April 5th, Sunday, 12:25 pm
Sitting outside Liverpool St station. The weather’s gorgeous. Still, I have eight hours left before my flight. So I’m sitting in the sun to kill some time. I can’t be bothered going shopping with all the heavy stuff. When should I go to the airport?
What a cool breeze…that’s what I like when the sun’s out, but I’m still not a fan of summer. I’m thinking of sending myself a postcard, but I can’t be bothered.
I haven’t met any odd people here in London. They all seem so much friendlier than the Germans. But then I haven’t actually talked to many Londoners since I got here. But I like this multicultural environment. People don’t tend to stare at me like they do in Germany.
I should have my hair cut, but I’m not paying 11.95 quid. In Germany, I pay 11€. As I said, I’m not happy anywhere. And it won’t ever change. All I know is that I need to make some changes in life. A mundane life ultimately means death. You wake up and do the same thing for years. I like my routine but not like that. I wonder what I will miss when I leave London. The red mailboxes? The Lucozade energy drinks? Nah, it’s British English.
For now, I will miss the spring sunshine on my face as I’m heading to the airport now.
Eight hours left till my flight.
I’ve been walking around the airport, smoking so that I don’t have to sit down. I’m tired because I’m bored. I can’t be arsed reading and can’t be bothered listening to music either, and yet, I’m listening to “A Sunday” by Jimmy Eat World.
I have to check-in manually, but the bloody machines say that I’m too early. For Christ’s sake, it feels like seven in the evening. So many people with big pieces of luggage. I must be the only one with just one bag. I was tempted to use the internet again, but one quid for ten minutes is a rip-off. If someone drops a Pound on the floor, I will take it.
Couples are everywhere, and I can’t help staring. Maybe it’s better to stare at the ground like a melancholic or out of the window.
The world’s a place of cheaters; only three out of ten are honest. I’m not the most honest one myself. I had this strange vision of getting married twice, even though I swore to myself that I won’t ever marry. Maybe it’s not a good idea to challenge the future. Or challenge myself.
Why bother anyway?
Michael J. Fox says that happiness is a decision, but I think it’s more an illusion, just like anything else. Nothing lasts forever, and therefore, and can be forgotten. There’s no such thing as memory. What you remember might not be accurate. If you tell a story of the past, there will always be some form of error (i.e., not citing the exact words said); therefore, I don’t believe in history books.
This airport’s an illusion. In a hundred or two hundred years, this place might be vacant. Nobody will remember it. Being forgotten is something that everyone has to deal with.
Time to check-in.
I’ve checked in—another hour or so until they announce the gate number. Killing time is hard when you literally have nothing to keep you busy. I have sore shoulders, and I can’t stop snacking out of boredom. I’m too shy to go to Frankie & Benny’s to have a proper meal. There are two things that I haven’t done on my own. First, it’s going to a restaurant, second, going to the cinema. One day I’ll get so lonely, I’ll do it. Hemingway didn’t mind it, and I’m sure Bukowski didn’t either.
Oh, show me the fucking gate number…
Onboard now, thank God. Workers outside are loading the plane. I just saw my pink bag, and the dude gave it a funny look. Close to home now. I feel exhausted.
Very close now. The city lights are beautiful. I don’t think I ever flew during nighttime.