The Commute
It’s a Friday. I’m not late, not early, I’m right on time. I head underground and hop onto the train. 2 stops and change at Westminister. On the Circle and District Line, I’m not surprised when I see a group of 3 young tourists panic onto the train. Only two of them make it on. The girl on the outside pleads with the door, but it’s already made its mind up. I emerge out of the station and catch my breath, I let my glasses clear up to the office. Wait. What’s the rush? Relax. Get something to eat.
Chez Antoinette has coffee and pastries for 4 pounds. I see this sign every morning outside the bistro sunken in a sea of offices and tourist attractions. Today is a Friday, treat yourself. I ask the barista if he can put my coffee in my flask. He smiles warmly and tells me anything is possible if I believe. Just believe. I needed to hear that. I take my hazelnut oat latte and pain aux raisin and as I head out, he steals the next customer’s words from her mouth. He makes us feel seen before we leave and become 1 out of 9 million. I head up to the office.
I called in sick yesterday (Nothing comes between me and my bag, so you know it was real). It’s no surprise that my manager greets me with questions. I’m alright. I sip my coffee, nibble my pastry, and get to work. It’s mostly data entry today. I relax in my seat and decide not to play my music on full blast. Not for my health, or to hear snippets of tea in Mandarin. Just because. It’s nice, it’s chill. My manager points out that I am relaxed, he says he is too. He’s looking forward to the weekend. Today is not a busy day in the office, so I’m encouraged to take it easy. There is an errand I run nearly every day. It never changes, except for today. I’m given extra instructions: bask in the sun and take your time.
Taking My Time
I wanted to write every time I experienced something new. I turned 18, left university, started working, and more. I had expected myself to have words every time I experienced something. In reality, I didn’t. I was frustrated because this blog was supposed to be a release. And believe me when I say I tried. I recorded voice notes, selected photos, made playlists, and tried different writing styles. Nothing came out. I was verbally constipated. So I stopped trying.
In the meantime, I changed the layout of the website. I hope you like the Spotify feature (even though I use Apple Music). I also read magazines and newspapers to get inspired. I recorded voice notes and discussed topics with my friends, still struggling to find the words. I WANT TO WRITE. Not being able to express myself made me feel trapped. This is crazy coming from someone who has spent 3 months in the same place, in the same clothes, eating the same food, doing the same thing with the same people over and over again for 3 months at a time— I digress.
The words grew legs and found me. Now you and I have got some catching up to do…
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