Perspective

I had a long conversation with one of my roommate's boyfriends this weekend about life's struggles and how difficult surviving and being happy can be sometimes. He'd had a particularly hard day at work, fed up with being treated like cattle and working for minimum wage and working 7 days a week just to survive. I've learned that the Brits can be pretty hard on migrant workers, and he being from Poland, with a heavy accent, he's experienced quite a bit of this third-class treatment.

During our conversation, we got into the issues of trust, friendship, love... you know, the light, fluffy stuff. Seems my friend has had a rough go of it in relationships as well, and let's just say there are some issues to be worked out there. He also has a very black and white view of certain things, which he knew would be problems in his new relationship. I offered up some of my own experiences to the chat, and explained to him that often, our happiness comes down to choice. I know it's a simplistic statement, and it's easier said than done. But I gave the example of finding out my hiv status seven years ago (Oct 25 was the anniversary... wow) and how I made a choice in that instant; that choice was to take control, always be in control of my health, my stress levels, my happiness. I knew that I could take the "downward spiral" route I've seen others take (drugs, carelessness, a "fuck-you" attitude), but that didn't register as a real option for me. I knew that if I was going to be well, I needed to take control. And today, I have a great life; terrific health, amazing family and friends, and I'm able to do a lot of the things I want to do. This is not to say that my life is *perfect*, or that things couldn't be better, but that I can honestly say I live well, and I'm very happy. Well, except when I try to open a bank account in London. That doesn't make me happy, but I digress.

Anyway, when I told him this, he was shocked, and very sad for me. He said to me that knowing what my problems are, that his pale in comparison. He said he knew that I had it way worse off than him, and that his problems were nothing, which completely missed my point. I actually said to him that I felt the complete opposite. Because at the end of the day, I went to bed happy, and that I truly do love my life; I don't live in despair, or fear; not trusting, or letting people love me. Those things, to me, were far worse than this disease I've been able to manage for myself. He said that he didn't know how that could be. I told him it was all in your perspective.

I'm back, and I need a drink

Hello possums. I'm back from my fantastically great European Vacation, sans Chevy Chase. I love Europe, highlights being Paris and Barcelona. I won't bore you with the 7 pages of blow-by-blow, as no one will care about what I thought of the architecture of Gaudi's Barcelona. Suffice it to say it was a magical experience, and reason alone to trek all the way to London.

So I'm back in L-town, settling into my new digs and enjoying the company of all three of my roommates. One is from Australia, one from New Zealand and one is from Spain. They've made me feel quite welcome, and I like the house a lot. It's also cool to live outside the city centre and still be a 10 minute walk from an H&M store! Not that I can afford anything now, that is until I find a job. Which leads me to my lastest observations, as follows:

Wow is London a frustrating, bureaucratic craphole! *EVERYTHING* is a stupid bloody process. Allow me to rant for a moment, then I'll be much better.

I called the National Insurance line to set up an appointment to receive - you guessed it - my National Insurance Number. This is the UK equivalent of the SIN in Canada. So, I called to set up my appointment. They asked me a number of questions to determine whether in fact I was eligible to receive one, and if I really, truly needed one. I explained to them that I was new to the UK on an Ancestry Visa. Checkmark to #1. Then they asked me if I had a job, yet. Nope. Are you actively looking for work? Yes. Okay, they would need to have verification that I was actively looking for, or had a job. The verification would need to be letters from employers stating that I did or didn't get a job. The woman on the phone explained that most people applying for the NI already had a job, but needed the number. I don't know about you, but doesn't that sound backwards to you? Get the job, THEN get the number? She explained that it's completely legal to work without the number, but they will tax you at a higher rate until you get the NIN, and refund you once the number was processed and allocated. Doesn't that sound like a lot of unnecessary bureaucracy, cutting cheques, refunds, etc when they could just give you the bloody number to begin with? Then she explained that I would need verification of my residence in the UK as well. A utility bill, or bank statement. Sounds reasonable enough, but read on...

THE BANK. Or as I like to refer to them all, the people I hate most in this world.

I went to open a bank account today. What fun, you say! Oh, I know, it beats picnics and hugs and lottery winnings, it's true. But today, it wasn't the most pleasant experience. You see, I was informed that before I got a bank account, I would need to have a job, to verify that I had income to put into said bank account. I'll get back to that little tidbit in a moment, so bookmark that issue in your mind, kids, because we'll be repeating it soon enough. The bloke also informed me that I had to have a verification of my address. For example, a utility bill, or another UK bank account statement (um, yeah, I know you see the problem there), or a driver's license with my current address on it (which he misinformed me was easy to get, and nope! gotta have the same stuff you need to get a bank account to get a driver's license!!!). When I explained that I live with flatmates who all have the utilities in their names, he helpfully suggested that one of them transfer the account into my name. Uh-huh. I've lived here for 1 week and let's all move the phone service into New Guy's name! Not to mention the fact that the utilities, I'm almost positive, require you to have a bank account in order to activate your service....

Have a headache yet? Well, pass around the aspirin, because I have more fun for you!

Remember how I said that you have to have a job in order to get a bank account? Well, the funny closing of this circle, and I mean that in the most appropriate way; the catch-22 vicious circle of chicken and egg. (What comes first? The bank account, or the job? Or the NI#? I know, it's the whiskey, followed by a beer chaser.) I went to Starbucks to apply for a job yesterday. And guess what they told me? They won't hire me until - you guessed it - I have a bank account!!!!! Oh the pure, unadulterated joy.

I know what they're trying to do. They've conspired with my mom to make things so difficult I'll come running home to Hamilton, teddy bear and psychiatrist in tow. That is, however, if they can pull me out of the fetal position from under the bed in my new flat.

So just to recap, I need a job, but I need a bank account to get the job, and I need the job to get the bank account. And before I NI#, I've got to have a job. And a bank account. Or a utility, that will also require me to have a bank account and a job.

I shouldn't be so negative, I know. But it's like they want to suck whatever joy you have out of your soul with a straw. And I don't like the soul-stealing-straw-suckers at all.

But I won't let them beat me. By George I will get myself a bank account and a job and an NIN! and a nice, refreshing beer. And there's a job I'm so desperately attached to that I'm applying for at one of the Uni's here, and it pays gobs of money. Cross your fingers, toes, eyes, pubes... whatever you gotta do. Pray to whatever Gods or False Idols you pray to for me, I beg you. I need, and want, and can totally do this job. Thank you, love you, good night.

Hola from Barcelona

I'm in Barcelona, the third stop on my Euro-travels. I'm sorry I've been silent for so long and promise to blog soon, but I'm off right now to see some more sights before heading to Rome.

I'm having a great time. The last couple of weeks have been full of sightseeing, as well as a personal pilgrimage to where my family began, and I'll write about that soon as well. In the meantime, here's a picture taken of me and Salvatore in front of the Sissy-Boy Homeland store in Amsterdam. Sissy-boy. Isn't gay great?

xo Mike