33 | single | in London

Sarcasm is the most subtle way to admit the truth and my translator when I speak to myself.

Sunday routine is one of my favourites. Coffee with cookies in bed, listening to new albums I have already traced back in Rough Trade or after indulging myself in stalking my friends on Spotify, and reading one of the many books I start reading at the same time depending on my current mood. Talking about an unquiet mind eh? My friend texted me he was working on this beautiful Sunday morning and I thought it was about time to get out of bed and work on my writing. I stood up and looked at my fresh pedicure, feeling rejuvenated  after having pampered myself the whole Saturday while still detoxing the alcohol consumed on Thursday evening. I felt guilty for missing another day at the gym, and as it is the case when guilts play in my mind, I started meditating in housework. As I was cleaning my washing machine – yes it is a Greek thing to wash the things we use in order to wash other things – listening to Maria Callas’ rehearsals in some Italian Opera, it occurred to me that I have it all. All expect from a man in my life to  make my heart pulse a bit more lyrical, more like a musical or a ballet concert.

I dried my hands, made myself another decaf and sat on my large, pink armchair beside the window and felt the sun burning my skin. I searched for one of my most beloved summer songs by Konstantinos Vita The Wave and grabbed my laptop out of my fuchsia back pack. A large fluffy cloud hid the sun and felt like when you’re on the beach and the breeze awakes your skin. Being single is like a “bipolar” state. It can be a manifesto of independence and freedom but  at the same time it can be lonely and a bit frustrating. Being single and 33 is another thing. Being single and 33 in London is a trip of experiences all together. London means a lot to me, it is the city I chose to live when the city I was brought up and living in did no longer feel like home. Once I read “who would you become if you were brought up without the characteristic of ethnicity? Who would you be if your parents or society had not imposed on you that, let’s say, since you are born in Greece you’re Greek. Ethnicity is a quality for me, and as almost all of our qualities, it progresses as we grow older. You can be an Italian living in New York having friends from Paris, Santiago, Cyprus and Tokyo. You are evolving into a mix of cultures and characteristics out of your ethnic dna. In that sense, London is the city that made me be who I want to be in its anonymity and multicultural vibes. Sometimes, I am watching people getting on and off the tube vehicle, and it amazes me how different we are under a city that makes us the same. People from places I have never been and won’t have the time to visit all during my lifetime. I remember my Turkish friend saying “I feel free free here. Free to choose something other than the already chosen for me in the city I used to live. I can start over. Again.” The freedom of choice is such a powerful tool in humanity evolution.

Living in London is ridiculously expensive and yet, fashionably amazing. Three years of living in London includes a job I am lucky to love, having moved in and out of flats three times but finally living in a bright little penthouse, of course I need to highlight I live in Elephant and Castle which means I pay at least three times cheaper rent than what it would have been if I was still living in Chelsea in a similar flat, a depressed ex and silently agreed to be avoided areas despite my friends moving and working in there making London a tiny hostel of memories in sepia, many dates, kisses and nights that turned into a loud exclamation point out of nowhere and some others that were a big awkward question mark, friends that come and go with a bottle of wine or another ticket for new adventure, and loads of…shoes. And dresses, and hats and pashminas. Loving yourself is free but making it a bit more attractive and unique costs, a lot. Am I the only one who succeeds in being constantly broke once paid, ending up eating carrots – ok I admit I love them – with earl grey before the end of the month in order to save a few quids? A girl approached me yesterday at Brick Lane asking me if I am a fashion blogger shooting street fashion styles. She left me speechless but looking at my reflection at the mirrors of the store across the street dressed in beautiful outfit and accessories that I call touch of “Nassia” I smiled and pointed my new camera saying I’m only shooting things I like. Low or in-curing-progress self esteem can be dangerous and destructive. You miss the point, and the point is you are fabulous, just the way you are!

Why do we let disappointment get us so hard? I need some chocolate dipped in my coffee to go deeper in that. You see, I was never the girl who would be looking around for men on a night out with girls. I rarely initiated flirt and most of the times I fell for men drown in their own misery, narcissists, or what my friends simply call “damaged” or in need for “fixing”. I came to realise that I had been their lucky ticket to once in a lifetime wake up call of happiness. They went back to what they were and I was left emotionally drained reaching energy limits below the ocean surface. Of course, this is all in the past, well not entirely, but I’m working on it. The important thing is to step back and question your motives, and please, stop being hard on yourself. A man’s happiness is no longer my responsibility, though I know I can be part of it. But it takes two to maintain a common ground for happiness to flourish. After several unsuccessful relationships, my immune system grew stronger and healthier in order to commit to myself and my own happiness despite the “insecurities” and those random lonely nights when you’re just about to text or say yes to a date you don’t really want. Knowing who you are is like investing in a longterm project. You need to be committed and consistent. And strong, like a genuine investor. Now I got to run, in my new pair of heels and buy some more carrots, besides, they do good to skin – stay true and beautiful inside out. Love, N.

P.S. I dedicate this to Cecilia, my most devoted reader. X

Happy Sun-day!

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