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[unfathomableexistence]

Amongst the ordinary...

Amongst the generality

I was born at The Rosie Maternity, in Addenbrookes Hospital on the 12th December 1996 in Cambridge, United Kingdom. I was born at twenty-six-weeks, fourteen weeks prior to when I should of been born. Which ultimately contributed towards an abundance of complexities during my prematurity. Many of the doctors that worked tirelessly with me, thought that ‘it would be a miracle’ if I stayed alive not to mention being able to walk and talk… as any other child would (with a normality). Four excruciatingly vague months had passed, with being optimistic amongst the abyss proved arduously typhlosis. Where even the most ingenious surgeons  would easily be contradicted against their most contested professionalism.  I came to a house that was seen as persistently unfamiliar (at first) until I will later acknowledge it as my home.  Many months and years would pass within these four walls slowly began to suffocate my very existence that was described as ‘special’ by my very mother herself. That very word formalised new definitions as I would reluctantly express myself divergently within my exploration of a place that they called the world.   During my exploration of this place that everyone seemed to call ‘The World and life’ as we all know it. I came into connection with a catalogue of convoluted physical and abstract dictators that tried painlessly to crucifix  my individuality and childhood that seemed so innocent that turning people’s eyes into tears was known as a understated easement.  This easement would unfortunately become apart of my personalistic umbrella far into my life, (even today) shall I say. Each of the crucifixion I received during my youthful years, was like being given a commandment for betraying a code I knew so little about: and that was allowing the emotional turmoil to become a normality- that giving it this royalty I would be gifted with nothing but acceptance for everything that was spiralling my presence during of which. Waking up each day in my house, was like waking up in a populated Siberia, where I woke up walking down the stairs onto a dominated coldness that plagued our very floor with the stench of endless alcohol lurking amongst the kitchen top and floor, and where my mother would stand there on the living room floor; with the words- ‘SUICIDE’ written all over her eyes it was like she was crumbling to the very sands that we called reality. Not to mention that there was no whereabouts of my father, neither his safety (which was typical for a drunk). This diminishment of sensation came with a homeward and school-like phycological turmoil. It was like watching two superpowers trying to pull myself from left to right: with the left within the corner with a overpowering sense of confusion and unanswered questions, because of this t confusion came an element of unknown-full brimfulness and uncivilised apatheticness. During a time that was suppose to be known for being my formative years… became a tussle between my likelihood and livelihood. The livelihood in being waking myself up at around 06:30am (each day) to the stench of beer, wine, weed, dampness of impulsive sex and a fear of the unknown and uncertainty that dominated my unsociable and sensitive self. I spent many a year waking up to the same stench, wondering if those squabbling tyrants would ever leave, wondering if my mother was going to be alive the next day, wondering if I had to run to my grandparents for sanction, wondering if I was going to beaten up/or picked on just because I went to a specialist school, wondering if I didn’t wake up to the sound of painful tears gleaming upon my and my mothers innocent face, wondering if my father would ever spend time with me, wondering if I didn’t wake up during the night… to the sound of my mum being manipulated to the rustle of hiding drugs,  wondering if there was a day where I was tossed out of home and on to the darkened confined contents of a mattress that should of been on a bed (full of sheets) and lights awakening this depressive room, wondering how it was I was going to feed myself, or that I should of just dealt with it, like a time full of malnourishment, dizziness and forgetfulness, wondering if I wasn’t sexually abused just because somebody else couldn’t patiently hold it within their pants.I wondered all these questions, I wondered if I was ever going to let them go or would I just let them dominate my gullible mind- to the day it left on the line staring into the desolated abyss, ahead laid an ocean, that looked deservedly worthy of having me drown within it’s depths. I wondered all these questions, this curiosity left when found secondary sanction at my school, that  was nearby to our home, so I would sit on my mother’s bicycle seat whilst my two sisters would walk/run ahead of us until we reached the gates of our school. When the moment came I would become emotionally insecure, and did not want my mother to go to work as I hated the feeling of being isolatedly hesitant. I would some of that time either crying, or screaming for my mother in the purified hope of her taking me to work with her. As soon as I came to the conclusion she was not- I would begin to cry until such time it was seen as petty.  This pettiness would soon shallow back into my soulful wardrobe, as soon as class would start. Looking back at a time where most children would accomplish being able to read and write; this was seen as completely different, as I was unable to do both till very later on in life. I would spend most of my time becoming increasingly frustrated and rather envious of not being able to write. instead writing jagged ineligible letters and speaking with a profound confusion of establishing the most simplistic sentences (saying, “Hello or Good morning”) was proven to be very strenuous for myself, most upsetting for my teachers, my mother and grandparents. Which would later be why I would be referred to my local GP on whether being Autistic was plausible for my ‘somewhat’ considered strange behaviour during my early years. After my assessment I was later being diagnosed as Autistic- which would later manufacture a socialistic barrier in embracing it later in during my teenage years… After this obvious conclusion was made, I was put in a variation of specialist schools where seen (at the time) best of help could be given to my fragile needs. I found integrating in my new school very hard, as I had some friends and teachers that (I thought had a definitive understanding of myself) and saddening as I saw them as a great salvation during those earliest of formative years. Some few months had passed during this acclimatisation, and I had found myself slowly settling into my new school. I had some great friends whilst there:- (George, Robbie, James and Emily) who shared an understanding of myself, knowing they were mostly all Autistic themselves. I mostly spent my time with either Robbie or George, mainly as we were in the same tutor groups at school- but also as they were my most loyal friends who I had known for a long time prior. As well as my social prowess improving fractionally day-by-day, my learning also fractionally improved, as I began reading books that had little context in it, and that speaking to my friends and teachers with determined enthusiasm (I showed throughout my education) would become a very normality within my life at last, and treasuring it was my biggest obstacle yet! This understanding would be later seen as temporary given the paths we were all destined to take in life and later life. That pathway became paved more-so (each day) knowing that a destined intuition would be found amongst through the fogged dust that tried effortlessly to block my way, during of which. Some later years had passed, and I had discovered myself becoming efficiently intuitive; to the extend where I was being consistently challenged when in class. Which in consequence left a withering question under my lightful-generality that begged what it was that set me apart from others?…Throughout this time, I had always found myself contacting my sensation of dissimilarity that ‘academic-tyrants’ would label myself as, and would pigeon hole as consequence to this. What came of this, was a purified notion of emotive arrogance that would rub (wholesomely) on others around me… this arrogance was plagued with an unconquerable sense of injustice that became energetic clairvoyance given to myself and the academic enigma that surrounded me. This feeling of unjustified arrogance would later self-sufficiently adopt itself within my personality. Which in essence would contribute towards me thinking myself better than others, to the point where I demanded an extremely high level of myself academically, and generally as a person, and that if I would receive otherwise (making a mistake) I would use internally punch myself until pinpointed where I went wrong- with the result me coming back 10 times better than did last time. Which ultimately gave me this unique edge as well amongst others, a professionlistic determination more than most traits that described my very personality thus far within my young life. Some more years had passed, and I had found myself studying innumerably hard both within and out of college. I came to Cottenham 6th Form, with a point to prove… where that point was to finally flame my unjustified sense of unordinary. A few months had passed during.  