“Angeles” by Elliott Smith… “Someone’s always coming around here trailing some new kill. Says I seen your picture on a hundred dollar bill. And what’s a game of chance to you, to him is one of real skill. So glad to meet you, Angeles…”

Once again the world has lost another one of its great introspective songwriters. Rest in peace, Mr Smith.

Brrr, it’s getting cold. The thing about London is that Autumn always feels short-lived. It’s supposed to be Autumn now but I think you’ll find that if you look on the checklist criteria for Autumn, you’ll find that the temperatures are supposed to be higher. It really feels like Summer suddenly fell and Winter rose to take its place. The leaves are a real sight in Autumn though. The firey hues almost make the trees look ablaze during the day. Being evergreen is over-rated.

This morning I woke up and pulled the covers away from my face. I could feel the biting sensation of cold, which caused me to pull the covers back up again without a moment’s hesitation. It’s days like this that I want to just lie in bed all day and not have to confront the chill in the air or the rimy floors of the bathroom and kitchen.

Every year I’ve always wished for snow. We had snow earlier in the year and I’ve always wished for it to be a White Christmas every year (I’d have to tap into memories of my childhood to recall the last one). I’m not really even Christian enough to care for religious reasons, but it lifts everyone else’s spirits and that in turns lifts mine. Isn’t that good enough reason for anything to come true? {Rubs hands together with excitement (and because they’re cold)}

Mum was browsing through brochures for apartments/flats and noticed a local brochure with our local shopping centre in it. After examining the photographs carefully, she noticed she was right at the front in one of them. She went to their office to enquire about some of their properties and pointed out that it was her in the photograph. They were amazed and the photographer didn’t really recognise her (she’s got shorter hair now, remember?). He said he remembered taking a picture of a lady with a small scar on her forehead. My mum lifted the flap of hair from her forehead and pointed out that she was indeed the same woman. Flabbergasted, the agents said that if Mum wanted to purchase anything from their books they would give her a discount. Never underestimate the power of coincidence! That’s all amazing but I’m personally really amazed that the photographer even remembered my mum’s scar. It’s really small and something nearly no one notices. I guess if you want to be a good photographer you’ve got to develop that eye for detail.

Speaking of eyes for detail, the astute ones will have noticed I’ve managed to migrate the entries from my older journals to the new system. The upper percentile astute ones would have also noticed that this journal turned 1 year old yesterday too ^_^. I had a good chuckle here and there whilst reading through the old stuff, rediscovering some gems along the way. The beauty of having a journal is being able to reread it and recall all those emotions you felt when pouring them into writing at the time. I can hardly believe time has moved along so quickly and that those events I wrote about happened that long ago.

I’ve always known my long term memory was way superior over my short term memory. I don’t mean long term as in last month, I mean long term as in last year. It just seems I am more likely to remember with greater clarity a memorable event that happened a year ago compared with an event that occured a week or month ago. Everyone’s memory only stretches back so far though. I don’t believe I know anyone who can actually remember scenes from before the age of 2. I don’t mean things you remember because your parents told you, but things you remember for yourself. It seems that our memory only really kicks in from the age of 2 onwards, after which we are able to properly store away the past. I don’t remember any scenes or interactions before the age of 2, which is a shame, because it means I have no personal recollection of my motherland. From the photographs and stories, I’d remember the first time I arrived in the UK, and seeing my dad again after some time away from him. He had a teddy bear for me, with light blue and yellow fur. I still have that bear too, but stowed away somewhere in the loft. The only real memory I remembered for myself without my parents telling me about it was going to the pub with my dad. I wore my red coat and back then my dad was still wearing denim. He wore a blue denim jacket and seemingly matching jeans. Looking back at the photos, it seemed bizarre that dad was once trendy, even into his 30s. I also remember all those years that Hula Hoops used to be so big when I snacked on those as a kid. I remember pushing a potato hoop onto each finger and eating them in sequence. Back in those days a hoop could slide down the entire length of my little finger without breaking. However, I can’t remember the first time I was no longer able to do that.

I got thinking about material possessions and the things I own and it got me thinking of how Ed Norton’s character from Fight Club initially felt when everything he owned went up in smoke. I thought seriously about how I’d feel if that happened to me; if all my possessions went kaput. I own quite a lot of things but I think if they all went away, I’d be able to deal with it just fine. I mean, life could volley a barrage of lemons at me and I’ll always be able to make lemonade with my racket. Because of the way I am, I feel that I could deal with anything. But it’s not to say that loss is the hardest thing one could deal with. There are things I like, like the Internet, my computer and my guitars and there are things I love like my photographs (and their important sentimental attachments). The photographs all form a running series of memories for me, especially those pictures from my infancy when my memory was that of a simple scientific calculator (and even then I needed to hold up my fingers to make simple calculations). If there was a fire in the house, the first thing I’d naturally take out of the house is my family. Then it would probably be the photos/negatives. I’ve got a picture of me as a 4 month old baby on the mantelpiece. It forms one of the centre pieces of my sentimental collection and is possibly what I’d grab if the house was on fire and I was only able to take one material thing with me. Photographs are the most important material things to me because they speak volumes more than anything else (even though scientifically, memory based on vision is second to memory based on smell). I think I could live with letting everything else go up in smoke. Everything else is replaceable.

My mum always said that she believes when a person dies, they take the memories of their loved ones with them. I certainly hope the truth lies along these lines. There’s a Japanese film directed by Hirokazu Kore-eda I’d recommend to anyone called After Life. It’s about a junction between Earth and Heaven where the recently deceased spend a few days sifting through their memories to ultimately select one that they will take with them to relive in Heaven. I wonder at this point in time which memory I’d take with me. There are so many worth reliving.