a mancunian saturday

After such a busy schedule over these past few months, I looked forward to a planned day trip to Manchester last Saturday with my lovely chum, Anu. Since we are both taking gap years, we plan these type of outings, to maintain whatever is left of our remaining sanity. And so far, everywhere that we have been together, has been remarkable.  

Generally-speaking, whenever I go somewhere new, the place is never what I expect it to be, and it's always in the good sense of things. Manchester did not disappoint in any way.

We started the day very early, with a 6.11am departure from Coventry Station. How on earth I was able to wake up at 4 and put a full face of makeup on, I don't know, but we made it on time, on the right platform, waiting for the right train; that was all that mattered then.

There's something about travelling to a new city by train that always makes my memories of that day bring more romanticism and sense of nostalgia: the landscape that emerged from the fog, the passing 'paper towns', the feeling of possibility and the thought of other routine lives being led, witnessing the sunrise. All these things have been ingrained in my memory. 

 MANCHESTER PICCADILLY STATION.

After spending two hours travelling by train, we came to our final stop at the beauty that is, Piccadilly Station. Seeing the sun break through the glass structure was such a sight to see, and definitely made waking up early, worth it. Our first point of call, was to head to the Northern Quarter; populated by Manchester's finest hipsters, coffee shops, indie brands, and just very cool things. 

NORTHERN QUARTER. 

                    

We soon realised that we were there too early, as most shops opened at 10am, but we still knew how to kill time; Primark. I feel like it's just a compulsory guilty shop, that helps being affordable. As much as I love the idea of investing in independent brands, I'm saving my money like I'm going to be bankrupt tomorrow, so I strayed from those independent prices. 

Eventually, we made our way to Chinatown, only to realise that most of it was blocked off with police warning tape. Not dodgy at all. We swiftly walked on to visit the Manchester Art Gallery, that had displays on the 17th century to Victorian, to contemporary, to an exhibition on fashion; there was so much to look at. Making the effort to go to galleries, reminds me how much that I need to go back to art, and make the effort to be interested in it again. 

JOHN RYLANDS LIBRARY.

  

  

Being avid (though now, more so lazy) readers, we next headed to John Rylands Library. Can you tell we were tourists at all? Each room we stepped in, was lit (could end the sentence here), either by daylight through tall, symmetrical windows, or beautiful, classy hanging lamps. I wondered how anyone could actually study in a place like this, when there's so much you could be distracted by. 

Going to these places involved a lot of walking that for some reason, my mind hadn't grasped, so the new boots I had decided to break in, were actually breaking me. Stupidly, I hadn't said anything to Anu before, because I didn't want to stop our momentum or admit to making a shit decision, but I did cave in, and we both found ourselves back in Primark, in the rush hour chaos, with me buying flats that felt they were heaven-sent to my feet. 

As sunset was near approaching, it was our last chance to visit some more tourist hotspots: People's History Museum and the Museum of Science & Industry. Like galleries, I feel going to museums are as important; actually actively seeking information that you can learn from is so important in itself and this was really something that we brought home with us. It is very easy to be absorbed in your own bubble sometimes, and neglect everything outside of it. It is easy to be ignorant. 

After immersing ourselves in a bit of Mancunian history, we wandered around the Christmas Markets, that seemed the sole centre of Manchester that day. We indulged on hot chocolates, and nibbled on cinnamon biscuits, and observed all the faces lit by the holiday glow, or maybe just the fairy lights.

At the end of our venture, we found ourselves back in the Northern Quarter, and ended up in a bar called Lost in Tokyo. I was already won over by the name, because of how much wanderlust I have for Japan. 

For the first time that day, we were still. Slightly ironic though because we were in a bar.  

LOST IN TOKYO.

Before we knew it, after delayed, drunk trains we were shortly back in Coventry,
back to reality.

a brief meeting with autumn

This year, my time with Autumn has been brief, and it's such a shame because I love this season so much.

I love it for its wonder in nature: seeing the physical change in trees, how they transition into such fiery and warm colours, and dragging my feet through crunchy leaves. I love it for being a time of transition, where everything merges into one another so seamlessly. I love it for long walks and long talks, and the state of feeling so tranquil in the secure comfort of nature. I love it for how cosy my lazy weekends feel, snuggled in layers, drinking several cups of herbal tea, and having my favourite playlist on loop. I love it for its honesty; for some reason people in Autumn generally seem more overt, more vulnerable to me, detached from any face they may usually tend to assume. I love it for how easily it is to romanticise; thoughts, feelings, and people, become more intimate and profound in their intricate complexities and candid mannerisms. I love it for how time seems ceaseless, boundless, as if it didn't exist. I love it for how things seem to start again or circumnavigate. I love it for how days are shorter; waking up to see the sunrise and still being awake to see the sunset. I love it for how I seem to take extra care in looking at the small things, the small cogs in the machine. I love it for those quiet moments of solitude, meditative and mindful; it never really feels the same in any other season. I love it for how simple it is to love. 


