The moment it sunk in that I am moving to London, my memory sent an electric shock down my spine. I vividly recalled my obsession with the Great Britain, Londinium, United Kingdom, Big Ben, high tea. I remembered that from when I was 11 till I moved to Canada (where new elements started occurring to me), I was completely bonkers about Britain! I wanted to live there, I wanted to be British, I wanted to brandish the Union Jack everywhere I could.
Let’s face it.
I am moving TO LONDON! This is happening.
I am so absolutely excited about the possibilities of London. Of the busy and dynamic current of lives that it is, of the immense history, world class culture of all types, of the multicultural mix of people that I am delighted to meet, of the prime location and Heathrow, Heathrow, Heathrow that is the hub to everywhere else in the world. One of my most amazing friends (Kat!) is living there right now, and she loves the city. My other European friends are a stones throw away. This is it. THIS is the change I’ve been wanting, THIS is the godsent gift to my present situation. This is the fate grabbing me by the the collar and presenting me with the pearl of my twenties. Living in London in your twenties is probably one of the best things that can happen.
I am immensely grateful to life. I am immensely grateful to my company that is moving me to work in our London office (in Camden, no less!). I am excited!
I was in the kitchen at work, washing my dishes, and started spacing out when I noticed a carton of lactose-free milk (organic, too) sitting on the counter, well, standing on the counter (we’ll talk about my semantic hangups with the “sitting” expression some other day), and I thought, my god, in this society we have so much to choose from, so much to please us, we are free to align ourselves with any belief, any brand, movement and organization and so many take it for granted or absolutely don’t realize that in almost any other part of the world things are not the same way.
I thought back to my Eastern European days, and my country men’s love of sour cream and other dairy. There was no lactose free milk there (but then again, I never met a lactose-intolerant person back there, either), no talk of veganism, gluten-free food and other gastronomic curiosities, self- or doctor-prescribed. What would a vegan do in Sarajevo? Heck, there would be no vegan in the first place, or there would be serious health problems after 1-3 years of veganism. And what about Africa, dare you even mention spelt bread or organic, sustainable, wild/farmed salmon?
I’m not condoning those things, these are great additions to our wonderfully cushioned life in the West, but they are things that a lot of those born here take for granted. Things that don’t even exist in the majority of the world, or for the majority of people. I suppose I’m saying that people should be a little more grateful, or not scorn the poor barista for over/underheating their venti skinny half-sweet hazelnut latte with extra foam. Bitch less about the excess of what you have and instead be grateful for all the wonderful opportunities under your nose.
There’s a Russian expression which applies perfetly: [Они ]с жиру бесятся.