Scenes from Victoria Station Pt. 2

Tuesday, November 23, 2004

Also Return of the Native Pt.2

There I was, once again in cold dreary Victoria Station at 7am. She seemed a little more bitter this time around, less welcoming. And so was I. It was October 15, over a month after my first goodbye there, and it was surrealistically happening again, I was saying goodbye to my boyfriend who was "leavin' on a jet plane" bound for home. Shit. He was due to arrive on October 12, but he called to tell me he was actually getting there one day later (his flight left on the 12th, but arrive din London on the 13th). Anyway, I received a call on my "mobile" from him near midday on the 13th to tell me that he had been detained by immigration officials and that he would be longer than he had thought. He'd call me back when everything was cleared up, which would maybe be an hour or so. "Ok, back to work", I thought. I wasn't particularly as happy as I thought I would be. We had had some rough frictions during the month he left. He had been calling fairly frequently to say hi and all, and always seemed to use op half the call to scold me for not having done my visa application or signed up for English classes. Of course he was right usually, but I became fed up with him just nagging all the time and wasting the precious little time we could share on that stuff. I barked at him once, the Friday before my birthday, and hung up on him. He sent me an email apologizing and telling me since he would not be home for my birthday that this email represented his well wishes. I really didn't think that crappy email was gonna be it, but, after my B-day came and went, and nothing from his part appeared, i came to that sad realization. I had honestly received warmer and much more elaborate B-day congratulations from him when we were not even really a couple. It stung. Now he was coming home and would be longer than expected, big deal. After about 4 or 5 hours, I began to worry. He had mentioned the possibility of being deported, only half seriously, but now it seemed like more a reality. He eventually called and told me he had finally been let go... but that he had to leave the country two days later. It wasn't that much of a shock, but I was disastrously disappointed. The complications that led to his deportation are of no importance really, let's just say they were his fault. I really couldn't believe it. I went to pick him up and was seeing him, incredulously wondering how he would be with me in that moment and gone in less than two days time. It was bizarre and unfair and cruel and ridiculous. He saw his workmates who were really supportive and went to see sum friend also. Needles to say, since we knew our time was limited, we made the most of our two nights together, it's silly how limitations bring out the best in us somehow. And the worst. We had sex in an urgent and violent way that expressed both our frustration and melancholy. And there I was, once again in old Victoria. This time, after we said goodbye, I turned around and was still pretty down, stuck in "What the fuck?" mode. The whole absurdity of the situation was just barely kicking in. I took a bus home and called in sick for work. I was in no mood to face London that day. Fate had wronged me in a very cruel way and, looking back, I was too immersed in my own self pity to even ponder what the bitch had in store for me next.

Scenes from Victoria Station Pt. 1

It was a cold morning on Sept 8 that I was standing at one of the train platforms in London's Victoria Station. It's big, old and has signs of a quite elegant and brilliant past. Of which only signs remain, I stress. Modernity has attacked at it now looks like an old formal English lady stuffed full of McDonalds and Subways restaurants. I was there on the platform saying goodbye to my boyfriend, he was on his way to Tijuana, Mexico (our hometown) for a month. Behind he was leaving an engineering project (which I had to take charge of and I was notified of this one day prior to his departure) and his mate, who had traveled across the Atlantic to be with him. He was leaving his side to be at his own mother's side, to be with his family and to help out an ex-girlfriend by bureaucratically marrying her into a life of legality in the United States. Needless to say, I had mixed feelings about his departure. As we said our final goodbye and wished our final good wishes and he walked away I suddenly felt the weight of my present situation, I felt extremely alone in a huge city I didn't know very well, I felt the crushing responsibility of a project I knew very little about, I felt scared, hopeless, tired, depressed, I felt myself about to step over into the precipice of utter despair... then I turned around and faced Victoria Station, that awkward mixture of Imperial era eloquence and frivolous contemporary commercialism, and I made a decision. I chose to face the city and my present situation and not look back on what I was loosing. I decided to take on life and not give into weakness. "Battle mode" was turned on and I diligently made my way out of that "dodgy" old building, ready to bulldoze my way over anything that stood in my path.

(To be continued)