My November collection of sky

One thing I never fail to feel grateful for is the fact that my room has a westerly window. I get to see a sunset every day, and when I look at it I think of Grandma who also watches the sunset out of her kitchen window every day, and home where I would watch for the October sunsets from the balcony. Sometimes, if I'm on my laptop and there's a particularly striking sunset, I quickly make a short note of it. Here are some of my favourites:

-Today the sky was made of bubble wrap.

-The sunset rose from the bottom rather than descended from the top - weird. A huge black cloud rose from the horizon and covered half the sky like someone pulling up a blanket.

-The evening sky had a pink cloud scar cut across it.

-The clouds moved across the sun like my three year old self scraping a plastic toy fence through a pool of paint on paper.

- All blue and gold like that Van Gogh painting.

Yoga in cambridge

I had my first ever Yoga session in Cambridge today. It was a beautifully sunny day as Alex and I cycled to Newnham (hello fellow women's college!) for a class in beginner's ashtanga. I haven't done any exercise at all for the past week because my body has been feeling quite tired, and so  I was looking forward to something slow and relaxing.

This was probably the best yoga session I've had in my life (Cambridge you have to stop doing this thing where you are perfect in so many ways. Stop. I'm falling in love with you.) Our instructor showed us how to do the different poses, and let us repeat them a couple of times in circuits, as she went round the room correcting or deepening posture and form. One thing I found surprising was when she asked us to put our legs against the wall, with our feet wide apart, and then, with a straight back, slowly lower our hands to the ground. Usually when I stand up and touch my toes I have no problem at all, but because you couldn't shift your weight back to counter balance your torso going forward, you really had to work hard to stay balanced!

At the end of the session, as we were all lying on the floor relaxing with our eyes closed, she came round and gently pressed our shoulders down and massaged some incredible smelling oil into our temples - and everything felt better, like her cool hands somehow dispelled any stress or tightness in my body.

I was so amazed at what the human body can do - God really did an incredible feat of engineering when he created us! We can twist and stretch and bend and control muscles in one part while relaxing another! I'm looking forward to next week's class, and next term!

I cycled back really slowly, savouring the last hours of sunshine.  

24/11/2015

Today as I was coming home I stopped in 'Save the Children' to pick up something for the Secret Santa swap my floor is having tomorrow night. You might think it very strange that we're having this swap since Christmas is a month away, but Cambridge celebrates something called Bridgemas, which is an early Christmas so students can get festive before we break up for the holidays at the start of December, since no one is in Cambridge at Christmas time.

I picked out what I needed for the Secret Santa swap, and also picked out a sweet necklace and a set of table spoon and tea spoon measures, before heading up to the counter to pay. There were two old women behind the counter, who had been having a conversation about staying home to 'take care of the children' and how 'it's not like that these days'. It reminded me of how Grandma is always asking Auntie Sarah 'what about the children?', ' the children need someone there'. It's interesting to think about the different attitudes to children in different countries and across different times, or even how the definition of what a child is changes - in medieval times the concept of a child as we understand it today was completely absent: children were basically mini-adults and that comes across in their art.

I put my items on the counter,and one of the ladies put the charge into the cash machine, while the other went to check the price on the necklace, since the price tag had fallen off. I talk to the cash-machine lady about school, and told her how I'd been enjoying my first term. She told me she was once a lecturer at Sidgwick site, teaching economics. The other lady came back with the price tag, and I asked if I could pay with my card, since I hadn't brought any money with me.

'Ah, you don't have any money?' The second lady asked, looking worried, 'You see, we've had problems with that before.' (Pointing to the little card machine, and eyeing it as if it were an armadillo rather than a perfectly normal piece of technology)

'I'm so sorry I didn't bring anything else.'

One of them looked under the cash desk and came up with a laminated list of instructions on how to work the card machine.

'Put in value...' they murmured, and turned to the machine. All my things together cost 6 pounds, and so the second lady hesitantly pressed the 6 on the machine interface (while the other asked her 'Don't you need your glasses?'), and '0.06' appeared on the screen.

'Oh dear, what have you done now?' The first lady asked.

