My first encounter with the Barbican Estate was nothing short of impactful. My first girlfriend introduced me to the podium walkways; I was in awe instantly. The open areas confined by the seemingly floating residential homes overlooked us and the Zen-like waterfall pouring from a brutalist-style concrete staircase.

Because of my need for escapism, I found refuge in the Barbican, and its enclosures and public features gradually made it my sanctuary in the coming years.

I was 16 or so back then, and never once questioned if the architects, Chamberlin, Powell and Bon, were conscious of how their design would one day cradle someone’s mood or most vulnerable disposition.

Over time, my feelings and thoughts, slowly unbound by my surroundings, seeped into poems. I began to write there religiously, discovering a new me unravelling with each visit.