How is London not the city of my dreams?

Out of curiosity, lack of desire to work and simply genuine boredom I surfed the web the other day, dreaming of my move to London. Why London you ask? I saw a musical there once and it was so good that I generalized that London is the city I should be in (not much of a logic, I know).

I browsed the sites for jobs, and I gasped at the salary ranges. 15,000- 30000 pounds were the most common salaries I saw! Of course, executives and managers had a better pay, but for an average shmo like me I couldn’t imagine living on that salary. I mean, simple room sharing (yay, it’s college time again) costs are starting 600 pounds a month. Rooms! I am an adult and I want to have my own damn studio, even if a tiny, tiny one! And those go for at least a 1000 pounds a month. So you’re telling me I cash in roughly 2000 pounds a month and more than half goes for my rent, not to mention the cost of food, transportation etc? Even commuting to London and finding a place on the outskirts seems so darn expensive. Do regular people in London ever save any money? How is such a low pay possibly worth living in London? You can’t go out and do things because you can’t afford them. So what is it, the prestige of saying you live in London?

As I was browsing this, I thought of the post I saw on Humans of New York, where a guy works 13 hours a day and he can’t save a lot of money. I kept thinking to myself: why do you stay there then? Wouldn’t it make sense to move to a less expensive place and save up there? And maybe work 10 hours instead of 13? Not have your wife worried about how you are going to pay for things?

People want different things in life, but I sadly realized my move to London seems to be unfeasible for time being. I can’t forgo my privacy, the fact I have a house (which, before you chip in, it’s really average sized and nothing fancy and a common thing here in Orlando), I don’t have to live like I am in college again and I save some money in addition to the expenses. Livin the dream, I guess, yeah?

Does you, dear readers, have a fantasy place in mind? Or do you perhaps live in London? New York? Leave a comment below, tell me I am wrong and that I should move to London! 🙂

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The misuse of the word “Curvy”

Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue features its first-ever plus-size model”  I couldn’t help myself but clicking on the darn article. I am not skinny at all. But I am not fat either- mostly hourglass shaped. I have some junk in the trunk but the trunk is not overflowing if you know what I mean. So I click on this article and I get mad. Further I scroll down, more annoyed I get.

Somehow the “beauty” industry either has to go Holocaust skinny or obese with their models and label them as “curvy.” I’m almost insulted the way they use the word curvy. Because when I saw Ashley Graham on that cover she does not look curvy but she looks fat. And she can be whatever size she wants to be, but I wish they wouldn’t call her curvy. Because curves mean something else. Or at least, it used to mean something else.

It is hard to write this as I encourage the industry to move away from the ghostly skinny standards, but encouraging obesity is not something they should do either. Obesity-related conditions include heart disease, stroke, type 2 diabetes and certain types of cancer.

American women have to stop hiding under the layer of “curviness” when they are actually fat. If you want to be fat, fine, be fat. I like to be fat too sometimes. But the bigger concern is that Americans are misinformed on what being fat these days actually means. More than one-third of American adults are obese. We’ve gotten so used to seeing our obese friends we compare ourselves to them. My Mom is fat, my sister is fat, my Dad is fat…. but I mean, compared to those really fat people I see elsewhere, they are normal sized, right?

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The strangers in your “family tree”

We got a call from David’s mother a few days ago. She was anxiously questioning David as to why he decided not to go to his cousin’s wedding. Her beautiful hand-written invitation was staring at us from the pile of mail…it was well-written. It was very inviting… It was everything a wedding invitation could be. But David never actually met the woman (he only heard OF her). She was a long, distant, far-away, remote cousin he would never recognize in person if he ever saw her on the street.

So, to give you some background, his family is more of I guess collectivist nature, if you will, and they place a lot of emphasis on the blood line. When he finally told his mother that he doesn’t even know this girl, she cried sadly into the phone: “But she is your family! You have to go!”

Her crying got me wondering….who is your family? Really and truly? The way my family works is like this: there’s me, my sister, her kids, my Mom and Dad. That’s it. Both my grandmothers and granddads are long dead and we have a super distant family in New York somewhere. Do we know what they do? No. Do we know anything about them? Not really. Would it be weird if they invited us to the wedding? Uh, yeah, kinda. Would we go? Probably not. We like to think people that matter are those that take the time to be in our lives. And just because they are family, we don’t owe them anything.

In case you are wondering, he ended up going (guess who was the lucky +1?) We met her and her husband, and they were rather nice. It was almost a beautiful moment…. the strangers that got married all of a sudden became our friends because after all….he was “family.”

Do you have similar connections with your relatives?

P.s: Thanks for taking the time to read, comment, like, share… ❤
P.s: My book is, as always, available on Amazon. Check it out!

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