'That's six pence,' said the second lady, bemused, ' I'll just press clear.'

That's when I asked if I could possibly help, since I'd operated a card machine when I was working in On The Table. I explained to them that I'd been a waitress and had to figure out that confusing piece of technology too. Then I showed them how to enter 6 pounds into the machine (6-0-0), and then how a customer should put in their card and enter their pin, and then how to check that the transaction was approved. I had to go over it a couple more times, and I assured them that I'd been just as confused over how to work it as a waitress, and had caused a long queue during lunch hour, and we all laughed.

'You'll have to come back and man the shop!' They said as I bid them goodbye.

I had a whole sweet potato, and courgette, and beetroot, as well as some hummous on rye for lunch (I couldn't finish all the courgette - it was just too much!) and then munched on the last of my chocolate granola (new recipe and it tastes like coco pops!) while watching harry potter...

Now I have to get back to Virginia Woolf and madness and modernism, but dinner is going to be curry spiced cauliflower with brown miso rice and cucumber, and tomorrow I go to London, and I am very happy.

18/11/2015 - Film, Running, and a concert

Yesterday was such a GOOD day. I woke up, and made myself a big bowl of warm chocolate and banana porridge (having time to cook my breakfast is such a luxury!) before grabbing my laptop and heading to the library to finish up my essay. I felt really good about this essay - it was about how the cinema influenced literature in the 1930s, and I wrote about how writers realised the cinemas ability to be a house of illusion or a house of experience in their writing, and how their political affiliations and beliefs determined which they would choose. Did you know that Hitler was a huge movie geek? He orchestrated his mass rallies purposefully so they could be filmed, and gave his ministers unlimited budgets to create propaganda films. Towards the end of the war, despite Germany's huge resource deficit and impending defeat, he put 6000 horses and 2000 men into the making of a film. By the time the film was ready for showing, there was no where to screen, because every cinema had been bombed. Hitler did terrible, horrible things, but sometimes I feel so sorry for him. There is something poignantly tragic, and pathetic, about this man, that he would cling on to the fragile thread of cinematic illusion while the great cinematic chiaroscuro of bombs razed the reality of his dreams to the ground.

I finished my essay in good time, printed it out and put it in Leo's pigeonhole, and then had a quick call with Dad before I went for a run. The sun was shining and so I headed down the river route, because the glint of sunlight on the water and the barges and the fields beyond the houses is truly a sight to behold. As I ran, I realised that I was running abreast of another girl, blonde hair in a pony tail and a playlist plugged in.

After a couple of minutes of running side by side, she plucked out an earphone and said 'Hey!'

She is Jessica, from Fitzwilliam college (and California), studying criminolgy for her MPhil. We realised that both of us were running the same route and planned to run the same distance/time, and so we decided to run together. I'd been looking for a running partner for quite a while and I was so glad to run into Jessica. She's a little faster than I am, which pushes me to keep up!

After I had lunch, I headed to the market to do a spot of grocery shopping. I try and get as many of my vegetables local from the market. They have signs on their vegetables saying where it is sourced from, and so when I see something I need that has 'local' written in the corner I put it in my basket. I got some beetroot, cucumber, tomatoes, coriander, cauliflower, potatoes, sweet potatoes and dates. (these were the only non-local thing)

Then I went round to Sainsburys to get all the other things I need that I can't find locally-grown in the market. Which, to be honest, is mostly bananas, and some brown rolls from the Sainsburys bakery (which I suppose is local, kind of!)

My bags were so so heavy that I had to really huff and puff to get up the hill against the wind - on my tired post-run legs! I made it eventually, and was looking forward to getting back to my room. However, as I was walking through the corridor after the plodge, I was stopped by a man asking me 'Hi, do you know the way to Wolfson college?'

'No, sorry, I've never been to Wolfson.'

I thought that was it annd I could get back to my room, but he asked if I studied in Medwards (Yes) and what my name was (Miriam - 'What a beautiful name.' 'Thank you.')

And then he asked 'Are you from China or Japan?'

I'm sorry but not every Asian is Chinese or Japanese.

'I'm Singaporean.' I tried shifting the weight of my grocery bag to hint that I wasn't particularly enjoying standing there with heavy bags talking to him.