I saw myself making an abundance of friends within quick succession… which hence applaudably made my existence a little more fitter than it already was. When starting lessons there, I saw myself being ‘pegged-back’ and restricted from the chances that I felt deemed to be rewarded with, when away from Castle School. But tried readily to show that I was capable of demonstrating higher standards of Linguistic and Mathematical questions when delivered within my presence. During this time of grieved annoyance, I realised myself falling out with various people that I would state ‘as friends’ back then. But soon came to the conclusion, that they picked on me, one as they were curious of me as an individual, and that partly they (even) found themselves beginning (with clearance) envious of the fact that they could not define what it was that was spiritualistically, but rhetorically slapping them in the face every 5 seconds they saw themselves questioning what it was that making them ever-so jealous. Prior to this, I found this stage of college becoming increasingly difficult attaining, mental capacity when in and outside of the classroom. In compensation I would see myself blanking this with a purified sense of graft. Some of the teachers I did enjoy working with:- (Mr. Daw, Miss. Lancaster, Miss Halliwell and My form tutor) during this time, which I found them becoming a crumbling comfort for the little time I ended up spending there. In comparison  my day at college would end, I would see myself struggling to get home whether that was walking, or getting the bus, or cycling amongst the agriculturally-deformed roads, where getting hit by getting almost hit by a car, or  crashing into another cyclist was a normality for most people using these treacherous roads, that was so obviously deemed an understatement to many. When I did finally arrive home, I would quickly say ‘hello’ to my mother, where she sat there in a endless puddle of smoke that governed her fragilely-coldened face. From which, I would rush into my room, that sat a mattress  in a beleaguered room full of darkness, where the sunlight was evidently blindfolded immeasurably away from the light of hope… amongst this cauldron of sadness bought an atmosphere of melancholic ambience that seemed destined to overhaul that everyone saw as different. As well as this I had a tempestuous relationship with my mother’s boyfriend (Mark) who from the off-set made he’s feelings of me were made very clear that he wanted no recognised role to play within my life. Which in some respects was very understandable acknowledging that he did accommodate me a room, though it was gleamfully depressive it was seen my sanction away from the volcanic depths I found myself within. Within this volcanic regions of eggshells that I found myself walking upon with echoing failure ringing into my shattering ears with endless haemorrhaging… that was thirsty for some food that would comfort my very spiralling mentality. This spiral would first formalise when I had left college- prior to not affording to go into college (I had finished my exams and was awaiting my results)- and that prior to this I had came to the conclusion that I had to leave college, if I was seen fit to live a basic existence. I had no choice but contacted a man who bought endless uncertain sadness amongst myself and my families life… that was my father. That although he was an abusive alcoholic that took ‘somewhat’ satisfaction from beating my mother and us children up, and did nothing but leave a massive void of never really seeing him. I called him, and asked for some work- as I know he wouldn’t consciously help me (prior to the  financial orientation he was engulfed within. He gave me three days work, where equalled £60 was paid for my seemingly endless graft, I stood annoyed by his financial stubbornness, but remained modest as this was the normality I found myself always facing.  From this point onwards I found myself being thrown from one corner of Cambridge, to many others… where some of which was spent with my uncle who was a dying alcoholic (at the time). I would fall asleep most days, to the endless sound of snorts of cocaine, and the rattling sound of beer cans  on the service or table, where countless disrespected-heightened-laughters kept me awake for some of the night. The same very much happened when I woke up in the morning, but awoke to the sight of my uncle downing the strongest beers down his neck, to numb any sensitive insecurities he had left. Away I went with that image, left to go to college, or that I went out into the city with my cousin. After staying with my uncle for some time, I came back to Mark’s place where sinking deeper into the darkened cave became more of a normality for me. From this life of untold sadness conjured a dream to escape, a dream to be happy, a dream to live a new life away from the one that was evidently so apparent within my life thus far. Part of that dream was to explore the world. So I got a job as a kitchen porter at village pub nearby to where I live… I thought if I had worked some 6 months or so, there that I would have enough money to go Scandinavia to see my friend Henry who I had met in a previous holiday in Spain (my father threw money to lick the wounds he had created for us children). I worked tirelessly hard 6 days and 42 hours a week, getting praise for my work ethics and concentrated motivation to work and ‘plod-along’ as most people describe it as… frustratingly I got sacked, as I wanted to change me day off from Wednesday to Sunday just so I can play football with some friends. I again shrugged this off, and began working as a cleaner at Cambridge Train Station, which was in the centre of the city, and that I was placed in the South. Where getting to and from everyday took 2 hours, on top of working 40 hours. I worked with who I describe ‘the-best-person-I ever-worked-with’ that was a man known as Patrick O’Riley who like me endured an endlessly saddened life… so I worked there from November to January, where during that time I had saved enough money to go to my trips to Finland and Denmark, to exploitively explore, and to socialise with purified abundance, whether that was with Henry or others… arrived in Tampere (South West Finland) with an overhauling optimism of adventure. I arrived in Tampere Airport, and there I saw Henry standing there with his girlfriend (Roosa) who came and collected me from the airport so they could take me to there a place (in Jÿvaskÿlä) which was almost two hours away. During the prolonging journey through the Finnish motorway, I and Henry could not help but enthusiastically-reminisce from the time we had met in Spain, and the joyfulness that was swiftly met upon meeting one another. We found that when meeting that there was an abundance of commonalities that were established within quick succession (dark sense of humour, socialistic quirks and curiosity of the countries that we came from), it created a sense of Bolshevistic blissfulness and that consequently made us endlessly laugh with purified happiness during of which. In amongst of our blissful mirthfulness, I could not help but witness a catalogue of wholesome beauty presented to my gleaming eyes… it was like watching a cinematic vector run continuously (without stop) satisfying my very stimulation towards exploration that I had and have… with that I could harbour a bustling amount of confined Msprusi Trees that had aeration of snow upon it, with a seamless notion that greenery would never return upon, as well as this I could witness an innumerable feet of snow that blinded the very road, with obvious desolation. We arrived at Henry’s place, in a quietened-darkness, I placed down my backpack with swift tiredness, but Henry was hardly sympathetic and decided to start drinking… I decided to join in, as I thought the memorabilia would continue… and I did for some time until I woke up in his bathroom surrounded by puddles of my own puke, with recollection destroyed with a bombardment of guilt. I woke up the next day with that very sensation of guilt but remained adamantly shrugging off the regretful emotions I was feeling at that point. I remember Henry slowly crawling out of bed like a caveman waking up to a normalised civilization, that shrugging to define was a rhetorical question. We got ourselves showered and dressed, and then headed out, so he could show me around Jÿvaskyla. During our exploration of the town, we first went to McDondals (normally I would resist) but I remained evidently modest for a close friend that is Henry. We finished our meals, and then Henry took me through the steep hills that were covered in an extrasentential amount of snow, that even the tallest man would struggle to plough through… through the difficult nature we found ourselves in, I could not help but be happily exposed to an affluence of vibrancy amongst that slowly peeked over the hill with persistent… it was like seeing an endless amount of rainbows besieging our very eyes, which ultimately gave me the indication that I found myself in Finland. Some days had passed, and I still found myself tirelessly exploring Jÿvaskyla. Throughout this exploration Henry had shown me the many ski slopes that were usually used for one of the countries national sports, that was skiing (obviously) and that nightlife that was very much gleeful as there I had met Miika who at the time was serving in the Finnish Military, as a compulsion due to the Finnish government (mandatory to do military service in Finland), who consequently told me stories of drunken times, and moments that he spent in Lapland (Northern Finland) whilst in the military. After which we found ourselves drunkenly dancing to the sound of either nothingness or a sporadic sound that dissimilar to my memory. Some more days had passed, and Henry was hosting a Christmas Party in a cabin that was nestled in the heart of Eastern Finland, that there laid Leppravita. Leppravita was little known throughout Finland due to its wholesome isolation, but for those who did know it… knew that it was renowned for its bustling beauty of unconquerable Msprusi trees, that had a purification coat of snow upon, and that the roads were like being on the moon, as it was camouflaged with endless snow.We arrived at our destined cabin that Henry booked for both myself and Roosa, and his friends that would soon arrive shortly after us. When upon arriving there, I could not help but stimulation-of-nature climatically excite for a while longer, as the snow (yes) was endlessly camouflaged, but surrounding us was a myriad of trees… that almost looked like we were being rounded by an endless stream of moons, the purification was durability capable of blinding (more-so) those that were looking straight into The Great Sun itself.  Some moments had passed amongst arriving, and during that time arrived many of Henry’s friends of whom where:-(Jaako, Ossi, Toni, Ardi, Toni, Jukkis and Eetu) all of which served in the Finnish military, but we’re all undertaking various jobs either to pay the undergoing degree or traditionlistcally their bills. But what set them apart from the congregated normality, was that they all had stories of old to tell an abundance of people, most of them all, but especially Toni, Jaako and Ossi who I formalised strong friendships within quick succession of which (around a large table) that was traditionally Finnish (oak).  