Houses of my friends

Amsterdam, March 2011

Overheard – 20.52ish, 5th May 2011, on the London Overground between Stratford and Homerton

Man on phone on train –

'Mummy, I’m alright, I’m alright…No, mummy… I look into myself and I question myself – don’t worry about me, innit…Mum, I’m cool…I’m saying you don’t need to worry. I’m happy…the only way I can be happy is if I just be me…I’m not going to change myself for nobody. I’ve tried, but I’m not going to do that no more…I never fired up first…Mum, I respect people who respect me…Respect is earnt…Mum…Mum…Mummy…Mummy…I’m a grown man. I’ve got kids now…I know how to chat to my kids…I’m alright, I got my two big girls and I’m alright, and that’s the god’s honest truth…Mum, I hear you, I hear you…As I said, Mum, just let me be…You’ve got your own judgement…I respect people. He should have spoken to me like a son, not like a stranger...I’ve grown up now, as I said Mummy…Mum! I cannot believe you’re phoning me and talking like I did something wrong…I didn’t chuck at nobody…I’m not wrong, Mum…you always do that. At the end of the day, you know I’m not wrong…You know the reason I got upset…you know what happened, you saw it out of your own two eyes and heard out of your own two ears, Mummy…I didn’t disrespect him, he was disrespecting me. Daddy was disrespecting you. I don’t need to accept that…I’m tired of it, Mummy…Mummy, that was living good…I know…I know…I know. Mum, I’m respectful to you…it’ll never be the same…I don’t need to fix up…I got my destiny, I got my rights…Mummy, I don’t regret nothing. I don’t want nothing to do with him…Mummy, forget it…You’re talking over me! Listen to me! I’m trying to say something to you…Hold on a second, doesn’t to take a mathematician to work out why I was upset…No, before I lost my temper…No, I know myself…do you understand what I’m saying?...Mummy, I don’t need to talk. I’m not interested in nothing…Mummy, I won’t be there to fly…I won’t be there to fly…well, yeah, is it?...Is it?...Always there for me?...You trying to say I don’t do nothing?!?...I don’t believe…I’ll tell you that straight….What do you mean?...No…no…no, Mummy. I just said it’s nothing to do with you…I’m 32. I’m a sick person, is that it?...Yeah, that’s good…What am I supposed to do about it?....I’m sorry, I’m not a bad guy...’

– Man gets off train at Homerton, still talking

The Clock Cafe, 12.50pm, Sunday 1st May

Sitting writing my essay on migration when an older gentleman next to me offers his seat nearer the plug socket in return for me telling him what I’m writing. After a brief discussion about it, he informs he was previously a university professor. We discuss the frustration of my course being the regurgitation on my text book and he tells me the joy of education is seeing the different interpretations of each student and tells me the following story.

An invigilator at Harvard was once sitting in on a Philosophy exam titled ‘What is courage?’ and noticed a student who appeared not to be writing. The invigilator watched this student throughout the exam, examining his nails, drumming the table, relaxing in his chair. In the last five minutes of the exam, the student turned to the last page of the exam book and writes something. On collecting the exam books, the invigilator couldn’t help his curiosity and turned to the last page of this student’s book, and read the words ‘this is courage’. The story goes that this student got an A.

This professor told me that he would have granted this student an A, and whether or not the story was true, he believes that this is what education is all about. He wished me luck in my essay and went on his way.