive. She told in her book shortly about her lost love and found love. Even for cats. She carefully described about her love of things that surrounded her. Including a glass of water that committed suicide.

That glass was a simple glass. And just like every glass, it was meant to hold the water. It has a passion for the certain bottle of water. The glass think that she belong to that bottle. She is here because that bottle of water. So when there is a new glass on the shelf that looks more sexy, she thought that the bottle of water will fall in love with the new glass. She jumped from the shelf and became shattered pieces.

And she wrote this somewhen ten years ago.

I stopped my reading at this point and looking out of the window. I was on the train again to the airport. A very small drop of tear build up in the corner of my eyes. It is not my type to cry so it remains small drop. And I know something is in my life is about to be changed again forever. This time, it is going to so big and so real. And definitely so good. And I had better be prepared. I am surely not ready for it. But I also can’t stop it.

I am about to fall in love again.

I was kissing her in the middle of a vast and empty parking garage.

A very deep goodbye kiss.

It was a middle of the night.  A wall casted by the shadow on the wall. It was a pattern of the large tree. We both were standing in the middle of the parking garage with building al around. Like a jailhouse wall. Like a prison in the middle of a large cage. Both with desire to escape. Both with desire.

I stretched my hand behind her neck. Her hair run wildly free down on her shoulder. She was still pointing at the wall showing me the shadow on the wall. And all of sudden, I pulled her head closer to my. My lips was pressing on her gently and then hard. My hat pressing to her head tightly that it almost fall of. From the certain angle, no one an see anything but a hat over two head that melt into one.

Two soul in the middle of this urban courtyard, kissing. Like two performers in the middle of arena stage. Like two lovers who want the world to know. Like the world is stopping at this second. Like the world are theirs. Forever.

Like they were making love in the middle of the crowd.

I pull myself away from her.  Of cause, with difficulties. I walk back to my car and her to hers. We were waving goodbye.

And we both leave the night alone.

Sometimes I just don’t know anything about life. Life is all about purpose, that is all I know. But why life is bringing you certain things without warning: that is something I wouldn’t have a damn clue.

It was just like another night of throwing yourself into a party of several unknown people. I was there because a friend of mine convince me. I wouldn’t say I’m a party type. I love going out by night but it has never suited me. I don’t drink. And I don’t believe in overnight relationship. In fact, I don’t really believe in ‘a relationship’ at all. So it was just supposed to be another boring night.

I was sitting there in Bangkok’s darkest corner alone with my friend, as usual.  Furthest away from the world. Trying to enjoy a sight of these beautiful and handsome famous walking by, partying. Young and flamboyances. What you guy will be doing ten years from now? What will you guy doing twenty years from now. Now I AM twenty years something form their ‘now’. So that is perhaps why I am looking at the context from a very different perspective.

My friend introduced me to a woman.

And then suddenly I know tonight is going to be different.

To be honest, I didn’t recognise her in the first place. But I know there was something about her face that was quite familiar. But it was not about her face. It was not even about conversation we made. It was about something you couldn’t explain. Something about a wavelength. More to about the morphogenetic field.

I have been persuaded for many years by this heretic theory from the scientist, Rupurt Sheldrake, who explain that everything in the universe, with or without life, surrounded by a certain force field called morphogenetic field.  This energy field supposed to embrace every single object in the universe, with or without life. It makes birds flocking without flying into one another. It makes the fishes swim in school. It create harmony out of the universe.

And for me, it might create bonding of two lonely people.

Or it might be just a desire to be completed, I’m not sure. But when you are not with anyone, your morphogenetic field might change it’s pattern into a certain frequency. When you met with another lonely soul, it just synchronised. Not even a flirting dialogue or extrusive body language. It is just about this bloody frequency. It just clicked.

When that happened, you would feel like you can simply fall into each other’s arm and cuddle. It is not even about a demand for sexuality touch. You will feel you could belong to each other and your whole purpose of life is completed. Your cycle of missing frequency is balance and you would be in a restful harmony.

She touch my arm and offer a drink. It was just a friendly touch. And so does her intention. I don’t feel the spark of excitement similar to those kind of girl you may want to sleep with. More to the harmonic side, in fact. But warmer than a friend. She walked pass by and keep on with the party. I watched her briefly and starting to check on other girls in the party.

It was indeed an interesting party. Every girls and boys in the party are only movie star, model, musician, director or simply looking good people.

They do not look like models or actress. They ARE models and actress.

“This is just simply heaven. You should have brought me to this earlier.” I complained to my friend

“You never believe me anyway when I told you that I would take you to a REAL party. Besides, you are too bloody busy.” And he was laughing.

And some of them are dressing in the Cosplay costume. Your ultimate Japanese sexual fantasy. I recognised a girl three metres from my desk. She is a very arousing performer dressing in a too short blouse and her shirt revealing more than lower half of her upper body. I checked on her. And she also checked on my hat.

