At bus stop, travelling homewards

there's something about the crisp autumn air
it makes you think of school and the excitement of a new academic year beginning again
of the preppy clothes you are almost encouraged to wear
images of 'back to school' fashion spreads seem to merge with life
there is a sense of familiarity
or routine and comfort
because this has been such a big part of your life
terms and years beginning all the time

yet in a year this will all be alien to me

autumn is so different from summer, or even spring
in summer you feel a need to begin an adventure
as if you are freed from whatever chains and constraints
almost like you have the license to do anything and be anyone
it is a time to indulge, be hedonistic;
in spring you are overwhelmed with anticipation and frustration
you seem to be waiting for SOMETHING to happen
and time seems to drag on and on
winter is lovely with the warm soups and the cosy gatherings
winter for me is food and festivities
time for family and reunions
not as depressing as some people say it is
because even though it gets dark early
houses begin to pop up as little bits of light
until a street is but a row of warm yellows popping up in the midst of blackness

the darkness that descends in the late autumn and winter
remind me of my film screening rooms
i seem to live vicariously through the images on the screen
when you step out into the twilight
the world seems foreign
unreal
and for a moment you catch yourself thinking
'where am i?'
somehow walking out into darkness eases the transition
you can dwell in the limbo for a little longer

i've been watching loads of films brimming with vivid colour
the world seems pale in comparison
as i sit in the clinically white-lit bus
yet i am perhaps made more aware of colour
for when i alight and walk down the street
past houses of red brick
and the street light suddenly switches on
i notice the pretty hues created by the light on the pavement
and how the houses look almost magical now

as i sit in the classroom and think about English poetry
i feel almost like Chinhua Achebe
i'm an asian in a class of whites
and the tutor is asking about our responses to things in English culture
like what comes to mind when you think of 1950s Britain
i am using a "foreign" language to explore identity
but strangely enough, no one is really a true Englishman in the class
everyone seems to be a bit of Welsh
Irish
Scottish
heck, even Jordanian
so why do i feel like such an outsider?
how odd the way the mind works!

i feel a desire to stop time
to freeze this moment
i used to wish for my life as a student to be over
so that i can do something REAL with my life
but all i want to do is treasure this
the contented life i lead
the 'intellectual without appearing pretentious' life
(or perhaps just pretentious to a few vs many)

will spring be different this time?
i wait for winter to engulf me
so that i can hibernate
and live in a forever-moment