He kept asking me questions, including what my Cambridge email was (I stupidly rattled off my CRSID before realising you don't give contact details to strangers)

Then things took a turn for the creepy.

'Do you have a boyfriend?'

'Uhm. (Help what do I say. I want to say yes to put him off but I can't lie) Kiiiinnd oooff?'

'So would you date?'

'Hmmmm depends on the person. (Not you. You are probably almost 30.)'

'Would you say you're conservative?'

That gave me shivers because it was exactly what the creepy library man asked me.

And my response was the same 'I would say I'm very conservative, yes.' (please let me go to my room now.)

He then started saying things like 'Have you seen the girls here? In the pubs? Have you seen how they dress? So slutty!'

I was really quite annoyed with him, and quite a few of my friends go to pubs, and I don't think he has the authority to judge a girl based on what she wears - that's one big problem with a society that tries to see peoples hearts with their eyes alone instead of their ears and hearts and thoughts. And so I launched into a big lecture about how he was being very horrible and he needed to go and reflect. But that was just in my head. In reality, I just said 'Actually I have somewhere to be, sorry.' And left. I need to improve my ability to shut down conversations.

Anyway, everything picked up after that, because I had a short skype session with Ellis, and then a lovely long one with Chrispy and Prisca, while munching on a raspberry jam and almond butter sandwich, and then some hot soup and a bread roll.

And then came the best part of my day. ('The evening is the best part of the day' - The remains of the day) My angel-on-earth aka Tiffany had given me her ticket for the Matt Redman and Kari Jobe worship concert, and so I had a whole 2 and a half hours of wonderful, unbroken praise to the God who deserves our worship every single moment of every single day.

I went with Eunice from Chinese Christian Fellowship, and while queuing we talked about different ways of making porridge, and how small the world is (both of us know Gloria!) and Cambridge life in general. When we got in, we were surprised to realise that we were one of the first to enter the standing pit - we were right up at the front! It was just too exciting!

Matt Redman shared about how his songs were often inspired by the Psalms, which he turned to when he was facing family troubles, and he found in God a father to the fatherless. When he sang 'The Father's Song', tears came to my eyes, because although I miss my Dad so so much, knowing that I have a heavenly father who can be close to me always, and that I have a saviour in Jesus Christ who also knows the suffering of being separated from His Father, is such a great comfort.

Matt Redman also shared about how when we worship in song on earth, we join in a heavenly chorus of saints and angels around the throne of God and become part of the cosmic love song towards the God of love - 'Each of the four living creatures had six wings and was covered with eyes all around, even under its wings. Day and night they never stop saying: "'Holy, holy, holy is the Lord God Almighty,' who was, and is, and is to come.' (Revelation 4:8)

 Kari was singing despite being 6 or 7 months pregant. She shared about how the past months have been a period of brokenness for her, because her sister, who was pregnant at the same time as Kari, lost her baby. In times like that, Kari said, they really had to cry out to God, and turn their whys into worship.

Both of them have such an amazing ability to bring people from all kinds of experience and walks of life together to worship the one God who connects us all. A man standing beside Eunice apologised to us before the start concert for his 'bad voice'. Truth be told, he was tone deaf, but he sang with such enthusiasm and earnestness, that I felt blessed by his obvious love for God.

To You our hearts are open
Nothing here is hidden
You are our one desire
You alone are holy
Only You are worthy
God, let Your fire fall down
Let Your fire fall
We are here for You
Jesus here for You


Thank you thank you Jesus.

The wind and some creepy things

It's getting very windy in Cambridge. Often when I cycle somewhere, I have to consciously steer against the wind to remain on a straight path. Once, as I was going downhill, I had to pedal to remain in motion against the wind.

An engineer who lives on my floor told me, as I was heating up my rice and veggies in the microwave, that she'd been blown off her bicycle!

I leave my window cracked open at night, and sometimes as I sit typing an essay (or a blog post!) the wind rattles through the window pane and gives me a chill!

However, the wind doesn't scare me too much - it reminds me of the lovely blustery storms we would get in Singapore where rain fell down in silver sheets.

