Love Is All You Need

Now I'm older, it seems that all the world revolves around is love. Every song ever written seems to be falling in or out of love. Every book we read has, if not as the main plot, a subplot of love. Every film we watch includes a mandatory kiss. Love seems like its everything and, if you're single, this can be a pretty damning way of seeing the world: through the perfect and glossy rose-tinted specs of someone else. 
  Recently, I've come to expand my views on love. Rather than see it as integral for 'people my age' or as 'something that will happen if you wait long enough', I've tried to shift my view from finding love in a person to finding love in life. I'm not, at present, looking for the love of my life, but, rather, the love of life, itself. My desire to travel has recently and unexpectedly heightened and to go with it, I've began writing about my intentions to travel and uncover little rivers of life in different places. Maybe it sounds like I'm running away from my lack of love. But I know that, this time, I'm not. 

  But, of course, there are plenty of people actually looking for relationships and "The Undateables" is, quite possibly, the most humbling show that I have ever watched. 

  Undateable. It sounds incredibly derogatory and completely untrue. No one can be totally undateable. The word itself suggests love to be some kind of initiation. Once you've had a date: 'Congratulations! You're dateable.' It's like a trial: once you've had a date you get some more credits, some gold coins, and a certificate. (You don't.) 

  What would it mean if you were to die without have a date? If you were to die, undateable? Some people have never sucked a chocolate fondue through a straw. Others die without having done a sky dive. The vast majority of people haven't lived with Buddhist monks in Nepal. All of these things are fun. They're exhilarating and, the latter, is life-changing. But it's not 'social code' to do things like this. They're 'add on' experiences. Things that "Yeah, if I could/ had the time/ had the money/ wasn't so scared of ..." would be great things to say you've done. But you don't have to. 
  It seems that everyone has to do love. (Or at least, a date.)

  And so, it was for this very stubborn and constructed reason that I vowed I wouldn't watch "The Undateables". But as the advert popped up time and time again over Christmas, I began to realise how important and crucial love is to people's lives. Apart from being a great way to procrastinate and relax after revision, the series is just really really beautiful. It's one of those things that restores you're faith in humanity. It's something that makes you think differently about others. A show that demonstrates the true nature of love. Not everything is the hunky, fairytale one-click wonder moment. It is, very much, like a trial. Something quite remarkable. Something quite beautiful. Something that everyone, irrespective of whether they want it, needs. 

London's Eye

Despite a morning that felt far to early to be past the boundaries of the night before, I was glad to be in London. It seems to me like London is the city of every season. I tell myself that I like it more in the cold but then I catch myself at Kings Cross in the summer months and I take it all back. 

Today was as beautiful as the day suggested: Sun-day. The light streamed across the pale blue of the sky that was brushed with clouds and the air was crisp and raw. It was beautiful. Really beautiful. I like travelling through London at the best of times but today was particularly special. It's Remembrance Sunday and all the natural beauty of the morning was complimented with the jingling of medals as war veterans passed by in their suits and poppies, their canes and hats. On the train earlier we'd picked up a group of suited school children who were destined to attend one of the services. There is something so festive and communal about seeing such sights. 

I'm not an advocate of war. And, like many other people I know, I don't think that the act of fighting and killing can ever be just. But today: Remberance Sunday, is not about the war (though without it the day wouldn't exist). On the 100th anniversary since World War I, it's about courage. 100 years of selfless bravery. 

People are different. People went into the war with different motives. Some went because they believed that their actions would lead to a greater good. Others were forced. But whatever the reason, those who made it through and those who didn't met with the same fate; they saw war. I look into the eyes of the people that pass by me with their tailored suits and medals. The eyes that now look out on the fabricated, technologically 'advanced', urban landscape that is London and the underground. Those eyes that look out onto the Gucci, Selfridges, Hollister and Burberry. Those eyes were the same eyes that saw guns, scaled pathways, watched the insides of eyelids as they slept in wait of the days, weeks, months ahead. Those eyes carry experience. Experience of it all. The then and now. The here and there. Stories, memories, experiences: told and untold, and etched into the dewy layers of the eyeball's gaze.

There is a different London this morning. Not the cosmopolitan hub of all-too-busy and not-too-bothered commuters as I usually come across. This is a morning in London marked and ruled by history. It is the hub of millions of stories: told, untold and yet to be told.

And so as I leave Waterloo, the rising sun awakening the country, the thoughts of a ugly morning fade. How glad am I that I was up at 6:30am on a Sunday to see it all? The answer is very.   

Dear Ol' England

Why is it that everyone walks with a stern brow? A pouted mouth? A chip on their shoulder that's big enough to make them waddle? 

  I agree; cleaning the bins in front of Morrisons isn't any fun. Talking people through banking accounts, having to pay 10p for a bag at the Hospice shop, seeing the sun eclipsed by the clouds, advising people on the best SIM card at Phones4U aren't all that fun or exciting either - but they could be. 

  For me, there's a fundamental difference between living in Dubai and living in England; the amount of people who seem to want to live. There was but one man, a kind gentleman in Nationwide, who seemed happy. He was interested to hear about the perks of Dubai and was forever questioning, happy to answer and polite. 

It's a generalisation I know but I'd forgotten. This sadness. This glum. This stubborn detest for everything. A smile, dare I say it, seldom seems acceptable here but is such a desperate necessity. 

A frown won't stop you hating your job. Moaning won't make a sun appear. Berating the driver in front of you because they're driving too slowly won't persuade them otherwise. But neither will a smile - but it might do. And even if it doesn't, it will make the day alot better.