An early monthly recap of unexpected rest, celebrations, friendships, a little Parisian adventure, and ten years of choosing the same person.

I think October has mistaken itself for December.

We are barely three weeks into the month, and my camera roll already resembles the photographic evidence of someone who has been attending social engagements professionally. There are pictures of food, friends, celebrations, unfamiliar streets, autumn leaves, restaurant interiors, and several objects that had absolutely no reason to be photographed beyond the fact that I found them interesting. I have reached the point where scrolling through my own photographs requires the sort of concentration usually reserved for reviewing important documents. Somewhere among the hundreds of images, there must be a coherent account of what I have been doing with my life. Unfortunately, October appears to have organised its events without consulting the woman responsible for writing about them.

I had originally imagined my two weeks of annual leave would provide a welcome opportunity to rest, recover from work, and enjoy a little freedom from the peculiar relationship between nursing shifts and sleep. My plans were fairly straightforward, at least by my standards. I wanted some time for myself, a few enjoyable outings, an opportunity to see people I had been meaning to meet, and perhaps the luxury of waking up without immediately wondering whether I was supposed to be working that night. I was looking forward to having a calendar that contained more enjoyable activities than professional responsibilities, although I had not anticipated quite how enthusiastically October would take that idea.

The month began by making it clear that my body had developed its own plans. During the first week, I was off sick, which was hardly the opening I had imagined for October. There is something particularly frustrating about needing time away from work because you are unwell, especially when you have been looking forward to a period of rest for reasons considerably more enjoyable than recovering. I am perfectly capable of advising other people to listen to their bodies, rest appropriately, and avoid pushing themselves when they are unwell. Following my own advice, however, continues to be an area requiring professional development.

I had been so accustomed to organising my life around shifts and responsibilities that being forced to slow down felt strangely inconvenient. I wanted to feel productive, accomplish something useful, or at least convince myself that the day had not been entirely wasted. Instead, I had to accept that the most sensible thing I could do was recover. My body was apparently unimpressed by my scheduling preferences and had decided to enforce a period of reduced activity without requesting permission. I would have appreciated a less dramatic reminder, but I suppose subtlety has never been one of the human body’s most reliable communication strategies.

Mama’s Birthday

While I was having my own rather uninspiring beginning to October in England, there was a much happier occasion taking place back home in the Philippines. Mama celebrated her birthday, and I was delighted that she had a successful, simple celebration. There is something comforting about seeing family occasions continue happily even when I cannot be physically present. Living abroad means accepting that many of the important moments in the lives of people we love will happen thousands of miles away. We receive photographs, messages, and little updates that allow us to participate from a distance, although no amount of technology entirely replaces the pleasure of being there.

I was particularly pleased that Mama enjoyed her day. Birthdays do not always need elaborate arrangements to become meaningful. Sometimes what matters is that the people celebrating feel remembered, appreciated, and surrounded by familiar company. I have become more conscious of that as I have grown older, especially because I know how easily ordinary family occasions can become memories we later wish we had appreciated more carefully. Seeing Mama celebrate another birthday was one of the lovelier parts of the month’s beginning, even if my own contribution involved admiring the occasion from another country.

October also brought our batch anniversary, although this year’s celebration was different from what I had become accustomed to. Instead of gathering with my batchmates, I marked the occasion in another way. I have always appreciated anniversaries that remind us of the people with whom we shared a particular chapter of life. There is something amusing about looking back at the circumstances that once brought a group together and recognising how much everybody’s life has changed since then. People develop different routines, responsibilities, interests, and priorities. Some remain close, others are less frequently in touch, and occasionally a group that once saw one another almost every day now requires remarkable organisational skill simply to arrange a common afternoon.

Not having the usual gathering did not make the anniversary less meaningful. It simply reminded me that celebrating something does not always require recreating the same arrangement every year. Sometimes we acknowledge a shared history privately, remember the people who were part of it, and appreciate what that period contributed to our lives. I still value the experiences and relationships connected to that chapter, even when the circumstances of the celebration change. Adulthood has an extraordinary talent for making everybody’s calendars incompatible, and perhaps the fact that we once managed to spend so much time together should itself be considered an impressive historical achievement.

ate Mai’s Baby Shower

Then came the celebrations for Ate Mai, whose baby shower somehow managed to appear twice on my October social calendar. The first was with workmates, bringing together familiar faces from our professional circle for an occasion that was happily unrelated to the usual demands of nursing. I enjoy seeing colleagues outside the hospital because it reminds me that everybody possesses a personality extending beyond their job title, clinical responsibilities, and ability to survive a difficult shift. People who ordinarily discuss patients, staffing, and work-related concerns suddenly find themselves talking about food, family, babies, and the sort of ordinary nonsense that becomes much easier to appreciate when nobody is wearing an NHS badge.

