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25.9.15

Journal: Recuperation Theory

Journal: This Summer | Ses Rêveries

The queen of sparse micro updates returns with anecdotes from her travels.

While my presence has been "somewhat" lacking in the social media realm, I have been knee-deep in blogging/writing affairs all summer with my old friend Writer's Block swinging by often to chat, manifesting itself in various forms of productive procrastination, which currently involves a lot of Photoshop with very little knowledge of the actual software (as illustrated above).

I've worn many hats these past few weeks; the most amusing (or embarrassing depending on whose perspective you look at it from) being that of a "proper fashion photographer." And while I'm legitimately terrified to share what I've "shot"*, I kind of don't have a choice. While I am ambivalent about being judged on what little merit I have in these "creative pursuits" I incessantly delve in, the production team grew slightly over the summer - you can spot some of the crazy, talented weirdos above - and since the premise of their collaboration was to have the finished product published here, I kind of have to keep my word. I'm now slowly coming to grips with the sharing is caring philosophy, except of course where food is involved. Unless it's being transferred to my plate. Then it's OK.

Speaking of spotting some craziness above, I went to Brussels. But only for a day. Well, half a day. But still, much excitement. I ate Haribos, listened to Desplat and read LOVE on the plane and then very nearly shat myself as soon as the plane landed and it suddenly sunk in that I had just flown to a country I'd never been to before, knew next to nothing about and where I barely understand much less speak only one of its three official languages by myself after having given
everyone but my dopey little brother the impression that I was safe and sound in nothing-ever-happens-there Leeds. It was a hoot and a half, I tell you.

I wrapped up my internship last month, an absolute blast. And to celebrate my last day, my boss took us all out to dinner at an Indian restaurant. I love Indian food. I mean, really. It was all my mum ate when she was pregnant with me. I don't even have "regulars" like I do with Chinese or Italian. I will eat anything. Or so I thought. It turns out J, one of the guys I'd been working with everyday for months was a vegetarian** so my boss had opted for this award-winning vegetarian Indian place. I of course, had no idea until we walked in and I noticed all of the chef, Hansa's accolades around the restaurant. "Is this place vegetarian?" I whispered to the guys like the V-word held as much controversial weight as the N-word from the mouth of a white person, when the framed photo announcing I had just walked into the best vegetarian Indian restaurants in the UK of 2012 (or so, I forget) caught my attention. J nodded and I turned to him with as much seriousness as if the fate of the planet rested on his answer to my next question: "All of it?" And so my Gujarati education began.

It's quite sad how little I know about India and Hinduism, one of the oldest and most recognized religions in the world; like how Hinduism frowns upon the killing of living creatures and how Tikka Masala is actually a Scottish dish? I think I now know what being adopted feels like because my entire life felt like a lie up until that point (I love how I always manage to digress to my somewhat unhealthy relationship with food).

The rest of my summer was pretty much standard: writing, editing, keeping up with admin and melting in the sun as I traipsed around the UK familiarising myself with the Western world's local cuisine, fast food. The hiatus officially ended a while ago but I've still been quite busy this past month getting ahead of the time-consuming curve that will be the next few months. However my blogger homeostasis is fairly stable now so expect my usual brand of random, semi-frequent updates to pick up again slowly but surely from here on out.

Speak soon.




*I don't know why that's in quotes. I did shoot most of them, but so poorly that I suppose the quotes are somewhat justifiable.

**It's like I don't even know you, J!
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