April 5th, Sunday, 12:25 pm
Sitting outside Liverpool St station. The weather’s gorgeous. Still, have eight hours left before my flight. So I’m chilling in the sun to kill some time. I can’t be bothered going shopping with all the heavy stuff. Not sure when to 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’m here. But I like this multicultural environment. People don’t tend to stare at me like they do in Germany.
I want to have my hair cut, but I’m not paying 11,95 quid. In Germany, I only pay 11€. As I said, I’m not happy anywhere. And this won’t ever change. All I know is that I need to make some changes in life on an on-going basis. A mundane life ultimately means death. You wake up and do the same thing over and over for years. I couldn’t do that. I’m wondering what I will miss when I leave London. The red mailboxes? The Lucozade energy drinks? Nah, it’s the language.
Right now, I have to say I will miss the spring sunshine on my face, as I’m going to the airport now.
Eight hours left till my flight. I’d better hurry.
Here I am at the airport. Been walking around so much and 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, but now I’m sitting here 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. 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 go on the internet, but I’m way too stingy to spend the money right now.
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 cheating place, and 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 to challenge me. Basically, I don’t think that I’m going to change at all and that I’m going to change my opinion on certain things. But you can’t be more wrong than that.
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, everything can be forgotten. There’s no such thing as memory. What you remember is not always accurate. So if you tell a story of the past, there will always be an error (such as not capturing a sentiment correctly), so I don’t believe in history books.
This airport’s an illusion, as 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 and everything—another hour or so until I know which gate it is. Killing time is hard. I have sore shoulders, and I can’t stop eating out of boredom. I’m too shy to go to Frankie & Benny’s to sit in and 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…
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 night time. Back home. Good night.