Hell hath no fury like nothing to do on a Saturday night—nah, I’m just being cute. I’m a poet; doing nothing is actually part of my job description.

It was nine o’clock, minimum noise outside the flat compared to the night before—I guess Friday night is the millennial version of Saturday night? I just finished a translation job three days earlier than the deadline and I thought: this is not on! I foresaw spending the weekend working and that was a beyond-valid reason to turn down invitations or to deny loneliness access and now, look at me: all invitations expired and Paris is still two hours (and a bit) away!

Oh, yes, Paris—what would Paris do? Jazz clubs, I thought. I’m sure I just haven’t found the right crowd but I’m still pretty traumatised by what London called jazz.

Cinema?

It pains me to admit but I had never gone to any cinema in London before. Spare my life, though, I’ve only been living in London a few weeks and spending most of my time waiting for Virgin, now BT, to install internet in the flat. I used to go to cinemas a lot in Paris, seeing mostly vintage films. Sitting there being presented with other people’s hard work made me feel special—I’m such a weirdo.

Cinema it is then!

Half past nine. I googled to figure out which of the two mainstream cinema memberships was better to join. I went ahead with Odeon Limitless including Central London cinemas just because I didn’t have that much time to waste on thinking seven times. Got my membership confirmation email just before ten, showered and put my new silky pyjama top on (the bottom needed altering so I wore black skinny pants instead) and off I went to the nearest cinema by half past ten.

Avengers Infinity War—just because it was the only one with a perfect time slot for my busy Saturday night life. Never mind the film, or the massive nachos and the hot dog, I felt alive. I walked towards the fire exit at the end of the film and a guy, who I didn’t realise was there the whole time as I thought I was completely alone, shouted gently, “are you lost?” I said, “no, just curious” and turned around. Actually it was because it was the only sign illuminated and I always tend to walk towards the light when I’m in the dark—I’m so enlightened like that.

That guy—if he was gorgeous I would have said so—then asked me how the film was. I said, “tsk, too grown up for me!” and left him in the dark.

There was not much to write about that Saturday night, except that I was the only person to catch the last train from the nearby station and that I booked, before bed, three films to see the next day.

My maths was so on point that I managed to see two films without a break and to have a proper supper break before the last film. In case you’re curious, which I know for sure, I saw Black Panther, an action fantasy; A Quiet Place, a thriller, and; The Guernsey Literary And Potato Peel Pie Society, a something else by the Brits.

Can you imagine how I felt after? If you can’t, just take my word for it: I felt ah-mazingly inspired! So inspired that I decided to skip the train and walk home instead. Bloody google map told me to follow a straight line for less than two miles and I took its word for it. Little did I know that what it meant by a straight line was a long dark alleyway parallel to the railway.

The first 50 yards into it I was so sure the little path would soon open up to a civilised road with grim pubs facing each other and pretentiously drunk kids shouting at each other over why they must invite another friend who was actually at work somewhere making money to raise their cousins—wow, did I just call that civilised? I must have been desperate!

Oh well, no such thing existed even after ten minutes walking into the dark. My only comfort was the noise from the train passing by every five or so minutes. It did feel a bit as if I were walking during a curfew in wartime. I could get caught anytime and that might be the end of me and I would prefer to stay alert during the dark and quiet moments but my romantic pathology walked me into another realm: the imagined memory lane, far from Paris. I guess I was hungry for the unknown, or I was just reaching out for the forgotten.

It was one Sunday late afternoon in Indonesia; I just left my school friend’s house about three kilo meters away from home—I was nine years old so times that distance by ten. Once my friend’s house was no longer in sight, I saw a bunch of older boys hanging around in the street. They were about twelve and there were three of them—again, I was nine so times those numbers by ten. Houses around had their doors and windows closed and I just tried to keep breathing nervously.

I managed to walk past those kids and thought: that’s it—I’m alive! Then one of them shouted, “hey, where do you go to school?” There were two primary schools nearby, facing each other, top one and bottom one, both were always against each other. I went to the bottom one–the top quality one, and I had the feeling I didn’t recognise them so I decided to walk faster and the boys started following me so I ran and finally disappeared into a bush. I could hear them mutter about for a while, not even about me.

Long story short I waited until they left, which felt like 20 hours of a Netflix thriller binge without the comfort of your sofa. The sun had just gone down and darkness rose quickly. I took my sandals off for I was worried I would make those boys come back. To make matters worse, I was also desperate for a wee and I couldn’t let myself do a wee dance for I had to be very quiet. It felt as if I were in a nightmare. My only comfort was the call for prayer from a far away mosque and it didn’t last long. Then there was silence. I kept walking very quietly thinking if I would ever get rid of this fear. I would prefer to stay alert in that quiet journey but my romantic pathology walked me into a different realm: the future lane.

I blinked and there I was; walking from the cinema, wearing a Burberry trench in London, heading towards my own flat where my ideas await to be written. I smiled and thought to myself: walking through a long dark alleyway is actually beautiful and exciting. Facing my fear in that dark place, I somehow took away the fear of the nine-year-old girl.

Well, some may call it brave, some may call it foolish—depends on your zodiac sign, I think. I’m a Libra; I simply call it experience and any experience is good.

Je t’embrasse !

d.o., 16 mai 2018

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