It seems like it has been years since I last saw you my dear, in your majestic charm and late night escapades. I miss Hyde-ing with you, walking down your streets and cursing at your weather.
When I came to you London, I didn’t know what to expect, they told me stories about you before, but you and I never got along. I guess a real relationship really does take time to blossom… and the more I knew you the more I fell for you.
At first you overwhelmed me- I guess one really isn’t a city girl until you know a city like you, or your BFF NYC or foreign relative Paris. I would walk around Regents, Soho, Covent Garden, South Kensington and even Hackney, Shoreditch and City like I was seeing for the first time. Walking became my favorite past time. I would use any and every excuse to walk- except when you struck us with piercing cold weather, then I would dash down your streets tucked into my scarf, gloved hands in pocket and walking as fast as Mo Farah. In one year I took you all in, from your whacky hipster East, to your classy Central and charming West.
But most of all the City.
I would walk home at night from Moorgate Station, make a right and cut through City Point. The noise of billion dollar transactions have dissipated, giving way to laughs from a few random suits who were downing their last pint of beer at Rack and Tenter- the local pub- their rain coats in hand and just letting the night take them after hours of crunching numbers, pitching ideas and selling their soul to the corporate world. I would then make a right down Ropemaker Street. There was always this 50-meter strip where the wind used to smack me in the face- and in winter it was like being pierced with a thousand little frozen icicles. Oh the many fights I had with my umbrella just walking down that pavement till I got home- turning it, lifting it higher, walking backwards, just so that I win the battle of C vs. Umbrella. I won, almost every single time. And then I would see it, that sexy sleek black glass tower, The Heron- my home away from home. She was perfect- she embodied your City landscape and gave me the perfect place to call home. Apartment 1111, 5 Moor Lane EC2Y 9AP. It became my identity.
In the day the City was a different animal entirely- from 6 am the smell of coffee, bacon and freshly baked muffins mixed with the cologne of lawyers, bankers, brokers and CEO’s woke you up. The queues at Eats, Pret, Starbucks and Café Nero were a given- even at those tiny little random espresso bars, like Coco di Mama and Notes- everyone was getting their dosage of caffeine before their day.
The ladies would be in their smart-chic skirt suits and tights, but walking at double pace in their New Balance or Nike trainers or Uggs- they all did that, walked around in one pair of shoes before slipping on their heels in the office. I would silently salute any woman that had the courage to walk in high heels, especially in the middle of winter. Brr. The men looking dapper in their suits and coats, some even with top hats and always umbrella in hand, even on the sunnier days, because London you play little tricks on us, you and Mother Nature love to pull the wool over our eyes- but the true Londoners always comes prepared. (It took me a few wet adventures to learn my lesson). But the buzz of the City was infectious- no wonder you are the leading financial city of the world.
From the theatre, to the museums from concerts to jazz fests, fashion week and digital shows- you kept me entertained. And of course left me broke thanks to your Mayfair dining, Soho partying and Harrods/Selfridges/Harvey Nichols shopping. How can I forget your Borough Market in the East and the Saturday food festival in Chelsea. Yeah you packed me up with a couple of pounds, but I reckon- yes I use your lingo now- they were worth it. Then there was discovering my appreciation of Indian food, right there on Albermale street, Chor Bizzare and the random restaurant close to Angel. And of course the pubs. It’s funny how most of your pubs have this stench- this thick aroma of ale, lager, and many other beers mixed with masculinity and sweat. Or may be that’s what post long hours of work or football smells like. Going to one of your football games- thanks Shuhaibars- was crazy. Your people love their football.
Then there was the tube. I had a love/hate relationship with it. Discovering the Victoria Line after three months of never knowing of its existence was like I struck gold! I realized how impatient I could be- yeah I was one of those “excuse me” to anyone who encroached on the walking left zone from the more patient standing right one just so I can dash own or heave up. I was always in a rush- probably because I was always late for something. But oh my, the Piccadilly line, that notorious blue line dissecting your center, was exactly like being in a coffin lined with tattered blue/brown/yucky fabric, or what remains of fabric. In winter during rush hour it was always a struggle- earphones tightly fitted, gloves off, loosening scarf, unbuckling coat, trying to find an angle where I can plant my feet firmly on the floor but still be close enough to a post to hold on incase I lost my balance. Oxygen became so scarce sometimes I was willing to pay for some fresh air. Summer was no better- influx of tourists and body odor. But I do remember one incident - of course not during rush hour- where I stood on the side waiting to get off at my usual Kings Cross stop before catching the Circle or Hammersmith & City line to my stop- Moorgate. A man, must have been in his thirties, drawing pad in hand was sketching a random lady sitting on the opposite side of him. I found it creepy and borderline stalker at first- but then I realized it was actually beautiful. There he was sketching his muse without even knowing her name, and he was doing it with such tenderness like he was falling in love with the girl with every line he drew. Two stops later she got off- and he continued to draw her by memory. I had to say something to him, I put down the Evening Standard, paused my iPod, and all I could say was, “Do you know her?” “No- but that doesn’t matter, she inspired me. You never know when inspiration hits, but when it does you best do something about it.”
Beyond your brick and mortar and delicious delights you taught me to embrace loneliness. Some might find loneliness to be a void, but it taught me to filter out the noise. Just listening to the sound of the faint City vibes as I stood outside on my tiny balcony, wine glass in hand and cigarette in another, and just gazing at the waning moon and dotted stars- the same ones I used to gaze upon in my roof back in Jeddah- but I was a million miles away in everyway possible; from that place and that girl- and I didn’t feel homesick, I felt at peace. You reminded me London that although it takes two to tango, it only takes one to conquer. And on the 11th floor in apartment 1111, I was conquering, my dreams, my fears and my insecurities.
You may not know this London, but when I came to you I didn’t do so to start over, or to escape or to party or to merely get a masters degree- I came to you to grow, to learn to dream to live. And you gave me all that.
Parting ways with you has not been easy, I never knew I could love a city like I have grown to love you- and although I met some pretty fantastic ‘mates’ and reconnected with old friends thanks to you- it was because of you that I am a better version of me. So thank you.
Just as your native Disclosure and Sam Smith sang:
“You lift my heart up when the rest of me is down
You, you enchant me even when you're not around
If there are boundaries,
I will try to knock them down
I’m latching on, babe,
now I know what I have found
I feel we're close enough
Could I lock in your love?
I feel we’re close enough
Could I lock in your love?
Now I’ve got you in my space
I won’t let go of you
Got you shackled in my embrace
I’m latching on to you
I’m so en-captured, got me wrapped up in your touch
Feel so enamored, hold me tight within your clutch
How do you do it?
You got me losing every breath
What did you give me to make my heart bleed out my chest?
I feel we're close enough
Could I lock in your love?
I feel we’re close enough
Could I lock in your love?
Now I’ve got you in my space
I won’t let go of you
Got you shackled in my embrace
I’m latching on to you”
London, I am latching onto you.
Till we meet again….
Love,
Celine
