I've always said that if I were forced to give away all of my belongings, but had the option to keep one thing - and just one thing - it'd be my leather journal. THE leather Journal. The one that started on my flight TO London, and ended on my flight back to LA. The journal that was blank and no thicker than 1 inch when I received it from my brother, and ended up being nearly 5 inches thick upon return. The journal that has every postcard, clipping, ticket stub, tube pass, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.. taped onto its worn and perused pages. The journal that kept me up on countless nights, accompanied me on every blessed journey, and absorbed my tears as they fell onto its surface.. The "travel" journal that could easily be mistaken for a romance novel to the untrained eye.
It chronicles, still, the most life altering experience of my life (for now).
It's because of this journal that I am able to take myself back precisely two years ago to date. September 18, 2004. I was riding a double decker bus when HE called. Yes, the HE whose name we never mention. The HE, who will likely remain, the only Asian man I'll ever have had shake-me-to-the-core feelings for. What an amazing memory that man is. Even though the feelings have long dissipated into the infinite abyss, I can still relive the way he made my insides do cartwheels.
Man, just thinking about London... I can close my eyes and remember exactly what the weather felt like on my skin. How it felt to breathe the coolness of the air. How the city smelled. How Norma would be making some dish with corn (haha). How my bed felt. How I'd hear the boys upstairs running around. My Michael. My Travis. My boys.
London was the best everything ever; and if we were there now, we'd be at Wetherspoons in three days. The one by Crawford Passage.
Photo: The Journal