All Toni, Jaako and Ossi were not seemingly talkative as some others were… but what they replaced that with was an enjoyability that I found when being within in their presence, with this they would become very humorously quirky when talking to one another, they would un-regrettably become drunken without will and that they shared similar aspirations in life (a desire to become successful) which I enjoyed above all else. Some few days had passed, and I found myself regretting my drunken rebelliousness, as I remember sharing laughter amongst a typical Finnish Sauna, where within myself and the others (stated) had to get in all naked, and that after which we would do snowmen in the darkened forest, with popping into the jacuzzi to warm-off, though the regretfulness was soon forgotten as I would treasure those memories forever knowing the explorative happiness it created.  I left Finland, with a new happiness amongst the ordinary I found myself within. I hugged and shook hands with all the people I had met during the cabin party, and that I promise to all meet again soon was imminent. I arrived back in Cambridge for a short period of time, before setting out yet again, to the fringed edge of Scandinavia that was Denmark. I was there for 6 days, during which I would spend within Copenhagen, and that I would be accompanied by Henry yet again, along with some of his friends:-(Ardi, Jaako, Lauri and his girlfriend Roosa) most of which would stay in a hotel nearby to the hostel I was staying in. I arrived in Copenhagen on the cold desolation of darkness, that within peered a gleefulness that there were Henry and Jakko welcoming me with open arms to this socialistic atmospheric atmosphere that seemed to echo deep into my ears, that the only voice I could hear, was my own that was confidently talking to myself. Some hours had passed, and I found myself annoyingly waking up to the sound of silence, that during of which appeared a bruise on my eye… that undefinability was noticeable, as it came out of nowhere. As my confusion remained, I hurried downstairs where I asked the troubleless barman for some ice to rest upon my bruise. During of which, I coincidentally bumped into two guys, one that was named Jacob who was from America and the other Ivan who was from North London, United Kingdom, throughout our swift discussion of friendliness we both striked commonality; to which I asked that I could join them in the bar that they were going to in the city.  arrived in Tampere (South West Finland) with an overhauling optimism of adventure. I arrived in Tampere Airport, and there I saw Henry standing there with his girlfriend (Roosa) who came and collected me from the airport so they could take me to there a place (in Jÿvaskÿlä) which was almost two hours away. During the prolonging journey through the Finnish motorway, I and Henry could not help but enthusiastically-reminisce from the time we had met in Spain, and the joyfulness that was swiftly met upon meeting one another. We found that when meeting that there was an abundance of commonalities that were established within quick succession (dark sense of humour, socialistic quirks and curiosity of the countries that we came from), it created a sense of Bolshevistic blissfulness and that consequently made us endlessly laugh with purified happiness during of which. In amongst of our blissful mirthfulness, I could not help but witness a catalogue of wholesome beauty presented to my gleaming eyes… it was like watching a cinematic vector run continuously (without stop) satisfying my very stimulation towards exploration that I had and have… with that I could harbour a bustling amount of confined Msprusi Trees that had aeration of snow upon it, with a seamless notion that greenery would never return upon, as well as this I could witness an innumerable feet of snow that blinded the very road, with obvious desolation. We arrived at Henry’s place, in a quietened-darkness, I placed down my backpack with swift tiredness, but Henry was hardly sympathetic and decided to start drinking… I decided to join in, as I thought the memorabilia would continue… and I did for some time until I woke up in his bathroom surrounded by puddles of my own puke, with recollection destroyed with a bombardment of guilt. I woke up the next day with that very sensation of guilt but remained adamantly shrugging off the regretful emotions I was feeling at that point. I remember Henry slowly crawling out of bed like a caveman waking up to a normalised civilization, that shrugging to define was a rhetorical question. We got ourselves showered and dressed, and then headed out, so he could show me around Jÿvaskyla. During our exploration of the town, we first went to McDondals (normally I would resist) but I remained evidently modest for a close friend that is Henry. We finished our meals, and then Henry took me through the steep hills that were covered in an extrasentential amount of snow, that even the tallest man would struggle to plough through… through the difficult nature we found ourselves in, I could not help but be happily exposed to an affluence of vibrancy amongst that slowly peeked over the hill with persistent… it was like seeing an endless amount of rainbows besieging our very eyes, which ultimately gave me the indication that I found myself in Finland. Some days had passed, and I still found myself tirelessly exploring Jÿvaskyla. Throughout this exploration Henry had shown me the many ski slopes that were usually used for one of the countries national sports, that was skiing (obviously) and that nightlife that was very much gleeful as there I had met Miika who at the time was serving in the Finnish Military, as a compulsion due to the Finnish government (mandatory to do military service in Finland), who consequently told me stories of drunken times, and moments that he spent in Lapland (Northern Finland) whilst in the military. After which we found ourselves drunkenly dancing to the sound of either nothingness or a sporadic sound that dissimilar to my memory. Some more days had passed, and Henry was hosting a Christmas Party in a cabin that was nestled in the heart of Eastern Finland, that there laid Leppravita. Leppravita was little known throughout Finland due to its wholesome isolation, but for those who did know it… knew that it was renowned for its bustling beauty of unconquerable Msprusi trees, that had a purification coat of snow upon, and that the roads were like being on the moon, as it was camouflaged with endless snow. We arrived at our destined cabin that Henry booked for both myself and Roosa, and his friends that would soon arrive shortly after us. When upon arriving there, I could not help but stimulation-of-nature climatically excite for a while longer, as the snow (yes) was endlessly camouflaged, but surrounding us was a myriad of trees… that almost looked like we were being rounded by an endless stream of moons, the purification was durability capable of blinding (more-so) those that were looking straight into The Great Sun itself.  Some moments had passed amongst arriving, and during that time arrived many of Henry’s friends of whom where:-(Jaako, Ossi, Toni, Ardi, Toni, Jukkis and Eetu) all of which served in the Finnish military, but we’re all undertaking various jobs either to pay the undergoing degree or traditionlistcally their bills. But what set them apart from the congregated normality, was that they all had stories of old to tell an abundance of people, most of them all, but especially Toni, Jaako and Ossi who I formalised strong friendships within quick succession of which (around a large table) that was traditionally Finnish (oak).  All Toni, Jaako and Ossi were not seemingly talkative as some others were… but what they replaced that with was an enjoyability that I found when being within in their presence, with this they would become very humorously quirky when talking to one another, they would un-regrettably become drunken without will and that they shared similar aspirations in life (a desire to become successful) which I enjoyed above all else. Some few days had passed, and I found myself regretting my drunken rebelliousness, as I remember sharing laughter amongst a typical Finnish Sauna, where within myself and the others (stated) had to get in all naked, and that after which we would do snowmen in the darkened forest, with popping into the jacuzzi to warm-off, though the regretfulness was soon forgotten as I would treasure those memories forever knowing the explorative happiness it created.  I left Finland, with a new happiness amongst the ordinary I found myself within. I hugged and shook hands with all the people I had met during the cabin party, and that I promise to all meet again soon was imminent. I arrived back in Cambridge for a short period of time, before setting out yet again, to the fringed edge of Scandinavia that was Denmark. I was there for 6 days, during which I would spend within Copenhagen, and that I would be accompanied by Henry yet again, along with some of his friends:-(Ardi, Jaako, Lauri and his girlfriend Roosa) most of which would stay in a hotel nearby to the hostel I was staying in. I arrived in Copenhagen on the cold desolation of darkness, that within peered a gleefulness that there were Henry and Jakko welcoming me with open arms to this socialistic atmospheric atmosphere that seemed to echo deep into my ears, that the only voice I could hear, was my own that was confidently talking to myself. Some hours had passed, and I found myself annoyingly waking up to the sound of silence, that during of which appeared a bruise on my eye… that undefinability was noticeable, as it came out of nowhere. As my confusion remained, I hurried downstairs where I asked the troubleless barman for some ice to rest upon my bruise. During of which, I coincidentally bumped into two guys, one that was named Jacob who was from America and the other Ivan who was from North London, United Kingdom, throughout our swift discussion of friendliness we both striked commonality; to which I asked that I could join them in the bar that they were going to in the city. They both agreed, and away I went to grab my shirt and passport, and away we all went to Charlie’s Irish Bar that was nearby our hostel. We entered the bar, and quickly noticed a bustling atmosphere, and that no longer of arrivng to the bar we found ourselves outwardly drunk… singing to such songs such as ‘Barbie-girl’ and Danish songs. With our orthodox stance becoming obvious to the congregation around us, Jacob ended up puking on the ground, where which then escaltated into him almost getting into a fight. As our presence was becoming unwantedly fashionable, we decided to leave. To then myself and Ivan mocked our friend Jared (who we met from Wales) where we both hysterically shouted…”Baaaaa…” deep into the awakening sun over Copenhagen.

