Sticky contracts

I came to Manchester with the clear idea that my life would change forever.

But I hoped that the change would not inflict pain and mental torture upon me. I now that changing always involves a t least a small revolution, but it should not imply 'tidal waves' sweeping you all day long, day after day.

I have lived in the UK for two years, in a way this country is my 'stepmum'. Well, at this point she really looks like the vicious and ugly stepmother to me.

The difference between following a 'sponsored' dream and a'self-funded' one is that you really have to be on your own. And to challenge whomever stands in your way with little or no help from the others.

London was a pre-negociated experience. Sheltered from ambiguous and heavy letting contracts. Manchester proves to be one of the most absurd little places in this world.

Yes, I am angry with the system, and I will try to fight it until I am feeling satisfied with my life here.

Never in my life had I thought that the only thing standing between me and my peace of mind, and my achievements would be the 'sticky contract' I am stuck into right now, and the staff from my hall of residence.

I know how it is to leave like 'a student', I have done that before (true, at an older age than expected, but I have fully experienced the living with others, in a shared student accommodation, bla bla, study rooms, not bed-rooms - as if when you study you have to be continuously tormented).

But Manchester is a totally different cup of tea, and not mine, obviously.

Never in my life had I thought that you are obligated to fulfil the terms and conditions of a contract which has never-ever-actually been signed.

I had no idea that I have to submit my wellbeing to the whims of a 'Flat Tutor' and his 'Warden' - which would imply that I was living in the Jail, Prison, you name it. So, in my accommodation I have a TUTOR and a WARDEN. It doesn't matter that I am nearly 30 years old. I HAVE A BLOODY WARDEN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I am paying 600 GBP per month so I can get the chance to be scolded by the WARDEN, picked at by the TUTOR, and bullied by the employees at the Reception Area.

My correspondence is being held 'hostage' without explanation. I am constantly verballly abused by these people, but when I request to officially complain agains these problems, I am being told that I cannot do that. And that I have to learn TWO PRINCIPLES from the whole affair: that the Warden and his staff are ALWAYS RIGHT; and, if I have a problem with that, it means I am a mental case.

When I emphasised the fact that they wages are paid from my rent as well, I have been informed that I am a mere STUDENT, which makes me SUB-HUMAN, and this makes me AGGRESSIVE.

No, the Students' Union does not support people in my situation. My student colleagues have had the opportunity not to move into a Hall of residence, so they just support me mentally, but wouldn't have any idea about the struggle I am going through, my fellows academics shrug their shoulders, and have no advice, as I am being told I am one of the few to be going through such a horrible situation.

Outcasted for smoking, bullied and harrassed for asking official explanations for my missing correspondence, I seek justice where there obviously is none, but the embedded culture of stripping young professionals from their families' money. No returns, no understanding, no alternative, just narrow-mindedness and disdain.

I hope that one of these days a miracle will happen, but what I am going through right now has cleared up my initial thought that my homecountry is not that bad. There are worst places in this World. Only I will not give up and I will make my way through this maze of absurd and crappy regulations, until I find a way out.

York from Yorkshire

So I decided to visit something last week-end. I went to York.

I admit, I was pretty excited by the idea, until reality stepped in: out of all the days of the week, Saturday had to be the coldest and sunless one. At least it didn't rain.

Yorkminster- huge, expensive. I admit, I will not pay 8 pounds to visit a church, the house of God. I can't believe the prices. Fortunately from the entrance you get a glimpse of what you could visit, and maybe it was the truth, maybe I was prompting myself to think about the pocket, but I decided it wasn't worth the financial effort. Beautiful windows, but not that beautiful to extract a ticket from me.

Then, off to the next objective (which suffered alterations on the way) - The Dungeaons. Well, if you have seen the queues in London, myabe you understand, that was not worth it either.

Well, the result was I went to visit Jorvik, the remains and replica of the Viking settlement in the area. They even replicated the smells, which left me nauseated for half an hour (I guess soap wasn't very popular in those days), but thinking better about York. Unfortunately my camera decided to 'die' on my way there, so no proof of ever having visited the place :)

The Shambles - now that I think better, I guess I have seen just the ebginning of the street. Didn't get to taste the charm of it.

You may say it sounds like a 'never go there' place. I guess one sunny summer day I will get there again, but with more research done. And I will skip the shops, because you can find shops everywhere. I am still looking for that je ne sais quoi of England. Hope I will find it eventually.