Five Minute Friday: Notice

Note: This post is my weekly contribution to the Five Minute Friday community that is hosted by Kate Motaung on her blog Heading Home. Click here for more information about Five Minute Friday and how you can get involved! To link up with all the other entries for today's prompt word, click here.

Also, in the interest of trying to be my authentic self and letting you "notice" the real me, I'm writing through a lot of intense emotional pain right now. This may or may not come out in my words below, but whether or not it does, it's time to start the clock...take a breath...five minutes...here we go...

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Noticing London

I leave the study center where I live with all my fellow students and step out into the brisk February air. It is cold, but not so cold that I am frozen solid. The sky is a typical sort of London grey with heavy clouds. As I go down the front steps and stroll the sidewalk, I take in the row of attached houses behind me and around the corner. I continue walking, occasionally passing people as I make my way to the Tube station two blocks away. 

On the corner of Gloucester Road, there is the fruit man on the corner. He is there almost every day and I have become a familar face to him. He spots me and gives a little smile, his eyes crinkliing at the corners. " 'Allo there luv. How yer doin' this mornin'? What ken I do ya for?" he says by way of greeting. I return his smile and exchange pleasantries as I select a couple of pieces of fruit, hand over a few pence, and wave goodbye as I make my way to the Tube station. Inside, I put my ticket in the turnstiles and walk through, grabbing it from the other side as I continue my stride.

The Tube zips along quickly and I get off at Victoria Station to find my local internet cafe. The station platform is crowded with people of every conceivable colour of the rainbow. There are Indians, Afghans, Brits, Americans, Italians, Germans, Swedes, Danes, and everything in between. I know because I hear their dialects, accents, and native tongues in conversations as I pass through on my way to the cafe. The smells of the people are mixed too. Some food smells, strong cologne, delicate perfume, a mixture of sweat and dust, and the ever present smell of body odour. 

Behind me, I hear the sound of the Tube train's doors shutting and the rumble as it speeds away to the next station. As I make my way out into the grey clouded daylight, I am struck by this mix of cultures, sights and sounds. All on display, if only one will take a moment and notice.

It is in noticing these things that I have fallen in love with this city of tea, gardens, palaces, crisp BBC and warm rolling Cockney accents, Cadbury's chocolates, and yes, even the slightly piquant body odour of those who are not fond of deodorant. All of it is real and authentic and unabashedly who it is. And I am glad to notice. 

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