I woke up the next day with the sensation of a bullet train racing through my head, I failed to let this affect me… so I got myself showered and myself some breakfast, and away I went out for a day full of purified exploration. During my exploration I had found that Denmark seemed rather similar to Finland (in an architectural-sense) every building that my eyes were being presented with, where dominated with a vibrant efficiency of colour that where even The holy festival of Diwali would easily be put to shame. I carried on through this vibrancy to the waters edge of the Scandanivc waters, where I came along a familiar site of vibrancy (that was the Nyhavn Harbour) where witnessing countless rainbows was a sight always to be succeeded in seeing. I carried on walking through the harbour, where I would find countless boats trying rushingly   to set sail throughout the North Sea, it felt rather nomadic it was as if they were pegging themselves back to their ancestors (Vikings)  that once roamed this once unexplored throughout Scandinavia and to the eventual Scotland, Iceland, Faroe Islands, Greenland and The United Kingdom (Ireland included) during the Celtic rage of the Celts.

I arrived back at the hostel, where it was late around 20:00pm at night. I put my bag and camera in my room, where when going downstairs I would meet Tom who was from New Zealand. I spoke to him for a little while, with  enthusiastic interest was soon formalised with the discovery of the travelling he had done (throughout Cambodia, Laos, Thailand and many parts of the Balkan region and Western Europe) I somewhat ‘exploratively-taken’ by the degree of travel he had undertaken thus far. During our insightful conversation I suggested that I bought myself and he a beer, where it would then later escalate to a game of beer bong. During our drunken joyfulness, I had also met Jan and Karl, who where both from Germany, Jordan who was from North Carolina, Laura who was from Spain, Lisa from The Netherlands, and ZiSeng who was from Malaysia. Myself and Tom kept playing beer bong with each other until he would mysteriously disappeared to the sleeping night. During this sleepy atmosphere it was approaching midnight where 2015 was soon upon us… it was at that time, myself Mozes, Jan, Karl, Jordan, Lisa and Ziseng headed to a pub that Mozes used to play gigs at (he played music as well as studying for his masters degree in engineering). We arrived at this musically-refined pub nearby to the hostel, where a humongous cloud of smoke over-shadowered our very existence. We all of which found it very crowded within, so decided to walk the lonely streets of the city… where during of which I got to know the past adventures of all my compatriots surrounded by me (from Jan and Karl’s adventures throughout Europe and The Philippines, Jordan’s countless adventures throughout Europe and Asia and Lisa’s endless thrilling excursions of bungee throughout and the her naval deployment experiences throughout the world and ZiSeng’s undergraduate degree at The University of Copenhagen, and that he do had enrolled in many adventures throughout Europe. We ventured back to the hostel, where we all got forgetfully drunk to the point, where standing was the hardest thing to man. I remember apart from being drunk just Jan and Mozes laughing with the sensation of losing the will to breath… through smoking many joints of weed. At this point this night, became hysterical beyond recognition… where we all found ourselves on the floor creating endless puddle of laughter.

