The other day I stumbled upon a blog post that I couldn't help but fall in love with. I used to read Discotheque Confusion when I was younger, before I fell out of the loop with the blogosphere. After years of separation I was reunited with one of my old favourites and what it displays is a natural growth that means that, despite the differences in myself, it is still as relatable today as it was in those now lost moments.
This particular post focuses on the romance of being alone - those sentimental moments spent without a partner that are often forgotten within the expanse of gushing public displays of affection. I have been happily in my own company for the most part of my life, and at such a stage that is so readily filled with new experiences I wouldn't have it any other way. Yet when catching up with old friends it seems that the conversation always returns to, with a slight glint of pity in the corner of the mouth, my romantic situation (or lack thereof).
Although one of the characteristics I cherish the most is an ability to appreciate my own company, there are times when I find myself falling into a pattern of wondering what might lie beyond my solitude. It was in one of these moments that I found Stevie's post, with a collection of memories paying homage to the great expanse of forms that romance can take on. Instantly I found myself wrapped up in an air of nostalgia, and significantly inspired to create my own list of precious moments of days gone by. Thus, what I hope to compile is an ode to being alone, and all the little pleasures that come out of it.
A moment with Bowie, Autumn 2013
It is the middle of the day and I am alone in my house. I have a couple of hours before my next lecture and find myself attempting to decide how best to spend the in-between expanse of time. It is one of those glorious autumnal days outside, where the sky is clear and bright. The last traces of the summer can be felt in the air and I decide to indulge in them while they are still present. I make myself a cup of tea and place my CD player by the door. I pick out David Bowie's The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust, one of my all time favourites that I have developed an increased attachment to since leaving home. I sit on the concrete floor outside. With no jumper, the cool air bites at my bare skin and I pay close attention to the feeling as I fall into a state of nostalgia that only Bowie can influence. A smile sits unwaveringly on my face and I close my eyes, allowing the light to produce shapes on the inside of my eyelids. I am aware of the completeness of the current moment, as if it will remain entirely unaffected in its perfection. I allow Bowie to reassure me, 'Oh no love! You're not alone.'
A countryside walk, Winter 2013
A stormy day in Brighton, January 2014
I have been back in Brighton for a few days now, I am one of the first to have finished my exams and rather than going back to London I decide to get lost in my new home for a couple of weeks before lectures begin again. It is a particularly windy day, although the sun does not show any signs of letting up in the wake of the oncoming storm. I decide to go into town and spend the day sitting in a cafe reading - yet to find my own corner of the South this allows for some exploration first. I end up in the Amnesty International bookshop, browsing the shelves. Getting lost in bookshops remains one of my favourite past times, and with a 3 for 2 offer on, I leave after an hour with three new adventures in hand. Before heading to a cafe I decide that I should make the most of the sea being on my doorstep, and go and sit on the shore. Due to the weather the beach is entirely scarce, all but one man with a metal detector, scouring the coast. The rays of light dispel a greyness over the water, causing it to sparkle. Against the silver waves the man becomes a silhouette. As I sit, being blown about by the strong gusts, I breathe in the salty air and feel as if I am sat in my own secret haven. It is as if I have discovered this unknown part of the world and it is all mine. I indulge in the solitude of a stormy Brighton.
The morning after the night before, Late January 2014
I am hopelessly hungover and wearing the same dress as the night before. Hazy recollections are impressed on me, sitting uncomfortably as I lie in bed. I text Meryn and tell her I need company, she calls me immediately and so I put on some sandals and walk across the path to her house. We climb into her bed and her and Becky make jokes in an attempt to lighten the mood. We take time talking through the night before and catching up on our latest endeavours. While we find out how each other have spent the past few days I am grateful for the affirmation that I have someone who I can rely on, even for the most trivial of things. In a matter of minutes I have surfaced from my self-indulgent state of moping, as if cured by a far more attractive reality.
I have just come back from a night out, I am both exhausted and inebriated. I can feel the excess of the night lingering on my body, it weighs it down, willing it to succumb to sleep. I am at the last stage of being able to formulate conscious thoughts and all I can conjure up is how grateful I am for the space surrounding me. I stretch out and give in to the seduction of sleep.
Sitting alone in my room, Today
I find myself sitting in my university bedroom, feet propped up on my desk and my lamp projecting shadows on the wall beside me. There is a warmth in the air and, though sitting alone, the sound of my housemates in the surrounding rooms assures me that I am not. Ryan Adams' Heartbreaker sounds on my laptop, ringing out in tinny resonance. It is an album that I recall my mum playing when I was younger and I find myself back in my front room, comforted by her presence. I am quietly allowing my mind to wander as I eat Milky Way Crispy Rolls, one of my dad's chocolate bars of choice. With a piece of each of my parents with me they are expelled into the very room that I am in. I take note that I can never truly be alone and feel a pang to write.
No comments:
Post a Comment