But my eye always went back to her. And I thought she also realised that.

Another round of talk I believed, on and off. I think she did a perfect job taking a good care of her few friends. We took some photo together, more chat and even more clicked. It was only a very brief talk each round. But that could possibly be more than enough to get me smiling non stop.

I have to leave the party at midnight with my friend. We have a radio programme to do together.  So it is the end of the party for me that night. I said goodbye to her. She said she wanted to come with us but I and my friend were not quite sure that it could possibly be a good idea. So that’s it. A perfect harmony of morphogenetic field that was torn apart by a professional obligation. That is a real drama. A real karma.

I don’t know about meeting-her-again thing will be in the coming picture. I don’t know what had happened to me with that harmony. It was supposed to be just another night anyway. Keep cool, I told myself. At least you know something has changed.

And it might become the purpose of your life.

The cold breeze floating in from the south.

San Marco square at 7 o’clock is quite a sight. The piazza that once hold ten thousand of tourist around the world is now completely abandoned. A small group of Japanese tourist walking in order across the pavement. In their ears, each of them wearing a small transmittal earphone from the group leader. No more shouting through the large speaker. Gosh, I love the Japanese. The world most sophisticated tourist.

Venice is definitely not a city to be there alone.

You can feel this loneliness cut your heart coldly in the morning light. My eyes run through every pillars that surrounded the piazza as if I was looking for someone behinds it. And it could be just anyone. Anyone that hiding behind one of the pillars to come out and walking to you.

And say she is lonely too.

Yesterday morning, I saw one Asian woman sitting on one of the chair in the plaza. A Japanese, perhaps. She was sitting alone. Her eyes were also on the vast and emptiness of this place in the morning. I was thinking that we may just give ourselves a date. You were lonely and I was also. Let’s do Venice together today. And I would tell her: Because Venice is not a city for you to be alone.  And we could use some fun and it would become the founded memory of our life time.

But I did not do that.

Because I know it is just two nights for me here in Venice. And the schedule seems to be tight. Not only my exhibition but also lot of exhibitions I need to cover in Architecture La Biennale. More than 50 exhibitions I need to finish in two days.

Definitely no time for fun.

This is the first time I visit to La Biennale: the largest exhibition on earth contributed solely for the sake of architecture. Everyone who has their lives related to the profession must be here on its first day. It is the place and time that you can run into the Pritzker prize won architect, stroll along the narrow street in the middle night with her young boy friend, puffing her cigarette. Or you can find the ex-Pritzker’s Prize winners debating on the most classic issue on urbanism, whether a city should be built planned or unplanned. And it is also a place and time you would run into old friends from around the world. Everyone is here in Venice. And it is the only time you may find so many people on the street wearing black t-shirt with kakis slack. Sort of summer professional dress code. And the city is very hot in this time of the year. The only time you can feel the cold breeze is this very early morning. That make you feel better than a hot summer day.

And it cut you deeper when you are lonely.

My trip to Venice was exhausting. A flight was slightly delayed from Bangkok so I have to run 15 minutes across the Frankfurt airport to get a connection to Marco Polo airport in Venice. From gate C to A, that was like a world record in running. And then the client supposed to pick me up at the airport. I’m not surprising I found no one at the airport. Chinese clients. They are just like that.

So I decided to travel in a very lavish lifestyle by a private water taxi to the city. A flamboyant architect on a private speed boat. That could be awesome, I think. My taxi was a glossy brown wood one with a bit of chrome and brass here and there. Very Mediterranean type.

Venice has a very interesting way to organise the traffic on the water surface. Three wooden pillars were put into the water to indicate the threshold of the water ‘express way’ that every boat have to fly within that chamber. So the trip on the grey and vast water surface took me only 15 minutes. And I made my day to San Marco square.

The hotel I stay is a small hotel in one of the canals. So the taxi has to make certain effort in navigating it through. Those canals were not meant to be for such a speed boat for sure.  That is why they have the Gondolas in the first place. Small, elegant and efficient. While we were on the way in, another boat have to run backwards just to give it way out for that very small canals. They even have to use there hand and arms from time to time pushing the boat from crashing into the building wall along the edge of the canals. That might probably be my first excitement arriving into the city.

The second excitement could be the number of people flocking around the city. One of the local told me that he was more afraid of the increasing number of tourist than a fact that this city is sinking. He thought that they will die first because of this overwhelming number of tourist before the city submerge into the ocean. The city is indeed sinking. You can see the regular water mark along the building surrounding San Marco square. And some infrastructure work is being done to improve the situation underneath the plaza itself. For sure that in the next few years, San Marco square will appear a little different from the past history. But, of cause, a changed in urban fabric is better than no fabric left at all.