The second baby shower was a more intimate gathering with close friends, and I loved the relaxed atmosphere. There was food, conversation, laughter, and the familiar pleasure of spending time with people without needing an elaborate programme to keep everybody entertained. Queenie took charge of grilling the samgyup meat, which immediately gave the evening a very important operational structure. Somebody had to ensure the food was properly cooked, after all, and the rest of us were more than willing to support the process through enthusiastic consumption.

There is something rather lovely about a small celebration where everyone can simply enjoy themselves. No complicated expectations, no pressure to make the occasion look impressive, and no need to organise every moment around a schedule. We gathered because we wanted to celebrate Mai and the new chapter approaching in her life. I found myself feeling proud of her, especially knowing that pregnancy had not prevented her from continuing to manage the demands of work and everyday responsibilities. It was good to see her surrounded by people who cared about her, enjoying an occasion where she could be celebrated for something beyond everything she routinely does for other people.

Naturally, I also took photographs of the food. I have reached a stage in life where an attractive meal cannot simply be eaten without first being documented for future generations. Somebody will eventually need to understand what we consumed at Ate Mai’s baby shower, and apparently I have appointed myself the unofficial historian of grilled meat and side dishes. I suspect my camera roll could provide a more complete record of our meals than some restaurants maintain of their own menus.

Simple get-together with friends.

October also gave me the opportunity to enjoy a simple get-together with friends. I have become increasingly fond of gatherings that exist for no particular reason beyond wanting to see one another. There is a freedom in meeting without an anniversary, birthday, or significant occasion requiring celebration. We can eat, talk, laugh, catch up, and go home knowing that the afternoon or evening was enjoyable simply because of the company.

Friendship during adulthood requires more deliberate attention than I once imagined. When we were younger, seeing people regularly could happen almost automatically through school, university, or work. Later, everybody acquires responsibilities that make even an ordinary coffee date surprisingly difficult to arrange. There are shifts to consider, appointments, family commitments, and the endless collection of tasks that appear once people become responsible for their own lives. Sometimes the most impressive part of a gathering is not the location or food but the fact that everybody actually managed to arrive.

I have been thinking more about the importance of making time for those ordinary connections. There are friendships I value precisely because we can spend time together without needing a particularly impressive activity. Conversation wanders, somebody makes an observation that causes unnecessary laughter, and eventually the meal is finished while nobody has noticed how much time has passed. These gatherings may not appear especially remarkable from the outside, but they contribute something important to the life surrounding work and other responsibilities.

paris trip

And, of course, October would not have been complete without a little travelling.

Our trip to Paris with friends became one of the month’s most memorable adventures. I have always enjoyed Paris, partly because of its architecture, familiar landmarks, cafés, and the curious way ordinary streets can suddenly look like scenes somebody has carefully arranged for a photograph. There is something exciting about travelling with friends because the destination becomes only part of the experience. The journey itself, the conversations, the unexpected inconveniences, and everybody’s different interests become stories we continue discussing long after returning home.

Travelling as a group also requires a certain amount of patience, particularly when several people possess opinions about where to go, what to eat, and how many photographs are reasonable before continuing towards the next attraction. I am hardly in a position to criticise anybody’s photography habits. Given a beautiful building or an interesting street, I am perfectly capable of stopping repeatedly to investigate whether the view looks better from another angle. I suspect some of my companions occasionally wonder whether I intend to experience Paris or simply produce enough visual material to reconstruct it from memory afterwards.

There were memorable sights, food, laughter, and the wonderful unpredictability that accompanies travelling somewhere with friends. Paris gave us plenty to admire, but I think much of what makes a trip special is the collection of small incidents that occur between the famous places. The little conversations, the walking, the decisions made along the way, and the moments when something unexpected requires everybody to adapt. Those experiences often become the stories we remember most vividly, even when they were not part of the original itinerary.

I also appreciate how travelling provides a change from the familiar rhythm of work. There is something satisfying about waking up somewhere different and having the day’s most complicated question concern which place to visit first or where to stop for food. Of course, travel has its own inconveniences. Trains, airports, luggage, directions, and the occasional unexpected problem can introduce enough administrative complexity to make an ordinary workday seem almost straightforward. But those inconveniences become easier to tolerate when the destination is somewhere you genuinely want to explore.