I write as if Autumn is so familiar to me, almost a friend.
And in a way, it really has been to me.



~

Below are some pictures I took over a weekend (5/11-6/11), which was the only time I got to really embrace, being in Autumn, yet I feel that the time was enough. 

     

    

    

living loud

It feels like October didn't even happen, as if I haven't really felt the shift in time, or temperature, or anything else for that matter. 

I know that I have long postponed to write, and now, while I have this time, I might as well. It wasn't like I didn't think about writing, nor was it a simple case of 'writer's block', I honestly just acquired laziness. I did eventually start my job this month, but there are still other hours in the day, even five minutes of writing is better than none at all. It just feels like as soon as I step through the door when I get home from work, my body starts shutting down and couch-potato-mode switches on. That very ambitious Cindy aiming to write at least one post a week, has slowly dwindled, as if to mimic those autumnal leaves losing their fresh vibrancy, that then fall unconsciously to the ground... I guess procrastination can almost be poetic?

I don't know, I seem to have this problem of focusing on one aspect of my life and neglecting the other parts, and I realise I have always struggled with this.

I saw Poliça and Glass Animals live this month, and they were honestly my first gigs I have ever been to. They were both incredible for different reasons. Though there were moments during their performances where I did think to myself, how did I not have the time for this; that pure feeling of being, being alive and breathing, sharing the same experience with so many other people, that sense of home in a swarm of human comfort you don't get everyday.

Ever since I had started secondary school in year 7, I undoubtedly isolated myself. I don't think there really was one explanation for it, or anything I was particularly isolating myself from; it was just how I felt I should be, what I thought was better, what I thought I deserved. Although I don't feel moments of solitude are a bad thing (which will come in another post), subjecting yourself to just a reclusive shadow of a form, really does not help you feel like you are alive. And it seems so obvious now, from the outside looking in, but being in it felt like a huge comfort blanket. To now think of all that time I had alone, I can't really think about what I actually did. I wasn't that solely focused on school, but I did prioritise it when there was pressure to get into university, though other than that, I feel like I often used school as an excuse to get out of things. I do know I spent too much of my time thinking about what my life could be, or could have been if I was 'enough', not using that time to really benefit myself in any way, nor enrich my life with experiences that I would really learn from or simply, enjoy.

I think a lot of the time, what was stopping me from those experiences, was not feeling like I had the right people to share them with, not feeling I was the right version of myself, or not feeling like it was the 'right' time. I was consumed with ideas, making things bigger than they were actually were, and not really valuing the small things, the constituent parts of my life that with balance, would make me feel like I was living.

This year, has been a gradual process in finding that balance. I wrote a list of all the things I have done since having left school, and it's filled with so many new things that I have managed to do in such a small space of time. School did definitely have its a weight on me, but I think I finally appreciate what time can actually do. Now that I seem to have grasped my new work routine, I will make more effort to get interested in things again, and hopefully will create more.

This month, I have never felt my own presence in the world 

as much as I have before. 

september slump

Among trying to secure a job, trying to remain productive, trying to obtain a foolproof plan for the rest of the year; this month has slowly but surely dragged. 

Maybe Septembers will always be like this: a tired, slightly melancholic daze attempting to sync into rhythm and routine from the aftermath of a seemingly infinite summer, or maybe it's 'just me'. Although I'm not at school, it still unsettingly feels like I am. And maybe that's where I was wrong, to assume that this year would be any less or more than the same, than the previous year, or the ones before, because I am exactly the same. 

I guess I thought that the ending of a routine that had been majority of my life so far, would somehow enable me to change or feel a sense of becoming, yet I have since realised that it's not the places, the things, or anything that seems concrete, inhibiting me from doing that, but rather the things that are more abstract, the inbetween. I currently feel suspended in the inbetween, that there is a gap between who I am and where I want to be, and as soon as I think that I'm closing in on that gap, I revert back into a crippling shell of insecurity and self-doubt, and have little motivation to come out of it again. It seems a lot safer that way, because of the familiarity of it all. Really, it will take more time; something that I have yet to acquire more of, is patience. 

And for someone who craves change, I do little to embrace it.  

As the slump of September slowly seeps away, I linger in the more hopeful hues of October.