Sometimes a whole day’s worth of photos is lost because the lighting wasn’t right and I try to save them with filters/editing only to make everything look even worse. Some of them are occasionally dumped on Instagram stories, but most just take up space on the hard drive until I finally press delete.
But sometimes I give these pictures a last glance before consigning them to the bin and I’m transported to the day they were taken. Coming home from a rare face-to-face work meeting (they always make me terribly anxious) and looking up to take in the contrasting architecture around Liverpool Street station. The beautiful vapor trails left in the sky by planes leaving London City airport. The inviting lights in the cafes, tempting offers of a couple moments holding a hot flat white on a late autumn afternoon.
Using new boots as a means of transport to walk around town, Scritti Politti on the mp3 player, going to check out a new tearoom (or rather, the tearoom cake). Admiring old painted signs, leftovers from businesses that no longer exist (here they are called “ghost signs” and I find it poetic). A Saturday afternoon in London Bridge tasting artisan pasta + Italian beer and then going for cookies at Borough Market. A Sunday afternoon in Shoreditch, December’s colorful lights twinkling in the east and doing Christmas shopping in Spitalfields: Uniqlo coats and Deciem skincare, after several helpings of potato chips @ Flat Iron.
I’ve been missing my boring little life. Simple yet precious days, my favorite places with my favorite people at my favorite city, registered in bad photos that I’ll keep anyway because someday they might be the only reminders of the mundane things that used to make me happy.