Paris also offered another excuse to photograph absolutely everything. Streets, buildings, café interiors, food, architectural details, and whatever else happened to catch my attention all became candidates for my camera roll. I am beginning to suspect that my annual leave has functioned partly as an extended photography assignment for which nobody has formally employed me. The compensation appears to consist primarily of memories, enjoyable meals, and the eventual responsibility of sorting through an unreasonable number of images.

Jan and I celebrated our tenth anniversary yesterday.

And then, just when I thought October had already provided enough occasions to justify an early monthly recap, Jan and I celebrated our tenth anniversary yesterday.

Ten years is a curious amount of time to consider. It is long enough for two people to accumulate a considerable collection of shared memories, familiar habits, private jokes, disagreements, decisions, and ordinary routines. It is also long enough for the people involved to change in ways that were difficult to anticipate when the relationship began. The version of me who entered this relationship could not have known everything that the following decade would contain, just as Jan could not have predicted every responsibility, journey, or unexpected development we would eventually navigate together.

I have become more appreciative of the ordinary aspects of a long relationship. Anniversaries are lovely opportunities to celebrate, and I enjoy having a special occasion that encourages us to spend time together. But ten years cannot be represented adequately through a dinner, photographs, or a single day. Most of a relationship happens in far less photogenic circumstances. It happens through everyday conversations, practical decisions, familiar routines, shared responsibilities, and the quiet understanding that develops when two people have spent enough time together to recognise one another’s habits.

Jan has seen versions of me that would never make particularly attractive anniversary photographs. The exhausted nurse after a series of demanding shifts, the woman who becomes unusually quiet when she needs sleep, the enthusiastic traveller who believes every interesting object deserves documentation, and the person who occasionally develops elaborate plans before remembering that there are only twenty-four hours in a day. I have also become familiar with his quieter, practical approach to life, which provides a useful contrast to my tendency to think about several possibilities simultaneously.

We celebrated with a lovely anniversary date, good food, cosy surroundings, and the sort of leisurely outing that makes an ordinary day feel special without requiring an elaborate programme. There was a little window shopping, autumn scenery looking particularly attractive, and, inevitably, another substantial contribution to my growing collection of photographs. I even found myself taking pictures of random restaurant interiors and objects that appealed to my sense of humour. Jan has had ten years to become familiar with this habit, and I suspect he has accepted that some parts of travelling or going out with me involve patiently accommodating the documentation process.

I found myself thinking about how much life can happen between one anniversary and the next. Ten years ago, we could not have known precisely where our circumstances would take us. There have been changes in work, locations, responsibilities, and the ordinary challenges that accompany growing older. Some plans developed as expected, while others required adjustments. Through those changes, our relationship became part of the familiar structure of everyday life, something I appreciate not merely during anniversaries but also in the ordinary moments when neither of us is doing anything particularly memorable.

Perhaps that is what I value most about reaching ten years together. It is not simply the length of time, although a decade certainly deserves recognition. It is the accumulation of small experiences that have gradually become our shared history. The trips, celebrations, conversations, decisions, and quiet evenings all belong to the same story. Some memories are significant because something extraordinary happened. Others matter because they remind me of the comfort of having somebody familiar beside me while life continued changing.

Looking back over October, I find it amusing that the month began with me feeling unwell and needing to slow down, yet developed into a sequence of occasions that required a surprising amount of social energy. There were family celebrations happening in another country, an anniversary marked differently from previous years, baby showers, gatherings with friends, a trip to Paris, and a decade-long relationship to celebrate. It is quite a collection for a month that has not even reached its final week.

I also find myself noticing how different the occasions were from one another. Mama’s birthday reminded me of family connections that continue across distance. Our batch anniversary brought memories of a shared history and how relationships change as people move through adulthood. Mai’s baby showers gave us opportunities to celebrate someone entering a new chapter, while our gathering with friends offered the pleasure of simply spending time together. Paris introduced travel, exploration, and the particular amusement of navigating unfamiliar places with people whose company I enjoy. Our anniversary brought the month back towards the familiar life Jan and I have been building together.

None of these occasions required the others to become meaningful. They were different experiences, each with their own reasons for mattering. But seeing them together has made me appreciate how much of life happens through the people we remain connected to, whether they are physically nearby, living in another country, or sharing our everyday routines.

Perhaps the loveliest part of October has been realising that a full life is not necessarily one packed with achievements, but one where we continue making room for the people and experiences that matter to us.

