London.

London has my heart. Though often grey, dark, and cold, those qualities do not define this city or the atmosphere it holds. In this page of the visual diary, several mediums are woven together to evoke an authentic London experience on screen.

The piece opens with the raw audio I recorded on the train: a man preaching, urging fellow passengers to turn to God because “the devil is too strong.” His conviction hangs in the carriage, part unsettling, part earnest. As his voice fills the frame, footage of the trip plays inside an old television set — a deliberate symbol. The TV represents how the journey passed too quickly for us to absorb in real time; the recordings became the tangible reminders of the moments we were living.

As the sermon unwinds, the images inside the screen—rain-slick streets, blurred commuters, brief laughter with friends—unspool like memories revisited. The sequence concludes by reversing the opening: the footage retreats from the TV back into the world and the set fades to black, the image switching off as if closing a chapter.

“Liverpool Street In The Rain” by Mall Grab underscores the piece. Its mood felt naturally fitting, a sonic mirror to the city’s weathered intimacy and the bittersweet tempo of travel.