Diary of the Northeast Side
25.06.2024 Scout O’Donoghue
25.06.2024 Scout O’Donoghue
Small fish in a big pond. A guppy in brackish water.
Being a small fish is exciting, it is new. It's an anonymity that was much desired on my front. It's funny, spending my last five years in the N.R I am so used to interacting with everything and everyone like they used to change my nappies. A smile, a wave or a simple ‘how are you’ is expected. But here, it is questioned. A smile is received with a grunt. A wave; a confused look. And a ‘how are you?’, with a ‘you right?’ But not in the question of ‘are you all right’, more so ‘who are you and why are you talking to me, alright?’.
Don’t get me wrong, not everyone is like this. The man in the post office the other morning shared a laugh with me. It may have been my assumptions on how to send Royal British Mail. I remember receiving parcels from my grandparents when I was young and getting excited over the excessive stamps that were stuck to each surface. Apparently, this is no longer a thing.
Speaking of big ponds, there are a lot of them. So infiltrated with algae that the water itself is fluorescently enticing. If it weren’t for the Red Stripe cans and pieces of white bread, then maybe I might have a place to submerge myself on the twenty-eight degree days. The ducks seem okay. I am so close to going against my mother's word which was ingrained in me from a young age; ‘If the water is stagnant with no flow, and the fish are nowhere to be seen, then don’t get in.’
A concrete jungle that melts under the European sun, radiating a heat that makes every increase in degree feel as if it were multiplied by ten. The local swimming pool helps. The water to chlorine ratio leaves me smelling like chemicals for weeks but it's easy to bypass that for a fleeting moment of being submerged. A bandaid floated past me the other day. I had to dodge it between strokes. If it weren’t for my swimming cap, I think my hair would be stripped of all colour and close to completely dissipated.
The hard water here is, well, hard. A buildup of magnesium and zinc– but not in the visit to your local health food store kind of way– it leaves everything with a thick white chalk-like build-up. The kettle, the sinks, your scalp. I bought a shower head filter within the first week of being here. I would like to think it helps. I have also become that person who only drinks filtered water.
Vegas has always been the city that has claimed the title ‘the city that never sleeps’, I think London comes a close second. A ten am wake up is not only expected but prioritised. A challenge for an early riser who after six weeks still blames it on jet lag. I roam the streets most mornings in search of a soul, befriending all the street cats that glare at me from under bushes. This is my favourite time of the day. Complete silence in the chaos that is yet to wake up.
Offices become vacant at eight pm, and streets full. If you don’t have a pint in your hand by quarter past, then you have retreated to the comfort of your four by four apartment. Everyone is searching for something to wet the palate after a day of hustling. And they don’t have to look far. The timeline is excusable as the sun doesn’t sleep until half past ten. I wonder what it will be like when the solstice has passed and the brutality of a U.K winter creeps in.
I learnt the other day why the sirens are so ear piercingly high pitched. I’m not kidding, block your ears when they speed past. Otherwise your ears will be ringing like the end of a four-day subsonic festival. Everyone wears soundproof headphones on their journey to and from. And no-one looks before they cross. The higher frequency sound has been manipulated over the years to penetrate through a podcast, a playlist or a phone conversation.
My nicotine addiction and the fact that I can drink at any time of the day is balanced by my newfound running habit. I run now, only because so does everyone else. The parks here are my playground. The trees throw shades of green that I never knew existed, enchanting those who wander in pursuit of a little grounding. They are sanctuary to many and refuge to all. The trees don't judge you, nor do they have anything to say.
I love this city and I don’t know where to call home. I long for the ocean but I crave the grime. Turning a corner is like jumping states. Every street has something new to offer, to see and to experience. I am amused, inspired and a little lost but that is okay. I feel most at peace in the chaos, more like myself in loneliness, and most alive when the sun begins to fade. For now, I leave behind the rolling hills of home, knowing I have craved a life like this for as long as I can remember.
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