A little shop front open to the street, with a hidden cosy outdoor dining area to the back. Here and there are scraps of wooden table tops accompanied by antique benches, rusting with an auburn coat; only looking more beautiful with the added years. Sprigs of mint and fresh flowers in baby glass jars decorate the otherwise empty tables. And in the background below the murmur of easy conversation, a soft melody floats, barely intervening but filling in the white noise of the nearby street. The freshly battered fish and chips arrives and momentarily conversation pauses as cutlery are raised. But in the sunny warmth of a winters day, talk easily picks up, reminiscing and joking about drunken nights. In these spontaneous outings, the easy relaxing companionships are enjoyed.

Her eyes were dead as she stared at the illuminated screen, her entire body still except for her right hand drawing line after line, her left inputting repetitious numbers. All around her silence reigned, except for the quiet ever constant ticking of her wrist watch, warning her of the passing time, preventing her from succumbing to her fatigue. Every now and then her head would nod, her eyes open but mind vacant. In an instant, jerking back from the micro sleep to resume. And thus it continued, not only for the rest of the night but for the many nights to come.

Such is the woe of an architecture student. 

I’ve always been a reader. A bookworm, one of those girls whose perfect morning would be defined by a thick novel and a cup of steaming coffee, whittling away the hours curled up in a comfy armchair. From my earliest recollection, I remember knowing my primary school library inside out, stealing my older brother’s fantasy books to read, and skipping past the meagre collection of teenage fiction to the much larger adult collection. I even remember being scolded by my strict religious catholic primary school for bringing The Da Vinci Code to read to school, not that I cared.

I loved books. Fantasy, romance, slice of life, it did not matter as long as it was well written, spinning a tale as vivid as day, as you hold your breath awaiting the next page. And that’s where the magic lies, from merely stringing a few flimsy words together, a story is woven, the reader’s imagination invoked. It doesn’t magically transport you to another world, nothing can do that. But it does take you away from the day in day out of your mundane life. Taking your mind off the constant whisperings of thoughts, overcrowded and bustling in that small space, jostling for prominence. Giving you quiet as each mental word rolls off the tongue, fabricating a brilliant image of colour.

I’m the sort that literally cannot put the book down, impatient for the story. Give me a good book, and I’ll have it finished in a few days no matter the thickness, a week at most. It’s not very beneficial when you have homework piling up on the side, but then again the homework fades from mind from the first word and it is that from which I seek to escape.

Sometimes it’s nice to escape to nature. Surrounded in all directions by trees, silent and solitary. Makes you realise how small and insignificant your world really is. Silence reigns as not a spoken word is heard, as the mechanical, blaring white noise of the urban cityscape engrained into your very being fades into a distant memory. But when a breeze from places unknown chances upon you, your silent surroundings explode into a symphony of sounds. The soft chime of millions upon millions of leaves dancing with the new breath of air. The trees themselves swaying from side to side, completely in sync to an age old song that only they could hear. Overhead, the echoing cries of a bird gliding above, a single black speck framed against the lazy white voluptuous clouds.

Time takes on a transient quality, for once in our busy lives the ever present hands shifting with each passing second grow silent, mute against the sounds of Mother Nature. You marvel, you wonder, you ponder til you can no longer delay the beckoning calls. It’s time to return to reality.