A Common Greenback surrounded by Asiatic Toad(let)s; taken with my N73 at the Botanic Gardens.

To know a thing well, know its limits. Only when pushed beyond its tolerances will true nature be seen.

~ Frank Herbert’s Chapterhouse: Dune, book VI of the Dune Chronicles

As it goes, I’m still here. I was supposed to leave on Monday, but I’m still here. Various reasons. It’s that same feeling all over again - sitting at my desk, with a novel or my laptop for company, the room entirely empty save for the few pieces of luggage on the floor, echoes bouncing off walls.

I had some time, so I went across the road to Hyde Park, as I usually do before my flights. Such a lovely day…

And I’m off. For real this time.

So I guess this is it. After having postponed my flight back twice, prolonging my stay here for as long as I dared, my boxes are finally all packed, as are my suitcases. Only little things remain… those that I will be leaving behind, bits and pieces to which I attach a strong sense of sentimentality but they are of no use to me now. Some of them have been with me since Sydney, the electrical appliances with their triangular pins still attached to their travel adapters.

I tell people that I might be back next year. Might. But one can never be too sure about these things.

And I guess… I will miss this place, despite its many shortcomings. I’ll miss most of all my friends, and the spontaneity, the freedom, experiences of life that London has to offer… the lifestyle that I had come to have and taken for granted. It’s so different, and it’s one that I’d never have in Singapore.

Saying goodbyes are never easy. I know it will hit hardest when that plane takes off from that runway at Heathrow.

We just keep moving… settling down… uprooting ourselves… moving on… and on. ‘Tis the life of a dogged wanderer. Another chapter closed.

The same gang of us who went to Lake District almost exactly two years ago again assembled for a quick weekend road trip, through the beautiful scenic countryside, deep into Wales. I enjoyed every minute of it, although the way was beset with little disappointments. For years I had been wanting to see the puffins, which can only be found in a couple of islands off the coast of the UK, and I thought this was it - that I (we) were finally going to nail them for sure. We were close. So very close - just a queue and a 15min boat ride away. We were told that it was no-go for that day… winds too strong, waters too rough for a landing. Curses up and down along the queue, for there were others, aside from ourselves, who travelled great distances just for this opportunity. Sigh, bad luck, I guess. *shrugs*

So we walked around the cliffs and tried to look for the grey seals that were said to frequent the coast. After waiting and looking long and hard, we spotted a pair, frolicking in the water. I had expected to see them basking under the sun on the rocks, but they stuck to the water.

And then there’s the ocean - a deep, blue, vast expanse of water. That, the blue skies, the lush green of the cliffside bushes, the horses, the gulls, choughs, shags, and oystercatchers… it made it worthwhile. Totally.

~ 600 miles’ journey across and back

Brecon Beacons National Park

Horses at Martin’s Haven

The Pembrokeshire coast

It was clear skies beneath me as the plane (an A380!) descended into Heathrow. Usually, it’s all fog. I was reminded that this wasn’t when I’d usually be arriving in London; I’d be departing, to miss the best times of summer.

The past two days I was in a short-sleeved top with a light jacket tied around my waist and I’d be warm. Today I had worn a jacket and it was chilly cold. This is London… the unpredictable, foul-weathered London…

… where sundown is at 9pm. The skies were still bright when we were done with dinner. Good light for shooting, but it messes up my circadian rhythms, as if it wasn’t already confused enough as it is.

I was asked how I was feeling. I said I initially thought I’d be sad, that I’d miss this place, but not that much. It’s a love-hate relationship. But once you’re on the streets, dodging that puddle, on the Tube, minding that gap, evading burly characters, converting those pounds, calculating in miles, you don’t think about it anymore. It’s London, this is London, and it’s all that matters for now.

And I can’t believe that a toilet brush is not to be found in the whole of Bayswater.

There’s so much I’d like to say, but so much of it doesn’t need to be said.

From the living room windows, I can see our old apartment, just a few blocks and one postcode digit away. We’re barely two weeks settled at the new place, but it already feels like home; it has already been witness to much. Too much.

I’ve finally, finally booked my return flight to London. This trip… this journey… has been many months late. And this trip, unlike the many others before it, will be the shortest yet. And the most final. This Monday I’ll fly, and in a week I’ll pack up four… five years of my life and tie up any loose ends, and come Monday I’ll be leaving London behind. Another move… and another conclusion - not a very clean cut, this one - to another chapter in life.

Not everything in life goes according to plan. Plans I did have, but they are at the mercy of those forces out there. For now, I need to be here. I am needed here.

Just me, and an empty, unfamiliar house. No people, no furniture, no noises. No yet. Just the bare walls, floors, windows.

Even if it was only for a few minutes…

Peace. I felt the air I drew in. I heard. Inhale. Silence. Exhale. Silence.

I felt like I could cry. The emptiness made me happy. I was happy to feel the lightness.

Then the phone rang, and the world came shattering back down.