The following accounts were taken on Saturday 22nd August 2020.
It is early in the morning and I am on the London Underground train on my way to central London. It is a Saturday and I have to work. I look around me and see many commuters. Everyone is minding their own business. I usually bury myself in a book. But not today. Many have their masks on. Good. I have a pink one. As I glance around, I notice I am the only commuter with a pink mask on. I have to get off soon to change to another train. I get on another train and see even more commuters. It’s only 6:45am and there are so many commuters, especially on a Saturday. This time, I notice a number of commuters looking my way. I stay calm. I follow their gaze and realise they are looking at my dragon tattoo on my left arm. Their facial expressions are solemn.
It is a chilly and slightly gloomy Saturday morning, and I am sat outside a coffee shop right by the deserted main road on Strand in central London. It is eerily quiet. Most shops are not open. There are only a few people in sight. I feel like I am in one of those post-apocalyptic films. Three happy women, who look like they are in their mid-twenties, slowly walk past me. I can tell they are not from London. Tourists. They make me think about my two best friends, one in Malaysia and the other in Australia.
Before the pandemic, the area is constantly busy and packed. It is one of the rush hour zones in the city from morning till night. I look at the shop next to the coffee place I am at and realise I am right next to a historical tea shop. The shop is in its original location, and it has been there for a few hundred years. London is filled with historical places that most of the time I am too busy rushing around to stop and look around me.