Whats does scare me is a sound I've been hearing in my room. Ever since I've been here, every so often I've heard a little sound coming from the ceiling in my room. It sounds like a cross between a camera click and the static on a radio, and lasts for only a second. If I had to type out the sound it would probably look like 'Shcshhcsrtchshsch'. I thought it was normal, and attributed it to the smoke detector above my door.

When Alex and Rachael were in my room for our Indian takeaway night, we were talking about George Orwell's 1984, a society of constant surveillance, where even when you think you're safe, unnoticed and free, Big Brother is watching.

'Oranges and lemons,
Say the bells of St. Clement's.

You owe me five farthings,
Say the bells of St. Martin's.

When will you pay me?
Say the bells of Old Bailey.

...

Here comes a candle to light you to bed,
And here comes a chopper to chop off your head'

Suddenly.

'Shcshhcsrtchshsch'

'What was that?' asked Alex.

'I - I don't know, just this sound that always comes up. Doesn't it happen to you guys?'

Alex and Rachael both looked at each other and shook their heads.

'You're being watched, Miriam,' Alex said, with a wicked grin.

I've tried to convince myself that it is the sound of pipeworks. Or something. But the day after I noticed that it wasn't a common occurrence to have that sound, the sound disappeared for a whole day.

'They know you're on to them,' said Rachael when I told her.

And then the next day, it came back again.

'Oranges and lemons...' texted Alex to my frantic 'omg it's back'.

Tonight as I was doing a psychology test online, I suddenly heard a key in my door's lock. I leapt out of my chair, ran to my door and locked it from the inside and peered out through the spy hole - but there was no one.

I got the next few questions of the test wrong.

Missing Home

Homesickness comes in waves or not at all.

Two days ago, I was reading the note Toby wrote and slipped into my bag on that last day at the airport.

'What's still the same? What is different? Is the basis of our relationship altered and henceforth no longer valid? I trust you already know the answers to these questions, what is incomparable, what is constant/steady, and what you are born with.'

The rational part of my brain knows, it knows, that a relationship is not made of spatiality and time. But sometimes when I feel far away from people and when I haven't heard their voices, I become terrified that these 10,809 kilometers will somehow displace love.

The periods of homesickness come mostly at night, when I am alone with the photos of everyone I love smiling down at me from the wall beside my bed. Sometimes they come at other odd moments. As I was cycling to Polly's on Monday, I felt overcome with sadness. I was hit full in the face with the memory of that last afternoon, as I rolled out bliss balls to bring with me on the flight, and Dad asking if I wanted to go for a walk and then both of us started crying. I kept going, past the river - where it had been golden and sun-filled a couple of weeks ago it was now grey and overcast. But I knew, somehow, under that sadness that sits like a blanket thrown over on my heart, that I am strong enough to keep going. I don't need to go home, not yet, it is not time. I have about 30 more weeks. Everyone has different kinds of strengths, and many strengths within them. Hannah's strength is leading people, Tim's strength is manipulating a football, Dad's strength is fitting an entire house in a suitcase, Mum's strength is her comfort when everything seems ghostly and unreal. And my strength, for these three years, will have to be my ability to live with an island floating in the sea of my heart, and not let it sink me.

As we sat round the table discussing semiotics in Polly's house, Charlie (her little black dog) leaped onto my lap and nuzzled my neck. I let my head fall so my cheek lay on his warm back, and felt comforted - I think animals instinctively know when we need a little extra love.

I taped this quote (thank you Nat) on my door to help me remember that despite being separated by Europe, the Stan countries, India and Indochina, 'we will be together', like Hannah wrote on her poem to me.

“Let there be spaces in your togetherness, And let the winds of the heavens dance between you. Love one another but make not a bond of love: Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls. Fill each other's cup but drink not from one cup. Give one another of your bread but eat not from the same loaf. Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each one of you be alone, Even as the strings of a lute are alone though they quiver with the same music. Give your hearts, but not into each other's keeping. For only the hand of Life can contain your hearts. ” -Khalil Gibran

When they asked for prayer requests during my FOCUS small group, I somehow managed to whisper the words 'I've been missing my family so much this week. Please pray that I'll learn how to love from afar.' My right hand gripped my left arm tightly. It's been so long since I've hugged the people I love.

