something that went past

The portico entrace to National Gallery is flanked by two Neoclassical-looking stone vases. These vases are filled with fresh flowers.

Today I made my visit there. Again. For the third time this week. (Yes.)

Tonight I just realised the flowers were blooming; they gave off a fragrance that drew me to willingly spend twenty minutes sitting underneath some floral arrangement to enjoy the smell and silhouette. It's a strange realisation that comes only after going there a few times, each time a day after another, that these flowers need to bloom before their fragrances can be sensed.

As for the more mundane details of its visual effects: white fragrant lilies (major contributor to most noticeable smell), garden variety-style white English roses, orange spray flowers, yellow blooms on straight branches, more blooming yellow blooms on smaller branches (that droop down), and plenty of lily foliage forming the mass of green filler as backdrop to other flowers. A seasonally appropriate arrangement in light of the Easter weekend. And sorry, dim museum lighting means no pictures.

On my way home, I encountered an elderly man with a soft woolen cap who was keen to talk to me; I happily obliged. (What I mean by 'old' here is 70-80yo kind of ancient, not the 40-50yo kind.) Nevertheless, whenever I get praised I feel uncomfortable. Being comparatively independent in domestic matters made me get into the autopilot of "I can do it" and "if I don't do it myself/supervise directly/hold a decent amount of control then I'm gonna lose it" problem-dealing principle. Ice this stance with "solve problem myself", and I've got myself a recipe for disaster and breakdowns. Ow. I still find it hard to trust people other than myself. D:

Well, in the meantime: three days left for the Easter weekend, three more days before start of short course, two more days of lent. There is a slow food fair held this weekend at Southbank - it sells spit-roasted pork and lamb (!) which I will come back for on Monday. Although going pescatarian was quite a trick, I think I've outgrown the challenge of staying off certain types of food. A friend confessed to giving up speaking in the first person back in high school, therefore answering for teachers' queries in third person singular... which should be not too weird in English, but apparently quite frustrating to his teachers (they couldn't tell him off for being religious. Ha.)

Anyhoo, it's early days but with the benefit of retrospective sight: happy Easter!