rac⋅ism [rey-siz-uh m] – noun: “a belief or doctrine that inherent differences among the various human races determine cultural or individual achievement.”
There are very few instances when racism actually works positively – or in anyone’s favour. This is the story of how racism actually worked in the lives of two Asian (well, one half-Asian) girls.
Finding a flat here can be pretty hard work. It also takes a lot of time, that of which neither of us had – strictly speaking. Due to full work day schedules, the only available times to look at places had been during the evenings and we were tired and cranky by then. Who wants to go to the ends of the ghettos, or to overpriced (but gorgeous) flats one can either afford a little too well (with the cost of safety) or not at all? We did not have enough zeal for that kind of trek. So, luck would have it that we found a flat that is literally one stop away from L-Dawg’s work, and about 4-5 (I can’t remember at this very moment) from mine. On the same tube line.
My first (shameful) thought was: Yay! I can sleep in more!
But the verdict would be made upon seeing the place.
It is located on Edgware Road, deemed a very multicultural, ethnic area. Fine. It is everything our tiny little South Kensington flat isn’t: it’s cleaner, brighter, bigger and more spacious; there are actual windows we can see out of, and it doesn’t have that humid, musty smell flats in basements often develop. It can fit about four beds in there, but there will only be two; there’s a full-sized fridge at one wall, a far cry from the ‘mini-bar’ we currently have in South Ken. Where we lived in the basement once (or, okay, for another three days), we will live at the very top floor of a store/business/office. The area is not as nice as South Kensington (duh), but neither of us feel like we’re going to get killed. Always a plus, I say. Think somewhere along Dundas/Spadina but less crowded and a little cleaner. Looking at this street, it reminded me vaguely of Chinatown where I spent many a day exploring and taking pictures back in Toronto.
In any case! The quest to find a place seemed to finally end. We met with the previous tenant (a foreign working holiday-er like ourselves from Russia, possibly – judging by her accent?) who was showing the flat on behalf of the landlord. Upon seeing it, both L-Dawg and I came to a silent agreement through eye-contact conversation: Yes, this place is perfect and costs only £5 more a week than our current one! and we told her we would be interested. Of course, we wanted to see the full leasing contract, meet the landlord and get our deposit receipt information (among other things) sorted out before we handed over any money, and the girl seemed to be okay with that.
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