Falling in love, dosa and trains

1. Every time I go to Polly's house for Monday Supervisions, her curly, black-haired dog travels around the dining table we sit around, allowing himself to be petted and loved and made a fuss over. He came up to me a week ago and propped his paws on my legs and stared at me with his chocolate brown eyes. I thought I would fall in love in Cambridge but I never thought it would be with a dog.

2. Whenever I want to make a smoothie in the morning, afraid of the loud 'GREERRRRRRR' of the blender, I balance it on my table, and then heap my duvet and my blanket over it and hold on tight while I switch it on. Its roar is muffled and the vibrations of my blender travel through the duvet into my arms.

3. I had my first ever Indian (anglicised) takeaway, from Cocum, which is really near college. Alex, Rachael and I all got Masala Dosa, and although the Dosa itself wasn't as good as Ghim Moh's Heaven's Curry, I did like the masala filling (probably because the anglicisation of it meant it wasn't too spicy) We had such a good time, vascillating from Seamus Heaney's poems to googling our lecturers and supervisor and laughing and laughing over how human they are (my supervisor had a cat called Tolly!) that we didn't realise 5 hours had passed.

4. For the first time ever, my granola has lasted more than two days - now 6 days is my record!

5. Did you know? The first movie-goers ran out of the cinema when they saw an approaching train on the screen. I wonder how we would react to the barrage of CGI if we had not been brought up on a diet of media?

First ramble

Early on Saturday morning (7/11/15), after a really good Friday night documentary (Everyone should watch Cowspiracy!!! It's incredible!), I woke up at about 6am ate had my overnight oats while sitting right up close to my heater and shivering the warmth into my body, and then changed into my walking shoes, grabbed my red bag, and began my 40 minute walk to the train station.

Somewhere along that walk my hair tie slipped off my plait, and so for the 23km walk from Mildenhall to Bury St. Edmunds I spent half the time pushing my hair away from my face.

I got to the train station slightly earlier than the time we were meant to meet, and looked around for the Cambridge Rambling society. And then I realised I had no idea who was in the Cambridge Rambling society and what they were supposed to look like.

'Are you the Cambridge Ramblers?' I asked a group of studenty-looking people

'Sorry I'm Austrian I don't understand...'

'Nevermindit'sokaywronggroup' I hastily said, embarrassed, and scuttled away.

I did eventually find the Cambridge Rambling society (a good thing too, I was about to go up to a group of old men to ask if by any chance they were the ramblers) and after introducing myself and hearing their introductions we all got on a train and I listened to the guy next to me talk about how he had been a teacher and set up a charity and worked in the UN. I comforted myself with the fact that I know how to do a cartwheel and can make really good porridge.

The walking route was really muddy because it was drizzling, and the rain somehow managed to dribble its way in rivulets under my raincoat onto my arms and shoulders and back, giving me a little shivery surprise.

We passed by lots of sheep and cows and this shelter, as we followed the river. We stopped near a reconstructed Anglo-Saxon village for lunch. Everyone had sensibly packed sandwiches and fruit and snacks, and there was I with a big tupperware full of very cold napolitana and spinach rice.

I talked to a girl from Poland about spirits and exercise and medicine and saving the ocean. I talked to the teacher/charity/UN guy about what should be done about China and Hong Kong (he is from Hong Kong), but neither of us came to a reasonable conclusion. I spoke to the leader of the expedition who is a fellow at one of the colleges about languages and travel. One of the best things about rambling was the chance to speak to so many people, but also to have long stretches of silence where you just focused on putting one foot in front of the other, or looking at the scenery around you.

By the end of the trek, my calf muscles were so sore, and I was very wet, but so so glad I decided to wake up and do it. I stayed in Bury St Edmunds, picked up a top from Suffolk Age, berries and bananas from the market for Grandma, some marshmallows for Renny, and then met Auntie Sarah to go Waitrose shopping (3 cartons of organic oatly milk for 3 pounds!)

I peeled off my wet things in Grandma's house and got into some shapeless dry things, which are sometimes the best kinds of clothes.

