Next!

We waited for nothing.  No amount of luck, praying, or fuzzy rabbit's feet would have changed the outcome. It ended like I was told it would.


I should have known the outcome as we stood in the rain queuing behind other American dream chasers. The gauty gold eagle loomed over armed gaurds parading past each state flag. Metropolitan Police paced on the other side of the high gates enclosing the embassy, calling in hopefuls 3 by 3 to begin security checks. Car keys, mobile phones, Key fobs, and any electronic devices require storage at 'preferred vendors' before entering the security kiosk. Nothing says we welcome the masses like machine guns, 7ft gates and a gold eagle peering earily as if to scoop you up and throw you right back to whatever border you hoped to crossed.

The night before, we watched videos issued by Border Control and played pop quiz with any potential questions. He stayed up late shaving and fretting over the perfect Visa interview outfit. Nervously he woke up at 5:30 am, to practice and study any paperwork before his 9:30 appointment. I can't say I have prepared as much for a job interview!

He met me at the Starbucks almost 3 hours later.  I thought he was teasing, when he told me he was denied.  I asked again only to hear him relay the story again.  The officer took his passport and asked: 'What is the reason you want to visit the US?'  'To spend Christmas with my girlfriend and her family'  The officer handed a generic letter through the glass and quickly replied 'I'm sorry but No'  Beni tried to ask for a reason but was silenced by the guy yelling 'Next'

The urge to cry made me rush out of Starbucks, I barely made it to Oxford Street before bursting into tears.  I don't know if it was the disappointment that we would spend our first Christmas and New Years on other sides of the world; or the anger at my embassy's decision that he wasn't worthy; it was mostly the way he apologised for disappointing me.  It was just another sign that our relationship, plagued with differences, was going to be more challenging that we realised.  We have spent the past 2 months planning our holiday: the Christmas tree in NY, holiday parties with my friends and family, mummers parades, and maybe a day in DC.  Now we are talking about our early Christmas before we both fly to our home countries.

I found myself defending American more than I am comfortable with since I've moved.  If it isn't our politics, it's the American attitude.  But this day has made me embarrassed, angry, and ashamed of our policies.  I can't begin to think of a reason or an argument to defend this situation.  We have lost sight of what made our country so appealing in the first place.  I am bais, I know but I can't help feeling that this was nothing more than a clean cut case of discrimination.  I cannot think of a person more deserving to see the world, yet he is denied for his nationality.  I would love to see America's reaction if everyone started denying us entry for the passports we carry. 

Maybe we are glutans for disappointment but we will try again.  I refuse to let a beaurocrat behind glass tell me that my boyfriend and I are not worthy of the awkward meet the parents part of a relationship.
 

Fingers Crossed...

I really hope my lucky streak continues or at least shines on the boy for a couple hours!  I left, as he walked under the embarassingly large golden eagle into the Visa department of the US embassy.  After 2 hours, the paperwork is in, fees are paid, and the nervousness has begun.

A last minute cancelation, provided a quick opportunity for the interview.  So now I'm sitting in the Starbucks (for a what could be a very long wait) down the street hoping that they will see Beni for who he is:  a sweet guy with no terrorist ties.  We've practiced potential questions like destinations, travel dates, and contacts.  He seems prepared but he gets flustered easily when he doesn't understand a question or phrase.   It should be an easy process, but I have heard Visa story after Visa story, mostly of the horror variety.  People turned away for no reason other than 'the US isn't accepting anyone right now, sorry'.  I have no doubt why so many US passports get stolen and sold on the black market: foreigners took one look at our Visa application.

The first 6 pages are standard, name, passport number, and address.  Then there is the page about your family, followed by the page of schooling since the age of 11.  At this point we have been kicked off for taking too long to enter information, 6 times!  I'm a native English speaker and I was unable to type fast enough for the US govt, how do ESL applicants ever managed to get past page 2?  And then can the questionnaires, 'Do you finance terrorist organisations?  Do you have experience in explosives or chemicals?  Are you preparing to carry out a terrorist plan on American soil or citizens?  Do you have ties with organised crime syndicates?

I want to know who has every answered yes...Did some person honestly believe the statement that 'yes' responses were not an automatic denial of an application?  If terrorists can build bombs and fly planes, aren't they intelligent enough to lie on a form about their purposes in the country?  There are 3 pages of the dumbest questions I have ever read!  Who wrote this application? 

I don't know if there is enough facebook stalking to be done, to make this wait a comfortable one.  I keep looking at the door, hoping to see the boy cheering, but I think I still have a couple more hours of staring at the door.  So everyone, cross your fingers that the kind people of Border Control put a pretty little stars and stripes stamp in an Albanian passport.  It will crush both of us if he cannot spend the holidays with my friends and family as planned.....

