It’s 7:45 pm on the 7th of November. Autumn is noticeably giving way to winter, with the sun setting at half past four and temperatures hovering around 10°C.
I am sitting at Table 53 at the Goodman’s Field Wetherspoons after having a grilled chicken burger for dinner. Since I moved to London a month and a half ago, I never felt the serendipity and inspiration to write. But as I sip at my pint, the vibes are pushing me in the right direction.
Earlier today, I booked my Vaccinated Travel Lane (VTL) flight to Singapore for the December break. The cheapest option for my travel dates was on Air France via Paris. Not bad, I thought; a croissant and coffee within the Charles de Gaulle transit area would be nice. So, I booked it and set myself up for two and a half weeks back on my tropical island catching up with friends and family; maybe studying at the National Library in preparation for the January exams.
This past week was Reading Week, which I spent on a trip to Málaga, Spain, with some friends. With the 20°C weather there, I could fully utilise my wardrobe. It was a wholesome trip. Thursday was the busiest day: a 5 km run by the Malagueta Beach at dawn, followed by a breakfast of sandwiches, churros and café con leche, an afternoon filled with jazz, capped off by José James’ opening evening concert at the Teatro Cervantes as part of the 35th Málaga International Jazz Festival. Ah, the good life.
It has now been one and a half months since I moved to London. Surprising even myself, the cosmopolitan liberal that I am, I’ve had no problems transitioning at all. I simply moved from one global city to another, maintaining familiar urbanisms and lifestyles. Back home, I liked doing things myself — cooking, laundry, exploring and negotiating the city on my own terms, customising my life according to my tastes and preferences — and I’ve never felt this “free, enfranchised and at large” since Junior College. (National Service got slightly in the way, but I managed to find some wiggle room. I will not let myself be suffocated.)
It’s now 12:15 am on the 8th of November and I just made myself a cup of coffee. A teaspoon of Kenco Millicano freeze-dried espresso dissolved in an inch of hot water, topped up with milk — my usual recipe. I am used to caffeine, so I am rather immune to its effects. Besides, I love the taste of coffee. Mmm. I’m listening to “Autumn in New York” by Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong, biting into my chocolate digestive, continuing to write this piece. This week, for Political and Economic Philosophy, we’re covering Isaiah Berlin’s “Two Concepts of Liberty”. I’ve already read the material before Reading Week because it was the topic of my formative essay outline. Looking forward to Dr Federica Carugati’s Q&A at Waterloo at 9 am, where she will review our formative assignments. Sceptical of most dichotomies, I am inclined to blur the line between “positive” and “negative” liberty — and that was my argument in my formative essay outline — but I will read the feedback before proceeding, of course.
Also, I have an immense backlog of pictures but I haven’t resolved to processing and posting them yet.
2 am. I just took my clean fitted sheet and pillowcases out of my laundry bag and made my bed. Good night. ∎
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