Tunnel Vision
(Leica M7, Fujichrome Provia 100F)
Her name was like an echo. Every time someone called her they could see how vastly it travelled inside her hollow self, not bouncing until it reached the bottom of darkness she had endless amounts of. She was bored. Bored of life, bored of redundancy, bored of familiar faces. But she never attempted anything different. Like it had encompassed her so gradually, like an hour glass with an endless bottom - so that even when she was engulfed in boredom, she was oblivious in it’s grainy texture. She walked along the same route to get home. The same route she embarked on for the past ten years. It was only this overly humid night, that she realized that only the sounds of her footsteps surrounded her through the tunnel. She took a deep breath and yelled out her name and watched as it warped old structure. She gasped, taken aback by her own spontaneity. She looked around at the still empty tunnel; finally hearing the sounds of the hourglass.
Conversations by the Window Seatis an ongoing creative collaboration between Adrian Seah and Romila Barryman, with photos and writing themed around a common love of travel and discovery.
View other Conversations by the Window Seat or read more of Romila’s writing at her blog Daydreamsonlooseleafpaper
Plastic Fantastic
(photo taken with Canon 50E, Kodak Elitechrome 100 Cross Processed)
Let me take a second to cut and paste the image of her hips, Alysa’s upper body, Lisa’s lips and Cassandra’s lower back onto a canvas that is already completed. Because skin bleach is just a Ctrl Alt Delete to being born the wrong colour. We can fix it! Says the man with the overly white smile - and he can fix those too. Teeth. Cheeks. Because they are supposed to gleam unrealistically. Chins were meant to have sharp cuts. Thighs aren’t supposed to touch. The love we’re supposed to satisfy ourselves with; let me take a moment to trim that incase it adds to my jean size. I can try to find it through someone else. Later. Nature got it wrong the first time around, so we cut ourselves open.
Conversations by the Window Seatis an ongoing creative collaboration between Adrian Seah and Romila Barryman, with photos and writing themed around a common love of travel and discovery.
View other Conversations by the Window Seat or read more of Romila’s writing at her blog Daydreamsonlooseleafpaper
Inhale. Exhale.
(photo taken with Leica M7, 50mm Summicron, Kodak 100VS)
But minds can’t be blank. Neither can hearts. Neither can school yards, or kitchens; once in a while you stumble across some who are. Blank. He used to put up empty canvases in his room. For a brief moment he could feel his mind breathe. But it was silly they told him. Things were meant to be filled. Of course they were, he thought with eyebrows raised, like passports and pages, so they may turn to books; like lady bug wings; like starry skies. But hearts and minds were not things. How peculiar, he would ponder. How dangerous it became; as time moved on he forgot. As life moved on he deteriorated. His heart, that is. His mind. Him. Among each traffic light, each lamp post, each signage. Finger Lickin’ G- 50% OFF Furniture Tod- Make a Better Deci-
Perhaps it was the black background that spotlighted the contrast. Perhaps it was the little boy in him that stayed ignited. But he had to gasp for air at the sight of the blue. He irises drank the view at the glimpse of blank. He stopped the car. He watched the plane pass by, the birds on occasion. He breathed.
Conversations by the Window Seatis an ongoing creative collaboration between Adrian Seah and Romila Barryman, with photos and writing themed around a common love of travel and discovery.
View other Conversations by the Window Seat or read more of Romila’s writing at her blog Daydreamsonlooseleafpaper
The Next Step
(photo taken with Leica M7, 50mm Summicron, Kodak 100VS)
It was like every time she moved her body ached. The way your leg feels in the first few seconds after it falls asleep. The way wounds feels after the stiches come out and the threads run between each skin puncture before escaping. If you’ve never travelled, heartbreak is the most severe emotion the body and mind can take. If you have, then you know there is no pain greater than wanderlust. The intense craving for culture shock; the desire for conversations on a unique wavelength; the depression wanting the world embeds.
It’s a funny thing, the redundancy of life. The sun that hits off the rain showered glass holds the world together the same way sunsets paint seas on every corner of continents, but there’s a slight variation that thins the thread. Humidity fails to stand beside dry Canadian winters or summertime Christmas in Australia. Cherry blossoms don’t smell as sweet without green tea seeping off in the distance.
The nostalgia was enough to pick up her phone.
The ringing stopped.
