Immortality in Edinburgh

This is Girl speaking. I recently travelled to Edinburgh. The feeling I got from the trip, was rather different from the impending doom in Paris.

I felt alive, like I was still in hibernation but knew I would be awakened soon. 

Escapism is what it was, to the storybooks I envied as a child. Castles in the green meadow. Friendly cows waiting to be greeted in the highlands. Medieval pubs and gothic streets. It dawned on me why authors found themselves inspired by such place.

Still, there I was, unable to think of anything to write. 

Or, I had ideas, impressions, all sort of things that I wanted to get written down somewhere. But when it all came to it, when I held my pen at last, I found myself to be empty, or perhaps… I was just so full, had so much in me, that it needed to stay there, inside, in order to not tarnish the beauty of living. 

Who knows… Here I am, still unsure of what to say, what the next paragraph will contain.

I went there to meet my friend, one whom I met during a time of youth, a blank slate. 9 years. That is how long we have known each other. Almost a decade. We used to be inseparable, best friends. We would talk every day, share our deepest secrets, and then make the mistake that adolescents so often do; grow apart. Life changed immensely for the both of us and we went from knowing everything about each other, to absolutely nothing at all.

You can probably already guess that I was quite excited (and nervous) about reuniting with him. Was I meeting a stranger, a friend, or a bit of both? 

He picked me up at the airport, and we laughed together two sentences in. He sounded the same, just voice slightly deeper. No, I could know nothing, and still he would never be a stranger. 

The first day, I was shown around the city. We passed the sounds of the pub life, the busy streets and phrases only known by a Scotsman. There is something so endearing about accents. They carry the history of a land’s ancestors, shaped from connection and love, the reason we can speak beyond just words. I felt this immense joy anytime I heard something new. My favorite one was coos (meaning: cows). 

I made a new friend, named Callum. He is a dog, has spent most of his days in a gallery, but he was eager to come with me, out to the sun and into the park we went. 

My camera broke. That was unfortunate. Some things are not meant to be captured, I suppose.

Once night fell upon us, we went to a restaurant/bar, the place my friend works. He showed me around the kitchen, the “behind the scenes”, and let’s just say, it has forever altered my view of… not just the food I am served but something deeper, something I cannot fully put my finger on. The lives we lead, they do limit us greatly. Seeing a lifestyle so different from my own, putting on someone else’s skin and skinning the one I brought from home, that meant something. We indulged in hedonism for a night, met his friends, interacted with all sorts of faiths, uncovered secret hiding spots, watched Artemis II land back on earth after closing hours, and then we went to a hill, taking in the view. At last, we ate some nonsense-food on the floor, while watching this show called “One Day”. 

Hours of inspiration. I was full of ideas, of what I wanted to write next, a story exploring the alienation one might feel in a backroom-bathroom, being constantly spoon-fed, still losing internal substance, dissociating on the way to the stars, missing contact with the flesh which holds you, body aging quicker than mind, or perhaps it is the other way around, the loss of innocence, not even knowing what innocence is…. 

And then, welp, all was forgotten once I had gotten back to my bed, at 5am or so. Then I woke up at 8am, embarking on a new adventure, a road trip!

We travelled all the way to Loch Ness, on the outlook for Nessie. She is damn good at hiding, that one. Who can blame her? She is doing what she has to in order to survive. The devil knows what humans would do to her if she was ever found. 

After respecting her wishes to be kept alone, we travelled back, to a farm for highland cows and fluffy pigs. They had the kindest eyes I have ever seen, and they were unafraid, did not step back when we approached. Maybe that is what innocence is. We fed them good, and then we went on our way to do alpine coasting. 

And then for my very last evening… yes, that is something I would like to keep for myself. Some things are the most precious when they are not shared.

It was a strange feeling to leave. I had gotten accustomed to a life in Scotland. My accent even changed slightly. Me and my friend sat on the coast side, watched the birds, and he told me that Edinburgh’s weather had been suspiciously stable since I got there. Never-ending sun, no rain, no sudden switch-ups. He wondered if the sun would go out with me. We joked around and agreed that this day, the one of my departure, should be an annual holiday from here on out, called “The Mourning of the Sun.” He came up with the name, and it inspired me. That will be the title for my next short story. 

A weekend of believing in boundless opportunities and unstoppable forces existing within us all, only to be followed by… well, waking up with a swollen, wrecked-up neck, becoming partially bedridden for a bit. 

I guess immortality couldn’t last forever. 

But it does not have to come for me yet. Until next time! 

Some more pictures: