home alone on Christmas

On my own

pretending he’s beside me.

All alone

I walk with him, till morning…

There is something strangely satisfying about how perfectly this song captures my reality of the jolliest time of the year. 

I will be alone on Christmas, yet I don’t feel the bitterness I expected and prepared for.

The question is, whether I’ll feel LONELY while being ALONE.

“It’s lonely when you're among people, too," said the snake to the Little Prince, right? 

Honestly, I’m quite curious to see how will solitude affect me at this time of a year. I’m already going slightly mad. I knew it would happen. Sooner or later.

Whatever the outcome, I have only one wish to make: May this experience serve me as a source of inspiration and push me further towards my destiny. 

Merry Christmas.

btw. the ONE I want beside me is my dog

slight change of plan

Okay, so the weekend didn’t turn out as I expected (btw., since when do I plan…?)

I forgot to equip myself with the camera shop addresses which I realized already sitting on the train. Plus, the photography/architecture student guy I proposed to accompany me could only do Sunday - the day at which my money balance hit 0. Literary. 

But after all, it was not a wasted Saturday. I got to try a new eyeliner style (love) and play with my hair in the reflection of H&M’s mirror wall. I walked through the little crafts market on the Marylebone street, the Conran shop (the store that makes you wish you were rich even harder) and the Old Spitalfield Market with all its vintage gorgeousness. I spent an hour sniffing through the Borough Market in a hopeless attempt to find the best of the best food stands, adoring the never-ending variety of veggies and mushrooms and meats and specialities, all ORGANIC (!), then walking across the London bridge with a sight of scenery glowing in the setting sun. I walked through the “financial” part of the city, passing the huge corporate buildings that I’ll probably never set my foot in. Which is a pity - one of them has a huge aquarium wall in the lobby, I’d love to see that from up close. 

I’ve got to observe interesting characters, particularly this one young man on the train who remainder me of Robert Sheehan. If I was in the position (already), I would totally offer him a job. 

C. is in Colombia. Yes, now it’s Colombia, two weeks ago it was Russia… I want your life, you lucky bastard!

I’m lying, I don’t want C.’s life. I only want his apartment. And his language skills. 

The stranger from the “when it all goes wrong” post keeps calling and texting me (“common, what went wrong?” - a citation it in it’s original, grammatically incorrect version)

Should I tell him what went wrong, or maybe just send him the link to that post (that would be fun, huh?)… I don’t feel like being cruel these days. I’ll probably just text him: “sorry, we are not a good match” kinda thing.** Or just be blunt (Tim Gunn, oh yeah), and say how it is - “you’re too dumb/simple/unintelligent/boring/pea-brained”, I could go on and on… Although, I don’t think I need that bad karma right now… You know, it’s Christmas.

My whole family is going to Zanzibar for winter holidays. 

They didn’t pick up on my hints to send me some Christmas money… damn.… 

My cat had a kidney infection. My dog misses me. My horse has probably already forgot that I exist. My sister just turned 3. 

That’s it for the news today. Now I need to dream about the better tomorrow for a while.

*I love observing people and trying to get under the layers everyone’s covered in. To know them without even talking to them. Sherlock is great for that, btw.

**He agrees. Good.

… I ate Nutella. I ate that fucking thing… I hate you, Nutella. 

I’m taking on a challenge

It consists of two parts.

First, hunt down an affordable Zenit camera in London’s stack of vintage stores (over the weekend, ideally in the company of C. or someone comparable).

Second, stop eating Nutella* and start doing everything I want to be doing.

Ain’t that sounding easy? 

*I’ve just ritually finished my LAST bottle of Nutella for this year.

how to have a GOOD date

A list of my observations on how to have a date at the end of which you actually feel good about the time you’ve just wasted.

Print this list and put it up in your room, I swear it works!

1. don’t take it too seriously, (if it can’t be helped > 2.)

2. find something positive in the stress - you’re alive! 

3. be pretty - needless to say IT’S (most likely) ALL IN YOUR HEAD, I’m not gonna repeat it

4. be unpredictable, be crazy, be interesting > it’s tough, I know

5. practice = Tinder fun (take all precautions though)

6. unless you REALLY like the guy, don’t do stuff on a first date please 

7. just don’t give a fuck, for god’s sake!

*** if none of the above prevent you from having an awful time, I’d seriously consider creating an imaginary friend - and I’m not kidding, it has worked for me since pre-school and it is be the best therapy you can get instantly and for free***

NEXT UP

How to create an imaginary friend (jk)

when it all goes wrong

Today I’m heading to Tate Modern to see a new stranger : 20, African descend, NY vibe - I expect this to be a very relaxing rendezvous.

*** few hours later***

Today’s date was a waste of time. It is a pity that such high percentage of strangers I meet is so far behind on the intelligence scale.

We met at the Tate Modern gift shop, (he was 50 minutes late…shame), and then we went to see the gallery, or better said, I forced him to take a walk among the displays. “WTF is this shit” is probably the most accurate summary of his input.
Strangely, I catch myself comparing multiple aspects of the evening to the ones with C., and as it progresses I started getting a little sentimental. 
To my disappointment, Dalí’s work, the one I genuinely wanted to see is not on display at the time, so I decided not to torture my companion any longer. We walked across the bridge, hopelessly trying to push through the mass of people. Soon I realized that the communication skills of this fella are simply non existent. Maybe it was caused by his incomprehensible accent, but it was only when we arrived at the Goodge street and took turn into sparingly lit street with poorly constructed cheap flats that I realized what I’ve gotten myself into. That sometime during our “conversation” I unknowingly agreed to crash his flat for a few hours.

Somebody. Help. 

high above the city

*continued from the previous post

I’m high above the city

I’m standing on the ledge

The view from here is pretty

And I step of the edge

Decision to spend the night at a stranger’s place might not be smart nor safe, and it’s definitely not professional… however, considering the situation I was in at that time*, there wasn't much potential to make things worse. 
C. didn't look like a murderer. And being raped by him probably wouldn't be too bad (if you know what I mean).**
Apparently he managed to earn my trust - my intuition was telling me to go for it. 

So I did. 

C. is not for carrot

I like to capture memories. My writing serves as a bridge. So I can secure my way back before they fade completely.

C. is an interesting stranger. I would never have imagined someone from Turkey being so sophisticated and well-spoken (how provincial of me). I would never have imagined talking to someone from Turkey in the first place. But that’s the beauty of coincidental encounters. 

I waited for him in St. Patrick’s church next to the Soho Square. Looking at the impressive display of church flyers, I almost forgot to turn my head at the sound of the false name that he knew me by.* 

sushi triangle

My most recent stranger is a 23 years old Turkish software engineer. Living in New York, visiting London for an unknown purpose - work or leisure related I assume. 
I don’t know his name. I’m most likely not going to see him ever again, so I consider it a useless piece of information. I regard Turkish names as difficult to memorize anyway. For the sake of this story let’s call him the New York stranger.

We met thanks to my other, less recent stranger (from now on referred to as C.). Turkish as well, any attempt to pronounce his name would very inappropriately end up resembling the muslim Holly War, so I don’t. 

All three of us met for lunch at a sushi restaurant near London’s Soho Square. I don’t remember much of the introduction routine, I was far too surprised by the unexpected presence of the new guy. Surprised and overwhelmed. For the first few moments. However, I wasn’t put off by the challenge of making an impression on a new stranger. I took it as an opportunity to practice my social skills and just hoped that this very unbalanced triangle that I got into (as the weaker edge unfortunately), would somehow turn out into an advantage. That I could simultaneously charm both of them without loosing my dignity and sway through this lunch session with such ease and grace that I often admire in sensible characters around me.