Winter in London

Music, nostalgia, and Gracie Abrams

November was a nostalgic month, and while I appreciate reminiscing on the past, I had goals to cross out (!!!), albeit unrealistic goals like catching up to Nanowrimo, but they’re goals nonetheless.

My first mistake was searching up London on Instagram because now my feed is filled with Oxford Street’s Christmas lights; bookstores I’ve visited and those I have yet to set foot in. I see Mile End and people walking through Hampstead in the rain; gothic churches and terraced houses.

I miss London the way I miss Vancouver when I was in London: constantly haunted by the city I left behind. I look for the ghost of one place in another. When a strong gust of wind nearly blew my pastries out of my hands, I laughed with my mom about that one time a big storm swept Londoners off their feet. Ube ice cream reminds me of Chinatown’s Mamasons in the middle of December, of nights my friends and I would hold ice cream cones with gloved hands. I miss Trafalgar Square and the Christmas market selling overpriced items and the snow globe I said I’ll come back to buy but never did.

My second mistake was listening to Gracie Abrams.

When I first arrived in London, my mom called. She’d just received a text from Uber, alerting her that I was picked up. I answered her questions quietly, not wanting to disturb the man driving. No, I was not carsick. Yes, I have all my bags. I gave the right address. I don’t know. I am okay. 

Secretly, I was avoiding this phone call, not because I didn’t want to talk to my parents, but because I knew if I heard their voices, I’d cry. 

I was right. 

After I hung up, the man casted a glance at me in the rearview mirror. We both had on masks (thank god for that), so he couldn’t see the rest of my blotched face. I saw his eyes crinkle. Then told me he has a daughter. She’s starting college abroad next year. I nodded, congratulated him – and the girl I will probably never meet, but now feel connected to in some way because a year from now, she might be in a situation similar to mine.

We didn’t talk for the rest of the ride. I put on an earbud and stared out the window. My playlist was on shuffle with new songs friends recommended before I left. To avoid traffic, the man turned into a smaller road. We passed by small cafes and boutique stores before coming out onto a slightly vacant road.

“No more traffic!” he cheered, and I smiled through my mask.

Then Gracie Abrams’ Feels Like came on.

Two of the first photos I sent my parents after arriving at my dorm.

I grew up with constant sound. There was always something in the background: a movie, a drama, an aunt’s decades worth of family gossip. The first time I listened to my own music in the car was when I was eight and my dad downloaded songs onto my Nintendo DSi. The older I get, the more I listen to music. On the train, in between classes, during runs.

I never knew the scientific link between music and memory. I just knew that if I wanted to go back to a specific moment in time, I only needed to sift for an old playlist or album. If I wanted to be 12 again, I’d play Taylor Swift’s 1989; if I wanted to be 16, I’d put on BTS. And now, when I want to reminisce on my time in London, I put This Is What It Feels Like on shuffle.

There’s a certain ease in knowing that a memory is one album away. I feel relieved knowing that I will never truly forget a moment, a place, a person, so long as I have a song for them.

November was a month spent reminiscing on the past. So while I tend to avoid Feels Like on any regular day, this month I played it religiously.

All roads seem to lead me back to London these days, but nothing will quite remind me of England’s capital like a Gracie Abrams song.

Progress

Like nearly everything in my life, this yearning for London has made its way into my recent project. I’m not really doing myself a favor by basing a portion of my novel in London, but there’s really no other way for me to deal with myself than to write.

Wordcount wise, I did not win Nanowrimo. However, I am still happy with my progress so far!!! Here’s a little aesthetic I made in celebration for the end of this hellish month:

Lately…

• Fleabag (2016 - 2019), created by Phoebe Waller-Bridge: It shouldn’t be a surprise to anyone by now at how awfully late I am to consume any sort of popular media. Sometimes, I regret ever spending time on a hyped movie/series; and sometimes, I wonder how I lived without ever watching said movie. Fleabag is the latter. Nothing encapsulates how I felt this year better than Fleabag’s confession to the priest.

• The Queen’s Gambit (2020), created by Scott Frank & Allan Scott: This is definitely one of the top shows I watched this year. I remember starting the first episode when The Queen’s Gambit was released in 2020, but for some reason, I never finished it until this September. Sometimes, I come back to watch the final episode just to feel something.

• Olivia Rodrigo and the Impossible Pressure to Stay a Prodigy by R.F. Kuang

• New York Movie (1939) by Edward Hopper

• Ophelia (1851-52) by John Everett Millais: I can’t stop thinking about this painting and the story behind it. The model for Millais was Elizabeth Siddal, and Tate did a nice bite-sized video on her story.

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As always, thank you for reading and for offering me a space in your inbox <3 You can find me on instagram/threads and tumblr.

Much love,

Thy