It was like yesterday when I first came to Venice. Must have been like twenty years ago. I was here with my colleges from the architectural school. I still remembered I was shown a bridge. A story goes like if you were in the Gondolas with you love one and go under the bridge together, you love will be eternity. I was very romantic at that time and keep promising myself that, one day, I will be in the Gondolas with the woman I love most and our love will be forever.

Pathetic indeed.

Six or perhaps seven years later I was in Venice with one of my girlfriend, I think. We never made it to the Gondolas. We have been good company for few years before we broke up. She already passed away last year from some strange sickness.

Love is definitely not for eternity.

Or it is better to be alone than walking together on the different path?

I walked though small streets of Venice with joy. A hot summer days also brought a very clear blue sky and a bright sun light. Ideal for photographing. Some of the street were so narrow that you can fit only one or two people at a time. Walking alone in Venice allow you to weaving through these unique small urban fabric with fluidity. And you would enjoy finding yourself in certain amazing urban space from time to time. I can’t imagine how much that it would be further complicated if I were to travel in two. Negotiating and compromising. I’ve been trough that all before. Romance of the place can cherish you two for a while and after that it will be all the whole negotiations.

The cold breeze still coming from the south.

An hour has past and more people start to travel across San Marco square. Those birds also seem to know when to flock around the square. Only when there are people, there are food.

I found myself walking after her. Her blouse was so thin and appear to be vaporised in the hot summer air. Her hair is long and black that match her clear Asian eyes. She is walking toward to this Caffe Florian. She turn back to me and smile.

It is going to be a great coffee, I think.

Venice is definitely not a city to be alone.

My feet are on the white sand beach.

I always notice the different kind of sand on each beach. Some are sort of white. Some are more yellow. Some has large grain. Some has a very refine and light grain. And some are really white. I remember saw some sand beach which are totally black. And some beach without any sand at all.

Hua Hin sand is one of those that I like. Sort of white with a fine grain. Perfect beach to walking with bare feet.  The sun is setting on the other side of the ocean. We have nice sun today: a orange pink colour key casting on her face.

It could have been a romantic walk, except for the fact that we both realised the true meaning of the world of reality. The reality that composed of past, present and future: action and consequences. I have the past and she has the present. I was married, divorced and living with my two children. She are married and living her dream life in London. We both know that no matter how high are our dreams, reality is always an editable gravity that pull us both back to the ground. Such a gravity that can pull you so hard, crush you and tear you apart.

She is looking at the pony on the beach: those services that you can hire a ride for an hour.

“I want to ride the horse.”

“I’m afraid I don’t have cash with me at the moment.”

“I still want to ride that horse.”

Of cause, she didn’t have her chance.

I have a feeling that a relationship between opposite sex is nothing more than a negotiation of political space and the notion of body. First, all would start with separate ideology. Guy will have their ideology and so does the girl. So the question is: when do we really fall in love with one another? Or we always just simply fall in love with our ideology. A man will see a girl only through his embedded ideology. Otherwise he may never become to “like” the woman. So he makes himself love a woman who he think he wants to love and never really for what she is. And so does the woman.

And when they started to know more and more about each other, their ideology start to disappear. It will be their shear luck if once the ideology subside, they still found their “loved” ones appearing similar to their ideology. Otherwise, it will be a pure tragedy.

I don’t think we both had come to the realisation of that yet. We are still fall in love in each other’s ideology. And we may want to keep it that way.

Or we might want to end it that way. It is the only way that let love live eternally.

She does not speak much and I take a lot of her photos. It is a nice sunset light that we have. With a strange pattern of the sky.

Her plan was to be in Bangkok for a month and catch up with the city. Perhaps she might only want to come and see me. But as my life normally unfold, it has always been a cramped timetable. We rarely see each other, even though I let her work in my studio during the day time. My life is not structured for a proper relationship, perhaps. I don’t know whether she had realised it earlier. Perhaps she already has by now.

So this walk on the beach is a matter of shear opportunity. A dream, perhaps. And like every other dreams, it will end.

We have walked quite far from the hotel. I barely see the sight of it now. And the beach is still stretching further and further with no ending insight. She wants to walk even further but I noted to her that it might took longer on the way back. And it getting dark.

Reality is like gravity. It can crush you and tear you apart.

She want to go on but I want to go back.

My feet are cold and wet.

A minute later we found ourselves walking in the opposite direction. I still love the white sand beneath my feet.

And it has been a perfect day.

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’.

I open a seal on the box and a happiness start pouring in.

It is such a long lost feeling in an electronic age: a moment you use your knife to cut that tape on the envelop. Open letters, once a routine life pattern, now had become a unique memory.

The sending address is from a Jam Factory. Of cause, it is not a real factory, neither it is associate with the product. But I think I kind of like the name. I could use it for my next office location. The book inside is HECTOR and the Search for Happiness. I don’t particular think happiness can be search for. It can only be found.

I closed my eyes. Another day at work. Today it is going to be a small paradise.