Posted on November 13, 2016
Only a few days ago did I realize that writers do look at the world differently. Only a few days ago did I realize that before I knew I wanted to be a writer I was already one, because the way I watched the sunset behind the impotent Big Ben, from the National Gallery’s balcony was magical, and rich of comfortable noises that brought a silenced peace to my mind. And I knew then, at the age of 14, that I was made to watch those things, to live those moments of perfect fulfilment.
That was 5 years ago, but I still can see it on my mind, feel the cold air sharply hit my lungs, while I alone ignored the rest of the world that I lived in to contemplate the one before me. And then I sat on the wet stairs with someone that I knew (but I can’t quite remember who). What I do remember are the pictures people were taking and how they tried to escalate the giant Lyons or sat on the pink lighted fountains. And I know now what I didn’t know then, I had found myself a place, and a ‘me’ to live.