Going with the Flow

Forgot my scarf buy luckily my coat is long enough so I could sit down on the ground.
A woman stands in the middle of Finsbury Park.
Her dog is running around. Seems like he is having the time of his life.
Then the wind carries her voice over to me, I sit right at the top of Finsbury Park.

I go with the flow.


The clouds break open every now and then and the women in the middle of the park screams.

“You stupid dog. Come over here.”

Leaves are going through minimal motion here on the cold ground next to me.
Kids are running around behind me in the playing area.

My phone has died.
Just me and London in front of me now.
Plus, the cold wind on my fingertips.
I didn’t find my gloves in the apartment and had left with 30% of battery.

It’s a great feeling. That feeling of being disconnected and just going with the flow.
Going with the flow is responding to cues from the universe.
You and me, we are flow artists.
Or a Ninjas of Flow.

Watching strangers passing by, enjoying the weekend.
In eager anticipation of spring ahead, I walk across Finsbury Park and down Blackstock Road, passing, even more, strangers.

Smile, breathe and go slowly. 

We stand and stop.
Stare each other in the eyes, forgetting the world around us.

Fighting for something is very different from railing against the flow.
It’s always futile to fight against the way things are and play the battle out in our heads.

Then I continue passing all these shops and the buzz.
Random words of strangers tingling my ear drum.
Is that randomness?
I’m too shy to go to the places I pass.
There is so much noise.

My heart aches to continue the search, I keep going and spot three older ladies outside a café.
They are laughing, reminding me of a potential future of mine. How will I be 50 years from now?

Then a man appears in my vision, maybe 60 years of age.
I ask if I could take a picture and he says “ok” without any smile or facial expression, a blank piece of paper on his face.
I peak through my camera and give him instructions to pose for me.
Sideways and his head looking over his shoulder.
Click. He looks all serious, but after a few moments, he gives me a smile. Click Click.

“Go into a café and have some hot coffee,” that’s what I tell myself.
The next place would be the one, regardless what it would look like.

I open the door and land in an Internet café.
Two tables standing around and a couple of computers on the side.
I see an Indian man at a counter and walk over to him.

“Do you have any coffee? I take a cappuccino.” 

I hand him 1.60£ and head towards my table.
It’s so silent, I’m fascinated – wow, there are people who are going to public internet cafes.

I sit and stare out the orange window. 

Occasionally the door flips open. A couple comes in.
I get out my charger when the Indian waiter comes over.

“You cannot. No charging here.”

I’m not allowed to use that charger right there near my table.
There must be a reason for this.

I sip my coffee and focus on the warmth on my warm fingers.
Must be a reason for this.

With keen senses, skilled daring, and the heart of a warrior.
Daring to catch a wave of truth.
Again, and again, and again.



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    1. Hi Anouk,
      Thanks for your time and stopping by to leave a comment, truly appreciate it! 🙂
      Most of the photographs on my blog are taken by myself, yes. However, some stories are enriched by featuring other photographers. You will notice at the bottom of each post, where I link to their profile. 🙂
      Have a great rest of the week!
      xx finja

    1. Good morning Rosanna – thanks so much for stopping by on my blog aka virtual living room! Hope you have a fantastic Thursday and exciting weekend plans lined up! 🙂

    1. Dear Jane. You have no clue how your comments had made my day a week ago, and actually, it still does. I think this is the ultimate feedback any aspiring writer could be asking for and I’m so incredibly grateful. THANK YOU LOVELY! xxx

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