The next day I woke up, with the notion that I want a difference of scenery other than the city. So I packed my bag and got on the metro that went to a nearby beach. When I arrived I could see a small patch of greenery that within stood a little walkway to this small beach… in the distance I saw the famous Øresund Bridge that connected Denmark and Sweden over the North Sea border, which defined indurative brilliance from the engineering world. Amongst this I saw Copenhagen within the distance to the left of me, and Sweden ahead of me… it was at that moment (amongst the gushing wind) that I had realised that I had found a life away from the seamlessly endless cycle that was my life, and there renewed my happiness through my dream of traveling the world becoming gradually true. It was at that point I said to myself, ‘Travelling is my drug of choice; and I will always do this till the day I die.’ It was then, I soon left Denmark with a resonated determination of travelling the world, more so than ever.   I came back to Cambridge with a rekindled resulted happiness that knowing I was finally doing what I had set my heart on doing for the majority of my life. It felt strange at first instance (I thought it wasn’t true) meaning that consequently I found myself in a Sub-Saharan mirage where on the overside of the dune, was myself standing there blistered with an unorthodox refinery covered throughout my body, that in between this mystified blister laid only me pitching myself, to the realisation of what it was, I was finally doing within in my life. My spiritualism left the Sahara, after soon returning back to Mark’s place, where the only realisation met (again) was the purified depths of my burning soul that I discovered blackened within a paganisms cauldron- that sat there within a Siberian-dominated room that stood deep within a landscape, that even the most depressive state of mind such as Vincent Van-Gough (himself) would struggle to point; despite if he cut his ear off. Some little time had passed, and I had found myself going from job to job, as I had struggled in opening up about my Aspergers, which in essence meant holding down a job was difficult task of which… during these times of ‘somewhat’ difficulty I did manage to hold to one job that was being a cleaner (from 06:00am-08:00am) every morning except Saturday and Sunday, which paid me £60 every two weeks, and £25 of that had to on rent, only leaving me £10 a week to eat from which. This basic existence very much ushered my nomadic peacefulness within me, although it was hard from time to time, I did enjoy it’s simplistic philosophy. As time moved on, I found myself getting increasingly frustrated prior to the lack of travel and money that I found myself little without… I felt like that I needed someone to talk to, someone to share the romantic emotiveness and  compassionate companionship with (I didn’t want to talk to my parents) so I felt dating someone would justify these feelings of desire with purified wholesomeness. After sometime of searching I had come across a girl known as Anna, who lived nearby to my hometown of Cambridge. ‘I asked her, do you have anything better to do than talk to me on a Friday night?’  She responded with laughter, and then echoed out an endless spiral of conventional conversation that seemed indestructible through the commonalities that we had established thus far during our ‘virtual-friendship’. Some little time had passed, and I had asked if that she wanted to meet me in Cambridge during early August, she responded with a swift ‘yes’. We both agreed to meet by the Cambridge Corn Exchange, where I was there waiting inside upon her arrival- it was only until she messaged me saying, ‘that she was outside’ that left my heart exploding within my chest… I stepped outside, and there I saw her anxiously smiling, knowing that all that she had seen and heard of me, had been virtually met with compound of reality… it seemed rather scary. My heart was stolen, it was taken to the The Abbey Road Studios where The Beatles were making ‘Sargent Pepper’ (in the name of love)… I asked Sir Paul McCartney if I could have it back, but he said, ‘no…just wait and see what happens boy’o.’ We ploughed on through Cambridge with little idea of what to do, our indecisiveness seemed ripe, and that it wasn’t going to be awoken any time prior. We went to a rustic cafe by the edge of the city, where we spoke about our love for travel. It was at that point I noticed that she was wearing a necklace… I asked what it was, and it was then she showed me that it was a St Christopher necklace (patron protector of travel) which then decisively choose that it was her I wanted to be with (I had the same necklace). Some of few hours had passed, and we found ourselves by King’s College where I had asked to meet again, she said, ‘yes’ with the anxiousness wiped off her face. I rhetorically smiled back.  I came home with a beaming smile upon my face, it was like my punished soul had been resurrected from the depths of the ocean, and swam to the waters edge, where there laid Anna waiting for me, it was bliss and even my mother could see how happy I was at the point. Sometime had gone past, and I saw myself continuously working with the overhauling motivation that ‘Jack-like-Anna’ (someone like me) could potentially be in my life. It came to Saturday, I woke up and I cycled as fast as I could to Cambridge Train Station, where I would meet her just outside her hometown. I arrived at my destination and she came with her mother to pick me up, where we would drive a little distance to her hometown. Her mother dropped us off, and we walked the rest of the way home, where it was we watched animated films with a sense of cliché ringing deep within my ears.   Moments had passed, and I found myself having more intensified feelings for her (mostly as nobody showed a heightened interest within me), my affectioned smile came beaming back with the purified determination that I would soon like to kiss her, but I thought, ‘not yet.’ ‘Be patient don’t derail things if haven not the opportunity!’ So I remained persistently patient, and carried on enjoy my day full of unconquerable comfortability.   Our day had ended, it was time for us to depart the happiness kindled thus far, well until next time at least (I hoped for at that stage).  We met again back in Cambridge, where this time we went to my home that was in the North of the city; in comparison to the centre we had found ourselves in. We entered with both my mother and Mark away on holiday, so just like last time we had watched a couple of films… until time I felt I said, ‘I wanted to do something’ She asked, ‘what do you want to do?’ So I compassionately kissed her without unhesitant reason of stopping, my heart was racing, I didn’t know what to say or do during this climatic moment… so I carried on with the concentrated hope that she was receiving the same climaticness as I. She seemed so, but carried on anxiously smiling, as if confusion was dominating her abstract and physical sub-structure of her face. We left my home, and wondered back to the train station where I had given Anna, my denim jacket given the apparent coldness we found ourselves within an early September breeze. She hugged me with formidability that she didn’t want to let go, but did as her train would shortly be leaving, we smiled at each other and both went our separate ways until next time at least… Some few weeks had passed, and Anna came back to Cambridge where then we exploratviely wandered the city. Through our exploration, we had both sat down in a cafe just off belly of the city, where during of which Anna had expressively opened up about her past relationships and experiences during her life (at that moment)- I was shocked of what she had told me… so I could not help but sympathetically hug her… in the desired return that she would feel better. This betterness had been halted within her mental psych; where escaping this element of confined bitterness was proving to be rather challenging for her. We left the café, where emotion sat there with purification on our stricken faces… this purified emotiveness was becoming a hinderance for tireless consideration for the general public (not to mention especially Anna) so I decided to take her to one of my favourite spots in Cambridge, which was Castle Hill. We ventured to the top of the hill, with the both of just laying there to the resting sun, overshadowing a brightened-brightness throughout the affluent sector of the city. We remained laying there, until the sun had become tired, and laid to rest. So the lustfulness intensified once again, until time had come that it was time to go home. It was getting dark, and Anna’s parents would of soon be wondering where she was, so we hurried back to the station (once again) so that she could consequently get her train home. During our hurrying nature home, I anxiously asked Anna, ‘if that she would go out with me’ she worryingly said, ‘yes’ with the receipted happiness becoming smothered on my lightening face… she did not, but otherwise stood partially happy to the notion that lustful wholesomeness was not discovered as of yet for Anna. Some months had passed, and our honeymoon of refined happiness had swiftly ended. I was sitting at home in bed, amongst an industrialised darkness that looked like a Manchurian work house, that was plagued with nothing but a steepened  sadness and a decaying dream that was like watching a naturalistic land-fall in the heartened depths of the Polynesian Islands (erupting volcano. An incoming phone call from Anna arrived   personifying my descriptions of the Victorianism-Era I had found myself within (with frustrating anguish). I answered the call, to momentary lapse of silence amongst the call, I could hear nothing but echoing cries and quick breathing down the line… this emotive noise harboured a definition I tried so hard to run away from for so long… she said, ‘I don’t want to be with you anymore’ and hung up the call. I dropped the phone, and my very soul fell to it’s knees where even a Roman Cruxifixction wouldn’t even compliment this feeling of utter emptiness. I cried on my pillow, with realising the very acknowledgement that I was alone once again. Alone to live the life I did not want to know, alone to my hopes and fears of life, alone within the darkening sensation that nobody would want to understand nor listen to what it was I had to see during this moment of falling soulfulness, I felt at this moment I was beginning to become lost within a dream of escape, and a navigation of hopeful happiness discovered.  A few days had passed, and she gave me back the jumpers and coats I had given to her, during our moments in and around Cambridge. I found myself tearfully stubborn to the realisation that I was within reality, but behind her eyes, it seemed as so that she was telling me ‘to grow up’ as if careful consideration was not a part of her mindful scaffolding. I took my belongings back into my grasp, and vowed for them not to get a sense of historical belonging to Anna- like there once were. With freedom obvious I took some time of work (I was back at the train station at a Cornish Pasty outlet). During this swift break, I spontaneously booked two flights, one that was to Edinburgh, Scotland and the other to Belfast, Northern Ireland. I left Cambridge and headed to Edinburgh, that only took just over one to hour to arrive. Upon arrival, I could not help but sense a notion of methodicalness amongst the misty skies of the capital, that looked naturally locked amongst the rolling greenery the Edinburgh had found itself blessed within. I took a  short bus ride from the International Airport to the centre. I arrived within the heart of the city, and found myself swiftly wandering the northern confinements of The United Kingdom. Firstly I went to Edinburgh Castle, where there I found myself historically taken by the architectural prowess that was shown from when it was built amongst the Celtic age, I stayed hurrying through this prowess of architecture, until time I felt was that I conquered Arthur’s Seat. I hitched a taxi from Edinburgh Castle to the destination I arrived at Arthur’s seat, where upon arrival I could sense that this really was the mystical capital of the world, as looking above I could see nothing but this eroded greenery; being nothing but blissfully overrated with a mist that seemed so thick that it would even blind the blind. This notion of blind fulness excited my sensuality of adventure, so I decided to take the unorthodox route up the the mini-mountain (it took at least one hour of treading through the mud) to reach the summit. When I finally reached the summit, my blinded nature became apparent within reality. Through this sighted-bleakness, I found a beauty amongst the hills that any idea of mythology could easily be written into a book, it was beautiful. Although I was stood amongst the beauty, I decided to venture to the other side of the the mountain- which meant going down hill. Through this minor-pilgrimage, I found that mystical-bleakness was quickly decaying to my very eyes. I was ‘somewhat’ joyous as I could now with a normality. I made it to the bottom of the hill, where ahead of me where a road linking back towards Edinburgh, and to the left of me stood some wood, where echoing a trickle of water from stream down below. I hurried myself there, where within I found that very trickling stream, and yet endless rock formations scattered all over the river, with golden leaves, and a rustiness overcoating this very atmosphere. After finding this place of rustic tranquility, I found myself in utter aurora of myself, where a naturist philosophical spiritualness came talking to me, where in return swapped my historical sadness, for this inner-happiness within. I left this moment of tranquility behind, and head back into the centre.  Once back within the city, I decided to on one last explorational pilgrimage that was along the famous Victoria Street. When there I could not help but taken back to the countries once colonial repression from the Old British Empire, as I could not  help but see nothing but cobbled limestone walls, that were dominated with a purified paleness…that creativity shocked me as apart from this paled limestone, the buildings looked aristocratic. Where most of them where very tall, hosting a catalogue of windows spread throughout the buildings, giving them all a sense of individuality, with sniff of jurisdiction along the refined population that lived within the city. (amongst the houses) that stood with nothing but with claustrophobia beaming upon their very substructure. It felt almost routinely communistical that every house looked the same- but the only difference was that everyone who lived in them seemed richly different from the next person. As well as this there was an element of Victorianism through the atmospheric air, especially where I found that the buildings were clearly architecturally refined that even Tim Wonnacott (famous British antique expert) would struggle to sell them to even the most intellectual or even financially affluent seller. This final exploration marked the end of my trip to Edinburgh. I headed back to Cambridge from Edinburgh International Airport (via Stansted Airport), with finding genuine happiness throughout for my love for spiritualistic nature and historical fractions of the past.