‘Hi’ she let out nervously, booking her plane ticket without another breath.
Life is much more exciting when you’re not ready for the next step.
Conversations by the Window Seatis an ongoing creative collaboration between Adrian Seah and Romila Barryman, with photos and writing themed around a common love of travel and discovery.
View other Conversations by the Window Seat or read more of Romila’s writing at her blog Daydreamsonlooseleafpaper
How I Learned to Give In and Love My Phone
Traffic jam muffles. Honks, in an attempt to regain control of their idle situation; laughter that followed the school bell in the distance. Sounds whizzed past his ears and became his eyes.
He looked into bright screens that dazzled his eyes.
3 new messages. 2 unread emails. Red lights blinking.
‘In regards to your previous ema-‘
‘Excuse me’ he looked up to see her peering at him askingly and was surprised by his inability to comprehend a human interaction. As if his brain only knew how to send him error signals. Invalid personnel. Does not compute.
‘Could you repeat that’ he asked, pocketing his phone.
‘I was just wondering where the nearest bus stop was’ she peered. Her eyes were intricate. It wasn’t a female infatuation or a testosterone driven agenda. He was encompassed by features that didn’t include buttons. Features he forgot he had.
When he found the words, he told her in inaudible mumbles. She laughed and thanked him. His phone interrupted the phenomenon. Commanding him back, like Hera to Zeus. But it was too late; the soft sunset, the café lights, invisible strings that made him look at every passerby- a new reality now captured him.
Conversations by the Window Seatis an ongoing creative collaboration between Adrian Seah and Romila Barryman, with photos and writing themed around a common love of travel and discovery.
View other Conversations by the Window Seat or read more of Romila’s writing at her blog Daydreamsonlooseleafpaper
Just Him and His Reflection
It’s interesting how catching your reflection outside the safe haven of your bedroom walls can alarm you. Like catching a glimpse of someone you’d hope you wouldn’t bump into. Igniting an impulse to dive underneath the dining table or mask your face with the menu.
He was quite displeased with his reflection. His bespectacled face bored him, there was nothing exciting about the way he his routine life drilled a permanent blank across his face. Indifference is what the years had made him.
It was either the wine that was now embedding into the carpet instead of his tongue or the burnt spaghetti that filled his miniature sized kitchen that made him grab his wallet and walk five blocks to the quiet restaurant on the corner. It had been a good two years since he’d been out for dinner.
Ah, and misery loves company. He didn’t expect misery to be seated in front of him, showcasing his features. It made him uncomfortable. But he sat long enough to for the indifference to sink in. So when he looked up at his boring, bespectacled face he simply saw a person with a life simple. He didn’t have adventure or a driving addiction for the unknown but he had always been comfortable and he was always safe. He was content, he decided. And it may have been the last time he realized, but even years after his epiphany he could hardly fathom doing anything else.
Just him and his reflection.
Conversations by the Window Seatis an ongoing creative collaboration between Adrian Seah and Romila Barryman, with photos and writing themed around a common love of travel and discovery.
View other Conversations by the Window Seat or read more of Romila’s writing at her blog Daydreamsonlooseleafpaper
Children Always Win
There are cures for ‘growing up too fast’. You can temporarily make a child bite their tongue in fear, you can let the rain make their drought of happiness very apprent but we are always children - you cannot steal childhood.
You cannot whisk it away like a toy. You can teach them to forget but that just means you have the power to gently nudge them to remember.
These children had a fierce kind of bedtime monster, they prayed constantly out of a habit that gave them a sense of having to wash their hands clean. But when the hot water hit them as they bathed, they wanted to stay in a little longer to finish the final battle brother’s football and Mr. Soap the evil bubbler.
When they were dried and fed they couldn’t sit still from all the toy dinosaurs they wanted to compare with one another. When they stepped outside in the dimming sunlight, they teased and taunted and broke into song and dance. A relaxed happy sway led by the rhythm of the air that escaped between their hands. The air that escaped their hands - don’t you see. It’s a subtle power in being a child.
Given warm baths, shelter and nutrition, it doesn’t matter what horrors rampaged, children always win.
Conversations by the Window Seatis an ongoing creative collaboration between Adrian Seah and Romila Barryman, with photos and writing themed around a common love of travel and discovery.