The light at the end of the tunnel!

Between the death of my grandfather, flathunting, and drama on the homefront, fleeing back to the comfort of Philly seemed like the most desirable option but my finances don't allow for running (a fact I should be grateful for) It feels like my journey to make a life in London, has become harder with each passing month...but I guess that's what happens when you try to create a fairytale: reality always catches up. September has brought with her, a new feeling...one I am not familiar with...the feeling of being 'trapped'. FYI: there is something very depressing about:


Being financially unstable aka too broke to fly home when something happens
Being unable to find sanctuary or space from a rocky relationship
Having to rely on others for money for food and transportation
Being overlooked by flat after flat after flat....

But I wouldn't be writing this if I still felt trapped....because emailing about being trapped worries family and friends.....and worst of all, causes me to have a breakdown...if I write that I'm trapped, I can no longer lie to myself...my mind would have written proof of the circumstances.

And just when I am ready to get back on the plane, the British gods cut me some slack. As of today, I have a home and money to afford myself, which is amazing considering I am not exactly a cheap date! My humble abode, flat #1,245 of the hunt, isn't what I envisioned but it will work. A double room on the 17th floor, with views of the city skyline and enough space to store all the crap I have accumulated in the last 9months. The bathrooms are not exactly what you would call welcoming...the tub doesn't set the stage for a relaxing, candle lit, bubble bath....it screams shower quick and hope you don't get Hep C(just kidding, its not that terrible and Hep C is curable anyway!) The tiolet is seperate from the shower and I can't help but wonder if it sits in a former hall closet. There is no common room, which is pretty typical for London flatsharing. The kitchen is nothing worth mentioning, although the windows look out to the London Eye which makes my tourist heart skip a beat. And then there is the door to a flatsharer's dream...no not a washer/dryer although it has that too...a roof terrace! Perfect for those 2 days a year when the sun is out.

Salim, my new flatmate seems nice enough, he's a 27 year old lawyer from Liverpool. Having a lawyer on your side, never can hurt... There's also a girl named Jenn, mid 30s (I'm guessing) who I met for two seconds when I picked up my keys. I'm pretty sure she's Brazilian but I was only half listening when Salim threw it in to conversation.

I did have some doubts, especially when I entered floor 17 (I'm technically 17 1/2) and saw stroller after stroller in front of every flat. It's half council housing, London's version of HUD housing. But in a city where everything is out of my price range, you have to give some things up... like standards. I was assured it was safe, I have to swipe a key pass 3 times before I enter my Fort Knox flat and 12 hour attendents are thrown in for good measure. All that said, I am excited. I have been dubbed not cool enough (well thats what I consider it when I want a flat chooses someone else) twice, been interrogated by potential flatmates, and raised my 'budget' 3 times!

So for a mere £660 I have a home but I am still struggling with the idea that my rent is $1,028 a month after conversion. Who pays that much for a room, not a house or even a 1 bedroom...just a room? Well as of Oct 1st, I will. At some point you have to give in, you can only stick to your price range for so long and if I stayed in that budget for any longer, I would end up in shady East London or even shadier South London.

Despite the strollers and questionable loo, I could not be more excited to move in. It is considerably cheap to live in Zone 1 (central London). I will be in Moorgate, which is great especially since my office will be moving 5 blocks from my flat in January, 30 minutes from school, and a quick walk or bus ride to my favorite drinking/dancing haunts!

My suitcases are dusted off, the Albanians have been given the good news, and I am already looking for decorative crap to hang on the walls. It couldnt come at a better time, the Albanians and I are experiencing an all time high on the tension scale....made worse by another girlfriends move. I can't say much because I am a transplanted girlfriend but I can say she makes me want to punch her in the face!

So there is someone cooler...

I really hoped there wasn't but there was... there was someone cooler than me....at least in the minds of the Mornington Crescent flatmates. I waited all day, like a lovesick girl for a text, call, or email inviting me to move in. I waited for something that never came.  The one flat that i really wanted has gone to what I can only assume is one badass dude/bitch. I guess if I want to get a good flat, I need to work on my coolness! The worst part was, I debated texting or emailing asking what happened.  Luckily I realised, looking at/not getting a flat is nothing like a break up or a job interview.

Curses!  I really hoped that my flat hunting days were over.  To avoid slipping back into my funk, I'm heading out for the Thames festival, a parade and fireworks have to be enough to keep me happy, at least for today.

