I close my eye and still hear her, the little girl with a screaming voice so scary and painful; we could hear her half way down the block.

She was a daughter of my Russian neighbors who begged

for kindness, but received nothing in return; she had only her begging tears.

I paused outside a small cafe near my flat in CAROL St. and pretended that I hadn’t heard her voice.

I took a deep breath before I started to walk to the underground station through the light rain.

That was the first day of my school life in the U.K. and it’s completely changed my life during the past 4 years

 

 

 

It was a struggle to bring my dull and greedy life to this place known as a city with the richest culture of the world, flooded with the good and the bad, traditional and modern customs.

“London”

 

 

“Hello”

“My name is Wantaya , but you can call me Arm, I’m 20 years old and I’m from Thailand.”

That was my first and last sentence that day to everyone in the Art of Photography Faculty at my new school, the London College of Communication.

 

No, it’s not like I’m not looking for new friendship or I love the being solitary or anything. Perhaps it’s because of this unfamiliar surrounding, those uncomfortable colors, my preference to be a listener rather than a speaker or whatever excuse I can think of to cover the fact that it was actually the symptoms of the PTSD, whatever that stands for.

That was what my mental illness is called, which my psychiatrist said I have without any regards to whether I’d like it or not.

 

 

“You can communicate without saying any words through photography”

 

…Are you that kind of person?

 

 

A voice with a Spanish accent came from behind me during my lunch break time 2 weeks later,

“Hi Arm, I’m Christina, you seem to like rain, sitting here alone in a place like this,” she said with a smile.

“Hi, I remember you,” I replied with a friendly handshake.

Christina Sanchez was one of those rare super friendly breed. She was loved by the teacher and classmates, probably because of her playful nature and those smiles that can always be seen.

 

 

 

 

…………………………

 

 

 

 

The sound of the rain falling down onto the building goes with the slow movement of the ceiling fan.

That was the first sight I perceived when I opened my eyes on the old crimson Louis-style leather sofa in the middle of where I had no choice but to call it home.

Again and again I was woken by the piercing scream of the little girl next room.

I turned around to look out through the dusty window, seeing the grayish motionless surroundings under the rain.

No sign of the sun, or perhaps there’s no sun here.

 

“We have to do something with the next room.”

I was turned by Christina’s voice from the corner of the temporary photo-developing room.

“Yeah,” I replied without thinking.

Christina moved in and stays with me several months ago with a reason that she wanted a bigger room to do the photo processing and don’t want to fight with others in order to use the university’s lab room during this final project period.

Another reason was that I was her friend. Thus she herself assumed that we were close friends.

But I have no reasons to reject that anyway, as having Christina as my friend didn't bother me or cause me to think of anything more because most of the time she’s the one to speak and I’m the listener, even though most of the time what she said was all non-sense.

 

“I borrowed 20 rolls of your black and white films, OK?” she shouted before hurrying out and slamming the door.

She probably went out to shoot the band she wanted for her final project like usual.

Maybe I should go find something to do too.

 

 

The little girl’s voice didn't die down at all.

 

 

 

to be continue...