I already had a daily routine here. Every morning, I woke up at 8:00 or 8:15 am at the very latest. The cold weather sometimes made me think twice about getting out of bed to go to the bathroom. Especially thoughts about the cold, floor tiles that awaited my feet as I stepped into the bathroom. It was much cozier snuggled beneath the blankets. But I had to get up no matter what. The work of sketching awaited me. I did not like to postpone work due to my own lack of discipline.
After getting ready and ensuring that the essential iPad was brought along, I stopped by the café downstairs. The Holiday Villa served breakfast every morning. I had explicitly requested accommodation at this hotel. Most of the guests here were from Malaysia and Singapore. Although I did not interact much with them, I felt at ease in the company of a community that was familiar to me.
I put my shoulder bag on a chair by the smallest table closest to the railings by a window looking out onto the street. That was my usual seat every morning. I liked that position as from there, I could see who entered the café as well as enjoy the view of the outside world. It was definitely an ideal location for observation. I would sip my coffee while observing Londoners passing by.
Usually, I would enjoy whatever was available at the buffet counter, such as a variety of bread, yoghurt, jams and fruit. In another corner was a selection of coffee, tea or fruit juices. Only occasionally when I felt like eating nasi lemak would I order from the menu. I used my daily budget of £50 carefully. When converted into Malaysian Ringgit, it was quite a considerable sum of money.
The weather was quite chilly that morning. The long-awaited springtime was terribly slow in arriving. Sometimes I considered the pros and cons; should I wait for spring to actually arrive before I start drawing? I was pretty certain that there would be a vast difference in the colour spectrum of this city when it was dressed up in the radiant flowers of warm weather, compared to the current overcast and gloomy weather conditions. Although it had not snowed, there had been several instances of hail in London since my arrival.
I thanked the waiter who was clearing up my table. Then I reached for my jacket and threw my bag over my shoulder as I walked out of the Holiday Villa. My destination for today was the same as the past few days − Kensington Gardens and Hyde Park. Too many stories were set there; I was searching for the perfect subject to showcase a comprehensive narrative of those parks. It was very challenging. The green park was like a garden that encompassed the interconnected lives of every individual in London, each with their own hidden story.
I would spend time there every morning observing people carrying on with their lives. Some would jog every morning regardless of the weather. Some would cycle across the park to their next destination. Others would walk their dogs. I saw that Kensington Gardens had many interesting elements that bound the local community together.
As I approached Round Pond in the middle of Kensington Gardens, I heaved a sigh of relief because the long, wooden bench that I usually sat on was still vacant. I needed that location because it was the common vantage point for every drawing that I produced here.
I placed my shoulder bag on the bench and approached the white swans and ducks that were idling at the edge of the pond. I took out some bread from a pocket in my jacket and threw some pieces in the water. Our feathered friends jostled as they rushed for the pieces of bread, and readily snatched at and fought over them. I smiled as I observed their behaviour.
"No wonder Betsy is ignoring me. It appears that she has a new friend," a man's deep voice boomed from behind me. I was so startled that I slipped and almost fell into the pond. Fortunately, the man just managed to catch hold of my arm and quickly pulled me into the safety of a hug. I quickly broke away from him as soon as I was able to stand on solid footing.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to give you a fright," said the man apologetically. I tilted my head to look at him. He looked British. He had rosy cheeks and thick black hair, and a most charming smile. The character Mr Darcy from Pride and Prejudice crossed my mind. The difference was, however, this man wore a white polo shirt and black jeans.
I nodded in acknowledgement to indicate that it was all right and went over to the long bench. I took some tissues out of my bag and wiped away the sticky mud that had stuck to my shoe when I slipped previously. The man took a seat beside me.
"Thank you for feeding Betsy every morning." His eyes were focused at the edge of the pond where a large white swan could be seen waddling towards us. His hands were extended to coax the swan. Then the creature stopped right in front of us.
"This is Betsy?" I asked, puzzled. The man nodded his head.
"Betsy's my girl. Beautiful and fascinating, isn't she?" he continued. I could only keep quiet, as I had no idea how I should respond to him.
"I was taken by her the second I saw her. At that time, Betsy was just a little cygnet. She was as small as a chick. Cute," the man explained, without looking in my direction. He stroked the swan lovingly. Gently, he rubbed its orange coloured bill.
"Don't the creatures here belong to the Royal Parks of London? Kensington Gardens is Kensington Palace's private garden, isn't it? So, all these creatures are under their care, is that correct?" I bombarded him with question after question. He merely smiled.
"That's right. However, this one, Betsy, I've claimed as mine. Perhaps she's a princess of Kensington Gardens, but I'm not bothered by that. Aren't I right, Betsy?" he explained as he gazed into Betsy's eyes. Goodness! What was the matter with this fellow, falling for a swan?
"I've seen you here every morning. You sit here for quite a long time too. Where are you from?" He turned his attention to me now. I did not know why I strangely felt shy when his eyes focused on my face. Did he have to stare at me at close range for such a long time? I quelled the anxiety within by looking at Betsy that had just sat down in the space between our legs.
"Malaysia. I'm Syaiddah. Just call me Aida," I smiled at him. There was a story here. It would be good for me to befriend this man. There just might be an unusual tale about this swan-lover. I felt the inspiration to sketch this scenario to be part of the collection.
"I'm Adam. Welcome to London."
YOU ARE READING
Tangled Dreams
Ficção Geral8 people. 2 countries. 1 life. Just how tangled up can one be in pursuit of dreams? Experience the journey of different walk of lives as each of them pursue a dream that might or might not be theirs. And in that pursuit, do they know for sure what i...