I arrived back in Cambridge (overnight) until I would be heading out to Belfast, Northern Ireland in early hours of the morning. I flew into Belfast International Airport after a short flight of 1hr and 20 mins, and quickly noticed when landing that there was a historical-eeriness amongst the air, that daren’t to be fought with (politically and religiously) by any tourists, unless you enjoyed getting an Irish clout! I grabbed a bus that took me into the city centre, it was there I get a real-sense of eeriness amongst the atmosphere. Apart from this, this small country was packed with a purified beauty… I could see nothing but   lush greenery from The Moornes that stood surrounded  everywhere to the naked eye I arrived in the centre, and sooner of arriving I went along the infamous Shankhill Road, where the majority of the loyalists within the city, where living I quickly came to the conclusion after walking down there for sometime that as well as eeriness amongst the air, that it was suspiciously un-atmospheric, and bleak (at most). I had earlier learned from watching previous documentaries that there was only ever any prior altercations for when marching season came by, but that wasn’t till mid-July, when the Protestants celebrated beating the Catholics in Batter of the Boyne, which is something they have done since 1690 (as mentioned a few paragraphs earlier). I walked kept walking further down the road, and it was there I began to become rather anxious of something potentially happening… I felt this as because there were many of the local people noticed that I was neither from Ireland, or Northern Ireland for that matter.

I got about half way down the road, where it was then I came upon the notorious Crumlin Road Jail, where the Great Bobby Sands was kept before being in prisoned in HM Maze where many of the members of the IRA were interrogated for their bloody acts against the British during the early 70s and and late 90s were the prison closed, after the 1998 Good Friday Peace Agreement.I walked towards the gates of the prison, and swiftly noticed that the decor of the prison, had seen better days as there were bullet holes and shattered glass of ex-political prisoners that tried escaped during the 70′s and the 90s. if I was to be entirely honest, I was rather blown away by this factor; knowing that I was only on the other-side of the Irish sea.

I walked within the prison, were there was a tour being held for many enthusiastic tourists, such as myself who wanted to find out more about troubles that took places in Northern Ireland. We were directed throughout the main hall way of the prison, it was there I had noticed this prison (most importantly) had a catalogue of spiritualistic hauntings from past prisoners that were stationed here throughout the past. The cells within were small and compact, and had very little inside… with a sheer purification of whiteness and a depressive black paint that was coloured on the railings on the stairs of the prison, it very much gave it a feel of Victorianism amongst the prison.I walked further down the hall way of the prison, where it was there within the cells that as well of the compactness and isolation of the sheer size of the cells, that I had also noticed that there were many manakins that were depicting the horrendous acts made from the British officers that worked there.One of them, was giving the prisoners very little to eat, and when they were given something to eat it was either rational-type soups, or just bread to give it some for of ballade.

The other form of treatments regrettably received by the prisoners was the deajectory 10 commandments made from the officers who worked there, to get any form of information that help these officers work out what these political-activists motives were for motivation for the crimes that they committed throughout Belfast and Northern Ireland.  We left the hall way of the prison behind, and headed outside of the prison towards the wall. It was there where got an explanation of the bullet holes and shattered glass on the wall I had seen earlier. I had already figured out why they were there… but it was truly fascinating to get an in-depth cycle as to why.I was told that the reason for these bullet holes and shattered glass, was because throughout the term that many of these prisoners had served; during of which they had tried escaping this prison time and time again, and that when found trying to escape they would either be shot down, or have they’re hands cut to pieces while trying to escape.

After told, I was also given the insight of the many prisoners that tried escaping, had also died whilst trying to decamp. And that there acts were  depicted respectably by the few graves that were planted across the walls of the prison itself. This gave me the sense of unjustifiable trepidation, that many of the prisoners that were stationed here throughout the 70′s and 90′s were treat like pigs, but in un-parallel universe that was the grim-reapers cauldron.  We carried on roaming the prison with endless interest, and was taken the hang room, where many of the IRA- extremists were hung for their harrowing acts within the IRA. It was there that when these prisoners were hung, on the day of the anticipated execution, that many of the local people in and around Belfast, would come and watch the execution.

It was there they got much pleasure out of the sightings (for some strange reason), this was also the birthplace of the word ‘Hungover’ where many of us cooperate the word ‘hungover’ for when we have drunk way too much the night before, seems rather fitting knowing that it originates from Ireland/Northern Ireland.  I left the Crumlin Road Jail behind, and carried on my quest of exploration of the city, it was there that I came into contact with many of the vibrant murals that portrayed many of the IRA heroes, and nationlistic-identity that was clearly evident throughout the city, and as a consequence swiftly noticed, that many of the people whom lived here were strongly nationalistic (in a opinionated sense); much so that I felt that is sense expression fully through this women who un-reluctantly stopped me in the street… only to question “why I was wearing both a Protestant and Catholic cross on the same necklace!?…”  I momentarily paused for a moment, wondering wether I would make it out of the Falls Road alive… only for the lady to anticlimactically state that if I do not cover my two crosses now, that someone will most likely stab or either punch me down the road!I took this insightful advice from this lady, and buttoned up my top, and ploughed on further down the Falls Road.

After exploring the road furthermore, I upon the docking region of the city, where many infamous ships were build during the 19th & 20th century. Before taking a further look, I decided to sit down in a cafe, that was formatted in heart of the dock, it was rather socially-cordial. I walked inside, and the atmosphere was rather jolly, it was much different from the one frisky-one I encountered further back on The Falls Road.It was unexpectedly moronic, as this gave me the notion of the country being religiously divided, but also at the same time gave me the sensation that the country had progressively moved on from its’ troubled past… so in essence my mind was caught into sub-divisional minds. I decided to take some water, whilst watching the world blissfuly walk along with the ‘generality-of-life’ very much in their subconscious.  Whilst drinking my drink, I could not help but get the perception that there was a rightful belonging for me here within in Northern Ireland.

But for some unapparent reason I couldn’t put a definitive resolution as to why I was thinking this?… after taking the needed time to think about it, I came to the conclusion that it was because I was pleasuring my nomadically-explorational need for escape that was getting away from the impurification that was the Westernised world.I left the Cafe’, and wondered along the dockyards of the city. It was there I came upon the famous Harland and Wolff Cranes that were used during the early 20th century, for making the Titanic that sorrowfully so it’s remarkable down fall in the mid-Atlantic ocean; at the feet of disbursing ice bergs that derived from the depths of the Arctic that was Greenland.Looking at these Harland & Wolff was rather a spectacular sight, thinking the amount of trade that it once bought this city, was a interesting thought for most, yet to think they have now been frustratingly abandoned for many years now; consequently bringing much economic depressions upon many families that were trying to keep afloat from these difficult times.

