A shitty week

Warning: this post contains sad themes and frequent coarse language.

What an exhausting week this has been. I thought it’d be nice to share it with you to paint that richer picture I keep talking about, but please don’t expect an uplifting message coming out of it. Also, it'll be cathartic for me to have a rant J

Let’s begin from last weekend –

Saturday: I went to Copenhagen for the weekend for a friend’s 30^th birthday. The day was full of hygge, including a home-cooked breakfast, intriguing Danish cuisine and cosy downtime at home. Then we ramped things for the house party at night.

The party was so cool. Danish people are SO cool. Very chilled vibe, not a rager, which I liked. It was nice socialising with the Danes as they don’t faf around with idle chit-chat (as I’ve noticed Brits like to do), but rather dig deeper in discussions.

3am: sophisticated drunk.

At some point during the night a thought struck me that may make a good blog post… who am I? Yes, a deeply introspective question delivered courtesy of alcohol. Well in response to that question:

I have an Iranian heritage, an Indian background and an Australian upbringing. I went on exchange in the US (where I met my Danish friend), lived in New Zealand for 4 months this year and now live in the UK.

^^ Trying explaining that to a Danish person you’ve just met. I am a chameleon, and that’s something I might cover in another post.

But let’s get back on track, back to when Sunday reared its ugly head…

Sunday: I was hung-over, under slept, but in good spirits after the weekend away. I rocked up to the airport and found out that my flight was cancelled, apparently due to some snow in London. (Whenever there’s any snow in London, the city apparently shits itself) Ok, I can handle that, I said to myself.

After four hours of waiting in a queue I get put up in a hotel and booked on another flight for Tuesday. Two days lost at work in my third week, not ideal, but ok I can handle that.

Monday: day lost having to go back to the airport and queue up for 3 hours to sort out another night’s accommodation. Ok, I’m handling this quite well given the circumstances.

Tuesday: arrive in London and need to shift into my new sharehouse. Got to collect my bags from my friend’s house and trek across the city. These bags contain all my current possessions in London, they are my life, they are heavy. FFS, I’m glad this is the last time I have to lug my shit across town on the tube…

Move into my new place, hoorah! My own space.

Wednesday: I have to deal with the morning commute. 

The tube is over-crowded, I have people breathing down my back, it’s uncomfortable and I feel like we’re animals trapped in a pen. I get out to change trains at Waterloo. They are crowd-controlling there to avoid DANGEROUS over-crowding which means the tide of ants spilling out from every which-way turns into a wall that slowly marches forward. Finally, I get to Canary Wharf and it’s like an explosion of deep sea creatures fighting over one another to escape into the light. I get shoved and jostled around – there’s not a moment to rest in the hustle and bustle of a London morning commute.

London transport seems like savagery compared to the cool, calm and collected pace of Copenhagen’s metro.

I get to work frazzled, already stressed and the working day hasn’t even started. This captured my mood on the day:

Thursday: it’s my work’s Christmas party, should be fun!

It was ok. We are crowded onto a boat and personal space, once again, isn’t a luxury afforded. The boat takes us along the Thames which is nice. However, the music is too loud and I find Brits shouting at me all night. I try to tell them: “I’m a chameleon! I wear different hats!” but I don’t think they get the message.

We continue the night with a few more drinks in town which was buzzing, but I felt too exhausted to enjoy much of it at that point.

To top it all off, I notice that the recent few weeks of stress has affected my skin. My face looks tired and I have these splotches that never used to be there. Screw you London. Screw you with your pollution and lack of Vitamin D, how could you do this to my pretty complexion.

Tired Karl

Friday: it’s almost the weekend, fucking finally.

I need to open a bank account. I’ve been here two months and I still haven’t been able to, it’s a frightful process. I’m not going to go into the details because it actually frustrates me. Let’s just say that I visited four banks in total and made multiple attempts at Lloyds Bank, every time rejected because the paperwork didn’t meet their arcane requirements. This will be my fifth time into Lloyds.

I have ALL my documents sorted, ready to submit and end this torturous process. I step up to the counter enthusiastically, but at the same time acutely aware that there's no need to be hopeful. . . . I’m told (for the first time ever) that my employment letter needs to have a “wet” signature (not an e-signature).

The colour drains out of my face. I’m livid inside ready to jump on the counter and scream a series of fucks. Fuck you London, fuck you banks, fuck this weather… fuck I miss the comforts of home.

This was the culmination of a week of stress. I felt sad and all I wanted in that moment was a cuddle... But that’d be weird to ask from a co-worker, so I had to suck it up and move on.

Saturday: I’m sitting in my armchair with most of the tension dissipated. Today I’m all about downtime – time to myself in my own space – which is helping.

Conclusion: I’m usually such a calm dude, able to control my emotions and ever-optimistic towards tackling any challenge. But this week beat me. It beat the shit out of me. I think I was so surprised by how the stress built up and affected me that I had to write that message to Sarangan, and this blog post. 

Now I’m done ranting. I know this week was challenging but that it’ll only build me into a more resilient person. And I know next week will be better J In fact, I managed to get that “wet” signature on Friday and re-submit my application. Fingers-crossed I get this fucking bank account finally!

I’ll aim to have one post later this month where I reflect on my 2.5 months in London. Till then, enjoy the festive season!