I have spent enough years organising my time around work, professional development, and practical responsibilities to recognise how easily enjoyable things can become secondary. There is always another shift, another task, or another reason to postpone seeing somebody until circumstances are more convenient. Sometimes we have to make a deliberate effort to preserve the parts of life that do not arrive with deadlines or urgent reminders.

That does not mean October has been perfectly balanced. It would be an extraordinary exaggeration to describe the month as a model of rest and sensible scheduling. There have been days when I needed to recover, occasions that required organisation, and enough social activities to make me wonder whether my annual leave should have included a separate period of leave from annual leave itself. I enjoyed the experiences, but I am also aware that even pleasant plans require energy. I have become more comfortable recognising that I can love spending time with people while still needing quiet days afterwards.

There is something particularly amusing about being an ambivert during a busy month. I genuinely enjoy good company, interesting conversations, celebrations, and opportunities to see friends. But I also appreciate returning home, closing the door, and spending time without any obligation to be socially available. I like people in carefully measured doses, although October appears to have interpreted that preference rather generously. My social calendar has been enthusiastic, and my internal battery is currently requesting a formal review of the arrangements.

Still, I would not exchange these memories for a perfectly empty calendar. There have been enough ordinary workdays, responsibilities, and difficult periods to make me appreciate having experiences worth looking forward to. I am grateful for the celebrations, the friendships, the travelling, and the opportunity to spend time with Jan. I am also grateful that my body eventually allowed me to enjoy the annual leave after the rather inconvenient beginning to the month.

The photographs have become their own little record of these experiences. Some are of people I love, others of food I wanted to remember, and several exist purely because something looked attractive at that particular moment. I know I have a habit of taking far too many pictures, but I have never been particularly convinced that this is a serious problem. Photographs remind me of details that can otherwise disappear from memory: what we ordered, where we sat, how a place looked in the afternoon light, or the ridiculous little things that made us laugh.

I suspect my camera roll would be considerably easier to manage if I were more selective. But then I might miss the photograph that unexpectedly brings back a particular conversation or the memory of a day I had almost forgotten. I have become fond of keeping these small records, even if the practical consequences involve a growing storage problem and occasional uncertainty about why I considered it necessary to photograph the same autumn leaves from six different angles.

October has certainly provided plenty of material. I have photographs from celebrations, meals, outings, Paris, and our anniversary date, along with the little images that probably make sense only to me. They form a collection that is not especially tidy, but then the month itself has not followed a particularly neat structure. It began with rest that was necessary rather than planned, then moved through occasions that reminded me how varied and enjoyable ordinary life can become when we make time for it.

I am writing this recap earlier than usual because I already feel that October has given me enough memories to fill an entire monthly entry. There are still several days remaining, and I have no idea what else might happen before November arrives. Knowing my tendency to photograph every interesting meal, charming corner, and unnecessarily amusing object, I suspect the camera roll will continue expanding regardless of whether the social calendar finally becomes quieter.

For now, however, I would like to appreciate what has already happened. Mama enjoyed her birthday back home. Our batch anniversary was acknowledged in a different way. Mai was celebrated twice, surrounded by workmates and close friends. I enjoyed time with friends, travelled to Paris, and celebrated ten years with Jan. There were moments of exhaustion, laughter, good food, familiar company, and the simple pleasure of having something enjoyable to anticipate.

That seems more than sufficient for an early October recap.

If the remainder of the month turns out to be quiet, I will welcome it. I would happily spend a few evenings reading, writing, enjoying coffee, or watching Miyuki and Luna carry out their daily programme of activities that appear to require absolutely no adult supervision, despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary. I am rather looking forward to having fewer arrangements to coordinate and more time to appreciate the comfort of being at home.

But if October has taught me anything about its personality, it is that the month appears to be unusually enthusiastic about making plans on my behalf.

I shall therefore avoid declaring the calendar officially closed.

After all, there are still a few days left, and I would hate to underestimate a month that has already managed to fit sickness, birthdays, anniversaries, two baby showers, friendship gatherings, Paris, and a decade of love into three weeks.

I only hope November has the courtesy to introduce itself more gently, preferably without immediately requesting another major celebration or an international departure.

My camera roll, my social battery, and my increasingly suspicious bank account would all appreciate the consideration.

— Anj,

an early-October-recap enthusiast currently operating a camera roll with questionable storage discipline, grateful for Mama’s birthday, Mai’s double celebration, friendships that survive complicated schedules, a Paris adventure, and ten years with Jan