This is perhaps the hardest to churn amongst all the memories remapping in recent days, which has sat in my drafts for days.

March 2009. London & Rome.

It would have been different if this was written fresh from the experience, or at any point in the past 2 and half months.

Then various considerations came up as I did the collages, of places I had been, the feeeeeeling each place left me with, and the joy of the experiences.

For the fear of being the post being misconstrued, it is one hardest to start on, and the pictures went through lotsa editing. Initially, it was plenty of cropping. Then there came a point cropping doesn’t work, as most pictures of places are not solo ones, and once cropped, it could have been Sentosa and it wouldn’t be any different. Then faces were blacked out by angry paintbrush from the tools of Photoshop.. then this and that.

And then you realise, some shared memories cannot be blacked out and I have to accept that.

Then again, a friend said she wouldn’t friend me if I wishy-washy think so much what others think, cough cough, and I am not good with emotional blackmails, remember (you win!! I looser!)?

Putting all things aside, I did go all out to enjoy myself during the trip, as I had planned it to be one where I would say goodbye. It hadn’t been that way, as I had wanted to roam around Europe with some fabulous friends, and then despite a rough patch, he was in on the trip too.

Enough of that. Cos at the end of it all, like the previous posts, I could chew on the memories with a smile as if it was still back then, and the compartmentalising works pretty well as I relive what I would have written back then and pick myself out from “now”.

It would be a journalling of what the trip had meant to me, and how I actually felt during the trip.

Like I had said, it was good to be back, with or without.

***

Day 1

Everytime I return to the cold, cold Europe, I feel like a little girl all over again. The glee, the excitement, the rush.. and the eagerness to walk down paths I was once so familiar with.

I wonder if Alice felt the same way when she was in wonderland.

Somehow I love to take pictures as the plane takes off… as if it could capture some sort of anticipation, and the silliness of it all. Or maybe, it shows that I was leaving a part of me, the burdened part behind, and recharging myself with renewed zest for adventures.

Almost missed the flight cos spent some time around Terminal 3 shopping for books and having breakfast at Burger King… and reaching a clean, cleared gate as the last passengers to board.

I was even blogging on the plane through my phone, and sending messages to Wifey and Potato, until Potato screamed at me over SMS to switch off my phone.

Spent much of the flight catching movies on Krisworld. The Duchess (I remember watching this vividly cos I just love period movies), Twilight, Twilight, Twilight, part of Slumdog millionaire again, but I didn’t manage to sit through Australia.

13 hours later, I looked out of the window and recognised the London Eye, the London Bridge, and the many intimate landmarks that made London, London.

The moment I landed at Heathrow, the lovely English accent from the young immigration officer made me go weak in the knees. Before I knew it, I was speaking in an annoying twang just for the good fun of it.

The standard questions were asked, about where I was staying, purpose of visit and all, and he looked up with a smile and asked, “Where did you learn your English? Have you been here before?“.

“I used to stay here a decade ago.”

Whose place will you be staying at? I pointed to the chap standing at the next booth, “His aunt’s place, South Kensington.”

The 2 immigration officers looked at each other, “Oh, they are together.”

“Ahh.. you should have said you are with your boyfriend.”

Dang! I shrugged. I didn’t manage to explain things, but it was pretty obvious I wasn’t gonna get lucky on the trip.

And I wasn’t about to snag an officer cap in UK.

Shopped for a bottle of perfume to add to my evergrowing collection, since I had absent-mindedly forgotten mine since I only packed the night before.

As I stepped into the open for a much needed fag, the sliding doors (one of my favourite movies is Sliding doors, which I watched in this very country!) liberated me into the cold, frosty air.

I literally skipped into the open and clapped my hands, whispering, “Yay! I’m back!” with a big, wide grin, promptly whipping out my camera to show a tired me in the cold… it shouts, “LONDON!!!“.

And then it was a short walk to the Heathrow station to wait for a Heathrow Express train which will bring us to central London with 15 minutes.

The messages then started coming in from the lads asking if we would be out partying tonight. As it might be a little rude to Aunty Dorene, I took a raincheck and said I might join them for late-night out instead.

15 minutes later, we were at Paddington station, and the buzz from the commuters gave me a buzz!

Aunty Dorene picked us up in her car, and had the hood down. It was freezing but I was just glad to breathe the crisp, cold air, seeing the signature red buses upclose at the back of the convertible.

We stopped by to grab some yohgurt before heading back to hers. The familiar sight of the pubs at the corners warmed me up already.

And Imperial College in sight, there were a few of weekends we bunked over at friends’ hostel here.

The moment we stepped in and unpacked briefly, it was within minutes the notebook was out to make great use of the wifi to see what I had missed at work.

I was given a classic black Helmut Lang coat, which proved to be a staple for the rest of the trip. I was poorly packed for the trip.

Freshened up, showered, slipped on the netted stockings and boots, and we were dressed for a night out. Black and Blue was where we had our dinner, and the warm interior was fast inducing the jetlag in me.

I was in a perpetual daze over dinner, with Suki and the young ladies joining us, and had to walk out of the restaurant a few times just to freeze myself awake.

I couldn’t remember much of the dinner. I didn’t manage to eat much (it was almost breakfast in Singapore!) cos the slab of meat was intimidatingly huge. The place was packed brim with students from nearby colleges. And with the exchange rate at an almost all-time low, the food was pretty cheap actually.

We then headed out for cruising in central London, and we were outside Buddha Bar (the chic chic IT place), but weren’t really interested to head in. I knew I wouldn’t be able to join the other lads that night.

Had to scrap the plans of strolling down Embankment at night, though we did stop briefly to soak in the night view, before we continued driving round Leicester Square, Westminster, Knightsbridge.

Since we weren’t exactly London virgins, it was mostly touch and go before we rounded back for the cosy duvet. I don’t remember feeling jetlag much in the past, but it could just be age catching up with me.

The adrenalin and hype by the end of the night was replaced by plenty of contentment, and I would be glad to just stay indoors and explore the neighbourhood and blend in with the locals.

There was no itinery, just the way I like it.

Though if there were tickets, I would probably spending the night in Manchester and not London. But somehow whatever matches I missed are always for the better – they save me the heartaches.

I burrowed into the duvet having goosebumps all over as the cold sept in from the balcony’s door.

It smells different. It smells like liberation, and plenty of peace.

Goodnight Day 1.