We had very simple soup and quinoa and rice for dinner and then flopped onto the sofa, lay back, and closed out eyes.

I played 'Hollow in the Ferns' from the Far from the Madding Crowd soundtrack for Auntie Sarah and Grandma to listen to. Grandma said, after it ended: 'I see a swan, gliding along ... and I see a man heading home after work. He isn't thinking about his supper, he's just going home.' Sometimes I wonder if Grandma has some sort of synaesthesia, because she has such a fascination with colour, and music gives her such vivid visions.

Then we listened to Beethoven's 7th symphony (I think) and Grandma and Auntie Sarah danced and air conducted and contorted their faces to fit the very dramatic music. I was in stitches videoing them. Auntie Sarah ended up skipping through the kitchen, and Grandma looked as if she was conducting the Viennese Philharmonic Orchestra from the red faux-leather sofa.

The next morning I planned to make cacao-banana nice cream for Auntie Sarah and myself, although Grandma stuck to her porridge and prunes.

Unfortunately, the blender wasn't working.

And that is how I ended up 'blending' about 10 frozen bananas using Grandma's non-electronic, human hand operated hand mixer. (It looked like this if anyone cannot fathom what a non-electric human hand operated hand mixer looks like) It did work, although by the time I had got everything fairly smooth it was more of a cross between a smoothie and nice cream than nice cream itself. But with some raspberries and strawberries on top, it was delicious.

Sunday was also Remembrance Day, where the soldiers of the wars are honoured. Auntie Sarah had bought us some poppies the night before, but we couldn't find the pins to wear them in the parade. I was just sitting onto the toilet when 'BANG CRASH DRRRR-RRR-UM!' the Remembrance Parade began at the fire station outside Grandma's house - it made me jump!

We all tumbled out of the house in various states of preparedness - coats half on, hair unbrushed, cacao-banana smoothie/nice cream half eaten - and followed behind as the band played 'When the saints go marching'. We marched behind all the way to the church, where Cnnie and Renny refused to go in, and so we stood outside in the cold for the 2 minutes of silence, which Grandma counted out loud.

Then we went back to finish our breakfasts, and I got ready to get back to Cambridge. On the drive back, Auntie Sarah and I talked about natural beauty products (my current obsession is coconut oil) and how Connie has started wearing mascara to school.

Marcel Proust and memory

On Monday at Polly's supervision, we discussed the concept of memory and nostalgia.

And suddenly the memory revealed itself. The taste was that of the little piece of madeleine which on Sunday mornings at Combray (because on those mornings I did not go out before mass), when I went to say good morning to her in her bedroom , my aunt Léonie used to give me, dipping it first in her own cup of tea or tisane. The sight of the little madeleine had recalled nothing to my mind before I tasted it; perhaps because I had so often seen such things in the meantime, without tasting them, on the trays in pastry-cooks' windows, that their image had dissociated itself from those Combray days to take its place among others more recent; perhaps because of those memories, so long abandoned and put out of mind, nothing now survived, everything was scattered; the shapes of things, including that of the little scallop-shell of pastry, so richly sensual under its severe, religious folds, were either obliterated or had been so long dormant as to have lost the power of expansion which would have allowed them to resume their place in my consciousness. But when from a long-distant past nothing subsists, after the people are dead, after the things are broken and scattered, taste and smell alone, more fragile but more enduring, more unsubstantial, more persistent, more faithful, remain poised a long time, like souls, remembering, waiting, hoping, amid the ruins of all the rest; and bear unflinchingly, in the tiny and almost impalpable drop of their essence, the vast structure of recollection.

And as soon as I had recognized the taste of the piece of madeleine soaked in her decoction of lime-blossom which my aunt used to give me (although I did not yet know and must long postpone the discovery of why this memory made me so happy) immediately the old grey house upon the street, where her room was, rose up like a stage set to attach itself to the little pavilion opening on to the garden which had been built out behind it for my parents (the isolated segment which until that moment had been all that I could see); and with the house the town, from morning to night and in all weathers, the Square where I used to be sent before lunch, the streets along which I used to run errands, the country roads we took when it was fine. And as in the game wherein the Japanese amuse themselves by filling a porcelain bowl with water and steeping in it little pieces of paper which until then are without character or form, but, the moment they become wet, stretch and twist and take on colour and distinctive shape, become flowers or houses or people, solid and recognizable, so in that moment all the flowers in our garden and in M. Swann's park, and the water-lilies on the Vivonne and the good folk of the village and their little dwellings and the parish church and the whole of Combray and its surroundings, taking shape and solidity, sprang into being, town and gardens alike, from my cup of tea.

