“What about your boyfriend?” Hari prompted when I didn’t elaborate.
My silence seemed to stretch, spilling out of me like sand from a shattered hour glass.
“Ah well, never mind,” Hari said quickly to cover up my sudden, awkward silence. “You’re back in London now, baby!” She reached her glass out towards me, and I met hers with my own, the clink doing more to disguise my sudden sobriety than any words could have.
December
Christmas in London was one of those times where the novelty kept coming back every time you went anywhere remotely central but would inevitably wear off after a few hours of being in the thick of it.
I had always maintained that central London was like a theme park for reasons that defy explanation, and that was never more true than at Christmas.
Over night, massive trees bedecked with colourful lights were in every spare bit of pavement, there were pop-up ice rinks, and a playlist of festive music piped out of every store that’s been in rotation for at least the last thirty years.
And I loved it.
And I loved to hate it when I was so overstimulated from bright lights and loud music.
What I loved the very best of all was walking along the river towards Tower Bridge when the lights were strung up, reflecting little halos into the choppy water below. The bridge was always lit up at night, but amidst the backdrop of the twinkling, white lights swaying in the breeze, it somehow felt like you could feel the history of it. It felt almost like time was thinnest there, a culmination of generations of Christmases all piled into one moment. It made me feel… inconsequential, but in a comforting way.
London was a strange combination of modern and ancient, and blending into it, embracing its vivid, eccentric way of life was a sort of surrender to a bigger picture.
In some ways, being here felt like a step into the past. Before Seoul, before LA. But in other ways it felt like coming full circle now that I had bridged the gap between my music making aspirations with my fledgling music journalism career.
It felt like finding a puzzle piece, and I was just now beginning to put the whole picture together.
April 2022
The weather was finally starting to get warmer.
People were always surprised by how pretty London was in the spring. It would be easy to picture the city in a handful of ways: grey skyscrapers and rain, or Big Ben. And rain.
But it was actually so much more nuanced than that. Yes, the skyscrapers were largely grey, and odd-shaped, and yes Big Ben was, well, big. But there were trees lining much of the city streets, and nearly half of the city was parkland. No one believed that one until they looked it up. Flowering trees, banks of sunny daffodils, and crocuses coloured as much of London as the famous red, double decker buses.
It was almost unseasonably warm as I sat on a bench along the Embankment, phone out, updating my online resume.
Staff Writer
Frequency·Apr 2022 – Present
London / New York (Remote)
Writing and editing longform features on global music, culture, and entertainment. Contributed to high-profile interviews, cultural commentary, and special issues spotlighting emerging talent.
Culture & Music Journalist
The Loop·Jun 2020 – Apr 2022
London
Began as a freelance contributor and later promoted to features writer. Produced in-depth editorial content and digital features focused on contemporary music and pop culture. Developed “Spotlight Sessions,” a recurring artist interview series.