I arrived back in Cambridge (via Stansted Airport) with the notion of being unconquerable being ripe, knowing that my dream of ‘travelling the world’  was now rekindled of being untestable even by the greatest explorers of Sir Ranulph  Fiennes and the great Marco Polo himself. This notion of unmountable invincibility, was expressively deployed with a outer arrogance that even Gordon Ramsay (himself) would struggle to define at the most refined of marginal fractions. Some few weeks had passed, and I had found myself lustfully spiralling with an inward incompatibility that was evidently made for no more but oceanic waves that where bound to make tireless sadness amongst my life. With that marginal sensation amongst my mindfulness, I remained ‘lovingly-grounded’ until such time indicated otherwise. This indication soon came in mid November’s day, (three weeks prior to ending the relationship) contacted me with the soulful achievement of wanting to get back with me… I agreed to her words, with unthinkable rhetoricalness, but haven the little acknowledgement that it was the very indecisiveness of her mindfulness that dominated this very lustful-like-personality. Some weeks had passed, and we had found ourselves going from each others places, with the happiness slowly turning towards a scenically- intermit route, with this apparent intermediacy also coming with imbalance of that, and atmosphere full of nothing but Gaelic/Scottish instrumentation. This instrumentation echoed out a lustful philosophical spirituality where I thought living a life belonging exclusively to Anna, was rightfully justifiable. This justifiability came with little acknowledgement of what this futuristically-refined-relationship had in store for me. Little time had passed and the futuristic torment had become awake-fully apparent, as the love that was once showed time ago, had fully drowned within the lustful sands of time, which harboured a sense of puppeteering. This puppeteering came with quick-succession, as there became many scenario’s… where I would joyfully say to Anna, ‘I love you’ but with the expectational-response back came nothing, but a brief flicker of a smile, that came beaming back into my spiritualism with utter annoyance.

This annoyance independently adopted itself within my mental-capacity. This also came with the sheer determination of it only wanting to progressively intensify like a cancerous-cell growing on my brain like someone planting a melancholic tree. This melancholiness progressively out-grew my mindful state, where I would analytically expect the worse from Anna, from that point forward. This expectation was sub-divisionally rightful. As the frustrating annoyances arrived ever still… with a brief spell of happiness came, like the very generality we humans lived in- (it could of been ironic sarcasm) but confusingly happy it made me for sometime. This happiness would involve myself Anna, going on scenic walks throughout the agriculture reservoirs that Anna lived nearby. During this agriculture exploration, came with a lustful spirituality that came from both of which of Anna, and the nature that had been plagued to my sight (patiently moving ponds that streamed through the town, with semi-detached trees in abundance) surrounding our very presence, with the flatness of soil, the crunchy Diwali-like (colourful) leaves, with the formatted compound of soil, wheat and barley spanning far into the distance, that was gradually peaking out like a baby bird springing out to hatch.

This temporary formation of happiness, was now seen a part of our commonality for sometime. As from this point we found some many occasions, where we established positiveness just from sitting at home and being in each others romantically-refined presence… with the echoes of Gaelic sounds hoovering all around our soon-to-be crumbling relationship. What came of this was a catalogue of seemingly unwanted necessities that seemed adamant, but yet reluctant to oppositely manufacture me into a person… I saw as wholesomely unfit and that only would unjustifiably define my soulful personality.  As this became evident, there came many moments where I would do or say something within Anna’s presence, that she consequently did not like… and would unconsciously state her annoyance of me doing or saying such (humour, burping and farting)- I know this sounds rather moronic, but surprisingly truthful it was. As time moved swiftly into December, this moronic idioticness progressed into a very normality that Anna would reluctantly portray with the soul ambition of getting the very personality that she dearly wanted. She knew that I was someone who was spontaneously adventures, curious about most/all subjects in life and that I was outwardly sociable, with a ‘fine-line’ of friends that I would spend time with when given any opportunity. With these personalistic traits came an inward notion of envy towards myself… that was attempted to be stubbornly  hidden, by turning my personality inside out (very much inside out).

Christmas had arrived, and a need for happiness had to motivationally be formed, or else  compromising our very differences was now going to be unchallengeable at it’s very best. During this ‘somewhat’ joyful period I testified myself to spend sometime with my father, who throughout my life defined the complete opposite of being one, but I thought berrying the animosity created could be a testament to both our personalistic characteristics. I arrived at his house in a cold winters sun aiming upon my very head, this act gave me the faithful hope  that someone or yet something was spiritualistically behind me, but with the blindness of love, made that acknowledgement difficult to differentiate. I sat in his living room, with little to say to each other, but the football score of our beloved Newcastle United, flickered little and far between. The day wore on, and we sat in front of the fire restfully cracking in front of us, which personally was the only warming comfort taken from that Christmas Eve’s day. Evening swiftly arose, with the sound of passing cars ringing deeply into my ears… it was painfully pathetic, knowing all my socialistic graft of finding lovingly commonality, was forever unapparent and that laid on the summit of Mt. Everest it rested, with the questionable ponderance of ever finding it.

Christmas morning arose with the ponderance defined, as frustrating conversation came ever still. We ate our breakfast and headed out to local reservoir that there stood a mill that  collected water, and spit it straight out. The landscape seemed very similar to the one found in Anna’s sometime, it seemed agriculturally refined, to which there was distancing compound of flatness ahead of the naked eye, with nothing but a naked grass dominating our very presence. Our little conversations progressed into a moment of regretful memorabilia where my father described his moment of going to prison… and that during of which he concluded that, ‘life is about making the right choices’ that doing what I did, was stupid.’ I listened to him with attentive insightfulness… but soon intensified furthermore anguished embarrassment knowing that man, was in need my father. The day wore on, and boredom soon struck, with no gifts (nor received) where given to each other during this day; that was suppose to been seen as ‘jolly’  was seen as a excruciatingly unsociable and and lovingly unfaithful and yet distantly lost forever more.

Boxing day had  arrived, and I came back to Cambridge where I had work for a short while in a quintessentially-British cafe. The day there was obviously quiet, but more so jolly knowing that I was away from my father and his uncharacteristic unorthodox’s. I found myself cleaning the entirety of the kitchen:-(the work surfaces, kitchen filters, cleaning the bins and many of the regions of the kitchen). Which came a sense of reliability when it came to my  graft and motivation just to work to the definitive word itself. As well as this I shared many a jokes with Phil who I worked with during my time there, who I thoroughly enjoyed working with. Phil was very much like myself, he worked hard for the industry he believed in, and that he cared considerately to those around him and that above anything else he was a genuine person to that always socialistically echoed to everyone who met him in his very presence. But what seemed sad, was that many chef’s within the industry placed little trust in Phil-  as at times displayed little confidence… which would project his lack of confidence, which was saddening to see (at times).  My shift there had ended, and my father picked me up where he would take me Anna’s aunties house where her family were having a  gathering for the day’s event, and that her parents had agreed that I could stay over until the next day.

I met Anna along with Sheena (her mother) just outside her aunties house, with ‘socialistic-fear’ conjuring deep within my eyes. They took me into the house, where the majority of her family were there scattered throughout the entire geographical sub-structure. I felt bewilderedly isolated… with the wholesome notion of not knowing anybody within her family (with the only exception of Anna, her siblings and parents), with this brought an element of silent imitation that portrayed deep into my personalistic-mindfulness… where this imitation bought nothing but them only judging me on purified speculation. This speculation become truthfully apparent when were all gathered around the living room, giving presents to all (a family tradition) where throughout a stood few members of the family that persistently stared at me from time to time, that being her Uncle and Grandmother. Perhaps they did this as they were trying to manufacture an understanding of myself… or was it that I beheld traits of what Anna’s ex-boyfriend once was like, I do not know. This silence curiously put me in a state of anxiousness… where any flicker of a sound or stare upon anyone or anything, where equal in me being looked upon in such dampening way!