- Proust, M. (1913-27). Remembrance of Things Past

As I cycled back along the river, I just couldn't stop marvelling at how every single second, I am creating memories, and so is every single person around me. The light was the golden light of an almost evening, and the colourful river barges were letting out heady billows of smoke from their chimneys. People were sitting on park benches and talking, or walking together, or cycling like me, hair tickling my ears, breath in time with the the pedaling of my feet.

That old man will have a memory of sitting beside his wife surrounded by red leaves. That teenager will have a memory of the crude, un-embellished conversation with his friend. They may not remember this time but the memory will be there. The past is always present and future and floating in the sea of your mind.

I couldn't stop smiling. This is what it means to be alive in the moment - to be cognizant that every single movement and smell and sight and sound is affecting you and you are affecting it, and that it remains with you for years and eternity.

Oh Cambridge, if this is the effect you're having on me I don't know how I will ever leave.

Janus

Leo (my director of studies) has asked me to make my conclusions more like Janus, the Roman God with two faces, one looking back and one looking forward. He means that while I should consolidate what I've talked about in my essay, I should also show how it extrapolates into larger art or literary concerns, even how it reaches from the past to touch the present. I really like the idea of Janus - a god who is constantly both remembering and reflecting on the past and projecting and dreaming about the future. This is the Janus of my week:

Past:

1. I handed in an essay I really wasn't happy with but learnt a valuable lesson - T.S Eliot is not worth my sanity. Sometimes essays are just bad. And that's life.

2. I've made the discovery that brown miso rice, golden beetroot and roasted sweet potato is the bomb dot com.

3. I watched the fireworks for guy fawkes night yesterday at midsummer common, and was blown away by the display. Rubies, sapphires and golden rain.

4. I've settled into a new running route, which goes along the river and is the most beautiful, quiet route. The silence is sometimes punctuated by rowers. There are barges in the river, which reminds me of 'Toad of Toad Hall'. At one point in the run, you pass a field of horses, and one tiny little pony, whose legs are so short that they are hidden in the grass.

5. My bicycle made a terrible noise all the way to lectures this morning. It sounded like wind whistling and also a car honking in the distance at the same time. I discovered after I parked it in Sidgwick that it was because one of the mudguards was wonky and was scraping the wheel! I was trying not o fall of my bicycle with laughter all the way to Sidgwick though, since it was really the most embarrassing sound!!!

Future:

1. I'm going for a days hike this weekend, ending in Bury St Edmunds and so I'll stay over at Grandma's for the night. It will be so nice to see her again.

2. I've bought a kilo tub of almond butter which will tide me over for the rest of the year, and it is arriving next week! I love getting things in the mail and so this is something to look forward to!

3. Next weekend I'm going on a weekend hiking trip to the lake district, where Mum and Dad had their honeymoon.

4. I am writing about Jean Rhys and Katherine Mansfield for this weeks essay. I simply love Katherine Mansfield and her writing style - I wrote in my diary earlier this year that I felt that she articulates what I want to say and how I see the world perfectly. If only I could write like her:

“I adore Life. What do all the fools matter and all the stupidity. They do matter but somehow for me they cannot touch the body of Life. Life is marvellous. I want to be deeply rooted in it - to live - to expand - to breathe in it - to rejoice - to share it. To give and to be asked for Love.” 

― Katherine Mansfield

5. Maybe a Marina and the Diamonds concert? Maybe a Matt Redman and Kair Jobe concert? Maybe The Hunger Games movie? Maybe The Lady in the Van? There is so much to do!

