25th September 2016
With my Italian girlfriend and a Spanish friend and her English boyfriend (both of whom did an Erasmus year in Italy), I went to Il Meecato Metropolitano. The one thing I will consistently praise in London is its food scene. I can eat great food from any corner of the world. This market from Milan, having transfered to Turin, has now opened up in Borough.
The food was rich and flavourful with an array of stalls specialising in regions (Venezia, Sicilia) or individual dishes (ravioli, foccacia). I love my food but am ill-informed and don’t come from a foodie family. My girlfriend is truly passionate about it and was raised in a country truly obsessed with what we eat. It is a pleasure to watch her cook (or eat).
I used to have passions of my own. As a student, my ambitions were limitless: I wanted to tackle art, literature, film, music, languages, wine, cuisine, theatre, philosophy, logic, and the more abstract elements of maths. Now I am an accountant and constantly exhausted. It’s about time I reclaimed this blog’s therapeutic aspect.
It isn’t just a lack of time or energy though. I care less. I want to travel and meet new people, eat new food and drink new wines. But I fear more and more that it is only a distraction.
I increasingly find myself weaving through a crowd on autopilot, driven by movements I don’t understand; I look at those around me and don’t see people but shadows of equally empty lives.
The number of conversations I hear about engagements or marriages (because I’m now of that age) repulse me. To value such a meaningless, societal act (or even the promise of it) over the actual, real love and the choice to spend our single, fleeting life (or any part of it) with another person is a telling example of this superficial world.
And as for myself, blindly making the same journey twice a day, weekends failing to distinguish one week from the next, I feel like just one more silhouette in this absurdist shadow theatre. I thought I was carving some sort of purpose out of the chaotic existence we’ve been thrown into. But perhaps I was just taking what I could while enjoying the ride.
These moods come and go. And I’m happy enough. I love my girlfriend madly and hope I have a long life to spend at her side. I travel and have good friends.
The weight of the world is still upon me. Thankfully, as just a shell, a husk, a spectre of something more, it doesn’t weigh me down too often. Funny though that as it crumbles, it seems to grow heavier and harder to bear.