Glen is not my Friend

I give him up, Glen and I are over. He's cheap, he's abusive, and he over stays his welcome the next morning. I can't think of one redeeming quality. He made me fall in a bar, dance (I can only assume) like a retard, twist my ankle from previously stated fall, Spill beer all over myself, drunk dial the US from Beni's phone(including an old Lovaaa....thank god he didn't answer!), Loose all my money (later found hidden in my bra), have a heart to heart with a relative stranger (classmate with whom I've said 2 words to) and force Beni to wake up at 3am and pay my unpaid cab bill.

The night is blurry images to an old school hip hop soundtrack. I will never again, pay £5 for a 1/5 of Glen Vodka, drink it all in the name of pregaming, and go out! Because Glen is not my friend.....

Flat Hunting

Flat 1: Mile End, 550 a month.  Right at the top of my price range.  A quick right out of the station brings you to the door, it really couldn't get any closer to public transpertation.  The room was on the bottom floor, a double bed, wardrobe, desk, and small bookcase fit nicely into the double room.  And then the best part:  a door leading to a small private garden, private as in only my room has access!  I wanted to take it right then and there just to have a garden.  The kitchen wasn't bad, typical kitchen.  The bathroom was nice, recently refinished and a seperate tiolet which is always a bonus in a flatshare.  It checked a lot of boxes but still a little too far from things, a little too pricey, and no cable....I love trashy TV too much to let that slide.  I also never met the flatmates which made me hesitant. 

Flat 2:  Stoke Newington 500 a month.  10 minutes walk to the Aresnal tube, a 10 minute walk through a very residential area, filled with mostly families.  2 out of 4 flatmates showed me around the 3 story house.  A huge double bedroom included a double bed, mint green futon,black fireplace, white wardrobe, closet, desk and bookcase...by far the biggest purple rubbish bin relic bedroom ever!  The orange curtains made me throw up but that can always be modified to something less dreadful.  The flat had 2 bathroom, a huge kitchen, living room and small garden.  2 Americans and 2 Brits share the flat, 3 men and 1 girl.  The girl questioned me over tea, how often did my boyfriend visit?  Am I loud?  What time do I come home at night?  How often do I drink?  I was an interview to be the prime and proper flatmate, I'm not.  I left knowing immediately that I could never feel comfortable living there.

Flat 3:  Borough 450 a month.  A 5 minute walk to the tube and one of my favorite markets.  It's clearly ex-council housing.  I made my way up to the flat on the 3 floor of the complex.  The landlord showed me around the small flat.  The double room included barred windows, a double bed, more rubbish bin relics of desks and bookcases.  A fridge stood in the corner of the room, theft of food has been an issue in the past.  A closet tiolet and a bigger closet for the shower.  It's a must wear shower shoes kind of shower, smashed hole in the tiles and everything.  There are two other bedrooms, one girl is traveling and padlocked her door for her trip, the other is new.  The former flatmate was kicked out because her boyfriend walked around the flat naked.  I tried in my kindest voice to tell the landloard I wasn't interested...something about bars, padlocks, and holes in the shower do not scream home to me!

Flat 4:  Mornington Crescent 465 a month.  2 blocks from the station and a close walk to Camden.  It's secure and gated.  2 British men share the flat currently.  The double room is a good size fit with all the necessities.  A seperate shower and tiolet and a good size kitchen.  The flatmate and I got along great and for the first time I felt like I could live there.  We seemed to share similar attitudes and lifestyles. 

Just a small picture of my options.  With things getting more awkward by the minute at home, I called back flat #1- TAKEN.  Flat 2 and 3:  Not an option!  Flat #4:  I am waiting.  Waiting to see if they like me too.  Flatshare viewings are the new job interview.  You put your smiling face on, try to show your personality in 10 minutes, and wait to hear if they like you too.

So I'm waiting and hoping that my suitcases will start rolling on Monday. Until then, more flathunting it is....

Hiatus!

Its been 15 days since my last post.....

In those days, I have lost my Grandfather, struggled with the guilt of being unable to be there for family and friends, and weighed my relationship worth.

It's not for lack of events, it's purely a survival tactic...if I don't write it, I can ignore it.

It's been a much darker version of London Falling....more like London's slippery, muddy, downward slope....I won't lie and say there haven't been moments sunshine, instances where I pulled myself a little further back up the hill but each step I took up, I slide down a couple more....first it was the guilt of being away from friends, then it was a death in the family, next it was the urge to punch a peacefully sleeping boyfriend, and finally it was the daunting task of flathunting, each one made me dread the next terrible excuse for accomodation.

So I've decided, I'm going to bang my way back to the top....Self perscription:  Lots of sex, more time with friends, and taking time to fall back in love with London!