Some things that are different

1. People say 'See you later', even if it is 11pm at night and you're heading back to sleep.

2. Facebook messaging is a much more common form of communication than whatsapp here.

3. It's aubergine and not eggplant or brinjal here.

4. Strangers are very helpful with directions - even when they don't know what they are talking about.

5. There's a mist in the morning because of the cold, and not because of Indonesian forests burning.

Halloween

I used to celebrate Halloween around my neighbourhood every year when I was younger.We'd dress up and wear face paint and collect candy from our neighbours (I remember valuing the chocolate and secretly condemning anyone who gave me fruit plus). Somehow when I got to secondary school, I stopped celebrating Halloween - I was too busy, and the celebration had become a little too big in my neighbourhood as one neighbour would invite all the children from an international school over and the roads would be thronged with strangers rather than just being trickles of the other children I would play football and badminton with.

In Cambridge, Halloween is quite a big thing. Whole streets will decorate themselves, and the university organises an inter-college trick or treating event, where you can get candy from the porters. The night clubs hold themed parties, and people actually dress up. On the eve of Halloween, as I cycled back from my Friday bible study, I was cycling past ghosts and skeletons on the street!

I decided to spend my Halloween night at a Halloween Charity Dinner - I was tempted by the promise of curry, and a full three course vegan menu of a walnut and orange salad, a sweet potato and butternut squash curry and apple cake for dessert! Andrea and Alex also decided to come, although Andrea met us at the venue instead of walking there with us. It was funny but, like prom, the preparation and the journey there was almost more fun than the dinner itself, because it was dark and quiet and oh so spooky.

Alex wore a orange dress, with the vague intent of being a pumpkin. (which reminded me of when I stuffed a small orange cotton dress with rolled up balls of newspaper one Halloween so I was a very knobbly pumpkin) I wore a black dress and brought along the beautiful scarf Nat gave me so that if anyone asked (not that anyone did) I could throw it over my head and say 'I am Madam Sosostris'. From the Wasteland. By T.S Eliot. I think you can tell that the modernist poem essay I'd been set that week was still on my mind!!!

We decided to walk there, cold wind blowing against my shins, our breath forming little white clouds. Probably the scariest thing that happened was when we heard a loud sound behind us, and saw a man topple off his bicycle because his costume -a white toga -had been caught in the spokes of his bicycle wheel!

Another fright we had was when Alex almost dashed out in front of a car to cross a road because she didn't notice it coming! I certainly didn't want real death and ghosts on my Halloween night and it was a lucky lucky thing that she stopped and skipped back to the safety of the pavement before she was flattened!

We had two more little scares that left us shaky with nervous laughter - when we heard the footsteps of someone walking behind us and coming closer and closer, and when my coat got snagged by a briar-bush.

The dinner was rather good, but it was the conversation that made the night really interesting. I sat diagonally opposite a guy from Pembroke who was incredibly clever - like Stephen Hawking with a languages brain. Although he also knew that tellurium can make gold rust (and here I am not even knowing what tellurium) Unfortunately, he got into an argument with the girls sitting opposite him who had 'Climate Change is scarier than zombies' written on their faces and decolletage. It was so unfortunate - they were arguing over a tiny thing: whether or not you should have to caveat what you say if it is not 100% true even if it 99% true. And yet it ended with neither of them backing down, the girls refusing to talk to him, and him moving over to sit opposite me, acknowledging that he unfortunately often offends people. He is writing a book that will be 50,000 words. He is writing it in a month.

I also sat diagonally opposite a girl from Kings, who was really wise. She reminded Alex and that although everyone says university and freshers year especially will be the best years of your life, it might not be true and you shouldn't feel guilty or regretful if it isn't, because it is all part of shaping who you are and will be. If you aren't having fun all the time, that isn't odd or weird, it is normal and it is healthy! And you shouldn't try to push yourself to make tons of friends and do everything because it just isn't humanly possible. Instead, you should enjoy the process of slowly getting to know some of the smartest people you will ever meet, and find out which ones you fall into friendship with and trust, and then meander through university life with them, having times when you just plunge into a flux of excitement and activity if that is what you feel will help you develop, and also having times where you just need ton sit by yourself under a tree with a Shakespeare play and read.