Beach daze

The spell between late December/early January's always a bit of a blur; all concept of days and dates seems to dissipate. So I can't decide whether it feels like a really long time ago since Christmas, or like no time at all. According to the dates in my camera though, it's been nearly three weeks since I reconnected with my beloved Cozens cousins on England's north east coast.







Having not returned to the motherland since moving full-time to Berlin last June, my festive stint in the U.K. (namely London and Newcastle) was a much yearned for opportunity to catch up with some of my nearest and dearest, not to mention drop into some of my most frequented haunts and hangouts.










As with every year, Christmas was spent hibernating in the company of my Geordie fam. Aside from the obvious perk of spending quality time with Salpal's side of the family, this also granted glorious seaside stomps and scenic morning runs. Nothin' blows the cobwebs away like an eye-wateringly windy walk along Whitburn beach.

Having grown accustomed to regular Toon trips while studying at nearby Durham uni, chances to chill with some of my most cherished chums are now back to being few and far between, making these kinda moments all the more important; having close family (in a spiritual, rather than geographical sense) isn't to be taken for granted.  






 For me, the Christmas period has always been about cultivating priceless memories with those you know 'n' love the most – and in this case, quality time precedes quantity time, every time.

A visual diary: Salpal + Siblet pay a visit

Full time independence and expat livin' comes with all kindsa perks, but there's no doubt about it: a good dose of your "people" and some R&R every now and then are very much required. While having a super-tight-knit triangle of a family unit is a total blessing (and one which I'm very grateful for), being away from the ol' homeland is a little trickier when you'd – in an ideal world – be spending far more time hanging out with yo' nearest and dearest. 

Not that this makes me wanna rush back to LDN just yet (not at all in fact), but there are times when having the best of both worlds would be just swell. Ever the idealist. Needless to say, when my favourite ladies came to town the other week, it gave me a much needed boost; a chance to spend some proper, quality time together and recharge my batteries after a mad few months to say the least. 

For a spot of context, see here 'n' here. 

After a few darlin' days hanging as a three, Salpal headed back to her working world, leaving the much missed sis and I to get up to our old antics as a lil duo. After over 4 months without my best gal, it was all the more lovely to just chill in each other's company. Indeed, a short but sweet week was all it took to get me fully feeling myself again: I've been on a fam-induced high ever since. 

7.5.15

I've been really, really umming and ahhing about writing this post. But this little space on the internet, It's Brogues, was created with the wholehearted intent of having an outlet from which I can project my most authentic, honest self and look back on it all in years to come; in my own words, with my own personal (somewhat pernickety) design aesthetic. So I'm going to own it, and journal and process this life defining event in the way that I know best. It's not what's right for everyone, but it's what feels right for me.

Losing anyone of significance to you is shit. Losing your Dad, as I learned on Friday morning, is possibly the single shittest piece of news one could receive. All the more so when it's through a phone call, out of the blue, and nearly 300 miles away from the two people you wanna squeeze more than anyone else: Mama and siblet. Ah, and with a final uni exam just a couple of hours away! There isn't really a sufficient adjective I can attribute to that kinda situation, minus the ones that require a hell of a lot of asterisks. Dad's f*cking favourite words, as it happens. In fact, Leila proudly told Mum to "futt off" at the ripe old age of two - no prizes for guessing where (or rather, who) she got that from.

As a dear friend said to me, there is no handbook on how to come to terms with losing a parent. How you deal with it is how you - you, as an idiosyncratic individual - deal with it. The way I see it, what has happened (however surreal, incomprehensible, miserable, and indeed F*CKING SHIT it may be) is an objective, out-of-my-control fact. It just is, it has happened. Of course I am not ok with it. But the way I respond to it, this objective fact, is wholly, completely and utterly subjective. And I am choosing to continue being the person that he was heart achingly proud of me being, and saw me becoming; I now just happen to have more fire than ever to be that person. 

So on the morning of 8.5.15, I got myself in the zone, went to my German oral exam and performed as well as - if not better than - I would have in far more desirable circumstances. As he had said to me the day before an exam earlier that week, "I would wish you Good Luck, but with you it's not really luck is it, it's just working your bloody arse off!". And with that in mind, I went and worked my bloody arse off. 

Papa was full of seemingly insignificant quotes, which Leila and I have always acknowledged as being far more significant than he ever realised. A few months ago during a phone conversation, he told me: "the thing is with life, you've just got to let the shit fly over"; a phrase which is now accompanied by a very silly image in my head (and probably yours now, too). And while I am not strictly letting this shit fly right over, I am very much adopting the underlying spirit of positivity and self-determination that he was advocatin' to me that day.

One thing I am so, so grateful for is the bloody brilliant relationship I'd had with him in recent years; my enduring memories of him are just the best. He was one of the only people I know/knew that, in defiance of the omnipresent digital world, still couldn't send a text, and got genuinely freaked out by iPads/laptops/all technological devices. He was a strictly analogue man, not just when it came to his incredible photography, but in all facets of his life. In spite of all that, though, he would call me once he'd read all my latest blog posts - having had computer assistance, of course - to proudly let me know how clever he was for doing so (the email notification snippet above being a case in point). 

The last time I saw him in person - while I obviously wish it could have been more recently - was in January 2015, when he, Leila and I had the single loveliest day together in our local South East London parks. Sat in Dulwich Park café, he forgot to get a spoon for his cappuccino, shrugged, and merrily used his little finger to mix up the froth. And to my delight, I had recorded this exact moment on video (see above). This might seem like the tiniest, most trivial thing, but a) it is my stand-out final living memory of him and b) it epitomises his funny little free-spirited, "f*ck it" ways; qualities I like to think Leila and I inherited too. Moreover, I recently realised that the Wednesday before he died (the last time I spoke to him), the final words he said to me were: "love you loads darlin'", to which I giggled and replied "love ya!". When it comes to the death of loved ones, you cannot and must not live in ifs and buts and regrets, but in this case none of that even comes into the equation. There are no regrets to be had.

2nd January 2015

Quite inadvertently, but perhaps not surprisingly, my sister and I are the total sum of our parents' talents and loves. From Mama we got our appreciation for words and film, from Papa our proclivities for music, photography and all things creative. While in his latter years he had been known on the Isle of Wight for his multi instrumental musical mastery (saxophone, guitar, piano, harmonica - you name it he could rock it), his professional career was defined by his reputation as one of the top photographers on Fleet Street; he took some of my favourite photos of all time while working for The Times. From capturing an unselfconscious, youthful Kate Moss in 1993 (the year I was born), photographing a fresh-faced 19 year-old Usher, to beautifully documenting the fall of the Berlin Wall in 1989, he has left behind him a priceless legacy which I will be eternally inspired and motivated by. It was Dad that taught me to always be in control of the camera, and never let the camera control you (manual all the way).

I'm not saying this is going to be an easy process - not in the slightest - but surrounded by my incredible support network (at this point I must specifically big up my best friend Sophie for, as the title suggests, being the BEST), I can confidently say that his death is not gonna change me for the worst. Of course, there will be a very, very prominent Dad-shaped void for the rest of my life, starting with my upcoming graduation from Durham University. But whether I like it or not (and believe me, I don't like it), this happening is now a part of my life story, and I'm going to personally make it shape me for the better. I want to make him, the other (numerous) important people in my life, and most importantly myself proud. And I'm proud to say that I'm a f*cking strong young lady who plans on doing a lot of good in my life, with big dreams that I'm still going to make a reality. Because that is 100% what the Denzil I knew would have wanted, for both his girls.