We gathered for about one hour, to which after a platter of food was served amongst the family. I ate the food with great delight, with the very sensation of nourished was welcomed… not to mention the salmon and chicken and served- was rather nice; which was ironic given the emotion received thus far throughout all corners of the relationship (Anna, her parents, uncle and grandmother). After which I found myself getting tireless nervous of endless stares and voices that were dominating my very mindfulness that was deemed ‘fragile’ upon that very moment of time. So I consequently decided that I wanted to back Anna’s home, where I could find salvation amongst my un-judgemental-self. We arrived home, where tiredness was stricken upon my perplexed face. This notion of perplexity came as I sensed a real orientational-togetherness amongst Anna’s family- where great envy was discovered amongst this… and that, between this sensation of togetherness was met with a real commonality throughout every member within her family… unlike my family tended to feel such.  

I rested my tired podium upon the sofa that seemed to pollute my comfort with nothing but satisfactory. Until when Anna gave me two gifts that were from her family. I gawked moronically into her eye’s- as if this was a joke! She beamed a laugh back at me, and said, ‘they are actually for you.’ I opened them both, and what I found was a jumper that I had wanted to and a tablet (I did not have any use of the internet at home!) I was fluttered, and yet impassion-ate from what I was seeing… so much so that I began to cry. I rested my surprised self upon Anna, where she seemed conflicted whether to hug me, or just indifferently laugh in my face. Some time later found ourselves gradually sleeping to the sound of nothingness. I woke up early the day full of emotion from the day before, and knowing it would be a little while before I next saw Anna.

Andy (Anna’s father) took me back to the train station, where there I would get the train back home to Cambridge. I arrived back in Cambridge, with emotion apparent upon my unenlightened face. I got into work with this notion growing cancerously throughout the atmospheric confinements of the kitchen… when everyone there swiftly noticed that there was something missing from my personalistic individuality. I finished work and wandered home, where there I would crawl back into my ‘realistic’ cave as normality would govern. I laid on my bed, only to find myself lost within myself… I saw no formalised direction, nor soulfulness was diminishing before my very eyes! I carried on working tirelessly until New Years Eve arose with that demising soulfulness swiftly decaying before my very mindful-eyes. I left my home to collect Anna, where she would stand there in a isolated coldness waiting for my arrival. We arrived back at my house where we would swiftly relax and get ourselves vigorously dressed; as I had planned to take Anna out for dinner. We hopped on a local bus, to the restaurant. With a short journey, we found ourselves in short exchange of flickered smiles, and apparent indecisiveness becoming ever-ripened upon her befuddled face. We entered the restaurant, where we took our seats distant from the intermediate congregation (for Anna’s sake) where she would take great pleasure from this act of kindness (myself). We ate our meals, with tireless ‘chit-chat’ where the most pleasurable moment of the evening was the service from the waiter, the  people and cars that passed by our hurrying eyes. With boredom becoming ripe, we left the restaurant where we would wonder back to bus stop, with an Arctic-breeze springing down our very spines… where Anna, hold squeeze my hand, as she knew my hands were not affected from the cold:-(they were more like a furness) that saw no end of hotness.

We came back to my home, where would expeditiously lay ourselves upon my sinking bed. Throughout that time (with candles lit, as there were no lights within my room) we would just spend ourselves starring the abyss, wondering what tomorrow would hold, wondering were would life lead us or if we were ever going to be a couple again after this point onwards. We wandered this idea for some time, until she fell asleep… with little cooperation as it seemed as so that her mind was already made up (in regards to us) and the life that she wanted. I pondered the idea for a little while long- until I blew out the candles and awoke her at 00:00am only to wishfully grant her a ‘New Year’ and that my happiness with her; was all that I wished for. She briefly smiled back at me, whilst kissing me on the lips, and then away she went to sleep again.  

I woke up the next morning, with a sense of purpose both on my mind and throughout my body. I laid in bed for about one hour, before Anna gradually woke up, and that when she did it she blissfuly opened her eyes in front of mine… with a beaming smile stricken upon her bemused face. With this level of bemusement making me feel likewise, she hugged me with intention to imprison herself to me, until she otherwise felt fit to preserve our limited lustfulness of a relationship. The morning wore on, and we got dressed. Anna was in the next room putting some make-up on to the sound of ‘UGH’ from the band The 1975… throughout the lyrics gave me a indication of what she really felt of me; “And you're the only thing that's going on in my mind taking over my life a second time I don't have the capacity for fucking you're meant to be helping me” which pinpointed that she only thought I wanted to be with here for the soul purpose of sex. This notion upset me deeply, as if I was robbed from the very emotions I overwhelmingly portrayed throughout our relationship:-(endless love, tireless consideration of care, a deep interest for anything she was interested in and that she  wanted to talk about, and spoke to her parents and siblings effortlessly) when seen upon.

The day was wearing on, and Anna had to go home as her sister would be finishing work and lift home would be free if she was there to use it. So she jumped at the opportunity, and we raced to the hospital (where she worked) with tears just tipping beneath my eyes… my heart seemed to pound, I was not sure whether it was because of the mindful reality I found myself within about her, or that it would be little time before I would see her again? I did not know, and that I stood fearful in wanting to at that present moment. We met her sister, and with a quick exchange of words they both left to go home. Where I was left standing like a single flame amongst the crashing waves in a oceanic confinement of melancholic patterns that looked set to arise, and dominate my very life in very quick sequence.

Some time had passed before seeing each other once again, with every time we met deemed profoundly difficult for one another… as restriction in wanting to see myself became obvious. Her interested had longingly decayed, and that it seemed like her deepened commitment was with someone else. This idea had came into my mind, as there were countless moments throughout our early stages together that she never said she, ‘loved me’ and that she only said which when I asked her to do the same; as I did her without any thought of doubt. I came to her hometown in Bedfordshire, as usual it had been a while from the last time I saw her. I got in her father’s car, and I can quickly saw that something was potently with her, the atmosphere was desolately eerie within the car, that evidently overtook her very un-expressional face. Anna failed in telling me what was going on, it was if she was getting comfort from hiding something from me. From this point, I was left uncomfortably worrying  that the unthinkable was about to happen yet again. Before all this, (you could say it was irony) but we went for a walk along the nature reservoir. Where she thought this befuddlement she be complimented by a Full English Breakfast. It was from that stag, I knew I was being selfishly backstabbed.

We wondered home after which, and yet finding the sincere trepidation was painted upon her face, to which equalled much shivering panic was justifiable. We arrived home, and the feelings that her heart her told her long before, had come swarming out like a pack of lions, trying to look after their young. I was trying effortlessly hard not to listen to what I was hearing, I felt like I was falling, falling in a deep blue ocean that was surrounded by a pack of sharks that were treating me as their kill for their family.  I found definition for what was happening… but was fearful to be apart of reality at that point, to what was being said. I wanted to runaway, runaway from the seemingly laborious phase I found myself in. Anna just stood there, as if nothing was happening… it was like she didn’t even care, nor share any margin of emotion for the matter (she planned this like Martyr dying for their course). Thankfully her mum had the same idea, and took me to the train station, whilst I was trying (with the little soulfulness I had left) to pick myself up from the my knees, that she left me hanging deep upon, that looked to spend the rest of my life negatively thinking about this very moment. I arrived back at the train station, where I spent the entirety of the journey with people starring at the endless tears streaming down my anticlimactic face, it was tedious and yet so embarrassing during of which. I arrived back in Cambridge, with these tears creating a puddles onto to the ground. I came into the reception that was nearby, only to ring my mother; as I could not bring myself to get on any transportation (again). I rang her, breaking down into tears explaining to her what had happened… so my grandfather agreed to pick me up, where he gave me some words of wisdom, when telling me that Anna, ‘was not worth my time’ and that he said; ‘only worry about people, when they want you to worry about them.’ I listened intently to what he had said to me, and then from there began my pilgrimage to lustful durability (once again).