View other Conversations by the Window Seat or read more of Romila’s writing at her blog Daydreamsonlooseleafpaper
Brixton blues
Have you learned the art of trading shoes. Giving your rugged sneaks away for his tattered socks - have you ever. Grandmothers experienced with traditional remedies are always very particular about the way they faced illness. Colds, fevers, headaches instantaneously brought them to calling up the massage therapist who would tend to feet first and lastly So when your toes leave the comfort of your waterproofed abode to find the splash of the rain seep in through rugged shoes, your mind conforms to the surroundings and your hair turns grey and you realize ‘choice’ is an act done with logic and none of that exists where the body only actions are in an attempt to survive- that’s called reacting. Have you looked through eyes connected to a different mindset. Wearing his shoes will help you. And you’ll realize that people find, even if only subconsciously, a place that mirrors them best.
As the remains of Electric Avenue sit unlively, you watch as the silence serves as a petri dish to proud ghosts from a prestigious past. The Victorian buildings standing tall, in denial to all the change. As gangs huddle in habit, you watch on as their ghosts linger in the same way. The panhandlers slouched against the buildings, the thick cannabis smelling air, the decaying of mind, the way eyes peer out of windows hoping today will bring them a different view. The Victorian buildings stands tall in denial. Everyone else slouches defeated.
Conversations by the Window Seatis an ongoing creative collaboration between Adrian Seah and Romila Barryman, with photos and writing themed around a common love of travel and discovery.
View other Conversations by the Window Seat or read more of Romila’s writing at her blog Daydreamsonlooseleafpaper
Happiness Reflected Off A Windowpane
‘Happiness is when you can look back on something’ my father would say, ‘no matter how long it’s been, no matter how much has changed’. Matter of perspective, I thought. Happiness, like love, is one’s own simultaneous conclusion between the heart and mind.
As the weight of my backpack seeped into my shoulders, I wondered. I wondered if the lady blowing her nose could think of nothing else but her sinus. She probably wasn’t too happy. I wondered if the guy with the headphones in was running through a reel of happy memories, whether his music invoked a stirring sense of joy or if it brought him heartache instead. I wondered if the little boy peering outside the window would find full stops to all the question marks in his head, and if that would be his happiness or make his world dull and shade it grey.
It was as if his subconscious, searching for answers, lighthoused a way for the man’s smile. The way he reflected. The way he looked beyond the city. It was more than sunlight that shone in his eyes. The way his smile magnetized gazes. Whatever he was thinking about; perhaps reminiscing, perhaps planning, perhaps fantasizing- out of all the people on the train, happiness had visited his mind and shone. And seeing this man in such a state, allowed him to share, if only in abstract, that happiness.
Conversations by the Window Seatis an ongoing creative collaboration between Adrian Seah and Romila Barryman, with photos and writing themed around a common love of travel and discovery.
View other Conversations by the Window Seat or read more of Romila’s writing at her blog Daydreamsonlooseleafpaper
Amnesia and the Strawberry Patch
They say amnesia is the reset button to any human being; when memories fail, what else is there to fall back on but gut instincts; when baggage cease to exist, what else is there to do than do what feels right. A childlike adult with responsibilities diminished.
Travelling is sometimes a conscious effort to hit reset.
Like the times he rented that car. The three wheeler. The one that reminded him of his ex girlfriend’s strawberry patch at first. He hated his ex girlfriend’s strawberry patch. She tended to it better than she tended to him.
‘Cool ride’ the guy with the barrette smiled.
‘Dude’ said the girl with the gun tattoo above her elbow, ‘what is it?’
‘Wow!’ was the little girl in the fall dress could muster. Her eyes were enough. The way she beamed it with her bright eyes; the car under her spotlight.
He finally smiled. It was far too vibrant to resemble fruit and much too vintage to exude nativity. It was too in between anything to be defined. Too many had stood in appreciation for it to be tied to heartache. Too much laughter had been contained in it; even as the car stared back at him in silence, he expected a whirlwind of horrible jokes and smelly feet and high fives to erupt every time he opened those red doors and it made him smile.
He never thought of strawberries again.
Conversations by the Window Seatis an ongoing creative collaboration between Adrian Seah and Romila Barryman, with photos and writing themed around a common love of travel and discovery.
View other Conversations by the Window Seat or read more of Romila’s writing at her blog Daydreamsonlooseleafpaper
High-res
