In life there’s thing called; Fate. A word that is exist when I couldn’t find any sensible reason of what had happened into my life. This, including a city I used to live: Sunderland.
“Seriously, why on earth do you pick this city to study?” asked my brother, Alvi, when he took me to Sunderland. He couldn’t stop asking on how I have made terrible decision on choosing a place to take my Master Degree. “Trust me this kind of city won’t be featured in Lonely Planet,” he grumbled while we walked towards city centre to find a decent cup of morning coffee and slice of banana cake.
[The truth; it was only me and my agent who knew that the acceptance letter from LSE came too late, weeks after I paid my tuition fee, accommodations, etc at Sunderland. And for some reason I couldn't be bother to swap my destination to London. Fate it was.]
Between jet lagged–time difference between UK and Indonesia during Summer is six hours–and couldn’t be bother with his questions not to mention let myself down, I chose to walk far behind him. I looked at places around, and it was definitely didn’t look like a place that I pictured before I flew to Sunderland. I was expecting something more “British”, more “aristocrat”, more “Anglo-Saxon”… a sepia town.
Instead, I stood up at Industrial-cum-Coastal town. A developing urban adorned with huge river that roll out across its city. A river that divided my flat to my campus, in which made my walking distance triple further than it supposed to be. I only wished that there was a punt or canoe that could take me to the university without I had to walk up to the hill, crossing the 200-year-old green Monkwearmouth Bridge, and marched down the hill. But then again, this isn’t Cambridge–renowned for its river punt around the University, this is Mackem Land which lies in the North East of England.
Despite Alvi didn’t want to make me feel low, he couldn’t helped himself but comparing with the city he lived in Scotland; Stirling. His favourite words at that time was “better and worse”, whilst mine was “oh, well…” After about ten minutes walking and fussing we reached the city centre with the main mall called The Bridges. As it wasn’t a big shopping centre, we were easily found out that there wasn’t any Starbucks in town. In fact, there wasn’t any coffee shop that I recognised the name… until I saw “Costa” sign at Waterstones bookstore. Something familiar at last…
I suddenly felt home. The peculiar smell of books synthesize with brewing coffee’s fragrant has favourably de-escalated my setback. For the time being, at least. There wasn’t many people at Costa that morning. One old lady with big pearls necklace was sipping her hot chocolate on the brownish leather sofa, and a couple who were enjoying their lattes while reading morning newspaper-Sunderland Echo. It was working hours after all. I ordered chai tea latte… and came back with disappointment; “sorry mate, we don’t serve chai latte,” the guy response with strong Mackem’s accent. Well… I guessed I had to be happy with traditional English tea, then.
Talking about the accent, it left me with a new level of intensity. It was definitely something (else) that I wasn’t prepare. “What was that?” I asked Alvi. He smiled bitterly—it couldn’t be worse. Inevitably, the city chose to approach us in cynical way. It was pretty much a “dog’s life”. That was English, wasn’t it? No one have ever taught me (not even in IELTS tests) this odd Mackem’s accents or dialect. Sighed. “Look, this is still England, meaning people DO speak English and they will understand you. So calm down,” Alvi said, trying to lessen my anxiety. For once he was being sensible.
As I walked along The Bridges, I learned that the majority of the visitors were elderly. Unlike in Indonesia, they dressed up fashionably and I couldn’t helped myself not to notice their rosy cheeks and rouge lips, not to mention alluring accessories. Other thing, they walked alone or with their same age friends. Perhaps they lived in care home, instead of living with their family–at least that’s the trend I heard in this country. Praise to God, they were healthy. ”Don’t think too much. They have good life. The government takes care of them well,” Alvi seemed to read what crossed in my mind.
I applauded his cocky confidence. Knowing it was the first time [as well] for him visiting Sunderland, seemed he already knew where to go and what to do. Thus, I followed him obediently. We were in Tesco. In front of me they were buns, muffins, Danishes, crullers, doughnuts, pastries, scones’, rolls, cakes,… I found it tougher than choosing University. All were awaken my taste buds. “Excuse me, are you Indonesian or Pinoy?” a man voice took me back to the present. “I’m sorry, I was just can’t hold myself not to ask, because you look so familiar,” he added his lines.
