When you get pregnant others around you give birth

Biggest paradox of modern age for women is whether to be a full time mother or a professional. In theory it seems like you can`t be both but in practice modern times requires you to be both. However here indicates even a bigger paradox: Modern age requires women to have both career and a baby it also makes every move to stop you to achieve this! you wonder how? Read this then...
This article will thoroughly not list the hard work of working mothers or legal obstacles of going back to work after maternity leave etc. This is all about the psychological war you will face against you as a pregnant woman.

Once you get pregnant others around you give birth! This is the moment they can disclose their competitive ideas against you, time to give birth after 9 months of development of them inside their sick brains. Except for close sincere friends most people would want you to be miserable. Because misery loves company. (Check this article for the term: http://www.psychologytoday.com/articles/200303/misery-loves-company)
People think that pregnancy gives women a weakness both physically and emotionally. A pregnant woman is a mother-to-be and she is in the brink of ending her career. By the help of her colleagues she will make this metamorphic decision easier. They actually help you to bring up healthier generations(!) It`s just the pregnant woman taking this negatively and personally.

First step in this psychological bitchy war begins with rhetoric questions which aim to remind you how big the mess is you are facing in few months time like :

"Oh darling you will be a mother soon. What a huge responsibility!" (Oh thank you I didn`t know this before)

"Sweetheart do you know who will look after the baby when you`re back to work? Kids brought up by grandmothers become very spoilt. Kindergartens twist kid`s psychology you know..."

(Oh you`re right I never thought of this since I`m an idiot otherwise I wouldn`t have a baby, would I? Let me leave my job and be a good mother so that you can get rid of me on your shitty career path!)
And this follows some physical-related statements like:

"I can see your belly" (Ohh good that you are not short-sighted then!?)

"You must be very tired. You look very tired" (Actually I`m less tired than your sick brain and I`m full boosted by oestrogen!)
If you didn`t put on much weight then they start to blame you not eating enough. It`s not worrying about your health it is actually their envy to your Barbie look did not go away yet and this gets on people`s nerves.

These are few examples of dialogues which are a bit caricaturized to put you off from life as a working-mother-to-be.
I have some advice for preggy ladies: Pregnancy is not a disorder. It`s a natural state of mind and body and part of our being as a woman! Do not believe in women who say they don`t want to be a mother. They are either infertile or they haven`t found the right father for their kids yet. It`s their defence mechanism makes them to speak like this.

Working full time for a mother is the part of humans social evolution in the 21st century. So the ones who can achieve both who are clever enough to take advantage of the conditions to achieve this they will prove world that nothing can be more powerful than a mother!

Viva JOURNALISM Viva PRESS FREEDOM!

10 seconds... 9 - 8 - 7 heart beating...and you hear the uplifting jingle of the show in your ear! ON AIR! Heart stops, adrenaline levels` graph looks like Euro/Dollar parity as the European Central Bank`s governor speaks. The show flows like a river to the end of the tunnel. You have to grasp and visualise and reflect the news on your face, voice, posture and at your screen presence. You have to look as if you are a guru even though you just got the news, data, information etc. No matter how experienced you are there are always obstacles that you can only tackle with your own general knowledge and common sense. Common sense! That`s the magic word in TV journalism. Either you work off air or you act in front of camera you need to have a sharp attention, confidence and common sense. During my short journey in tv journalism (or maybe long enough to write this as I was interviewing guests at home when I was only 5 year old!), I met so many people who had to be sent to room 101!!!

** I met presenters who pronounced the same name in 5 different forms in 2 hours time. ** I met presenters who turn up for mic-up 1 minute before the live show! ** I met presenters who pronounced French finance minister`s name as Moscowsky and made him sound like a Russian oligarch instead... (by the way his name is Pierre Moscovici) ** I met presenters who heard the name Massachusetts for the first time in their lives. ** I met presenters who don`t know who Adele is. ** I met presenters who ask director what to ask during a live interview with a scientists after the strongest Japan earth quake in history! ** I met presenters who are unaware of what`s happening in the world because it is Monday morning! ** I met reporters who can`t speak or write in their mother tongue. ** I met reporters who can`t ask questions or who are proud of themselves because they were able to ask questions(!) ** I met media managers who have no idea what news is, what an editor, producer, director and reporter does... ** I met journalists who ask what to ask before an interview. ** I met managers who think media should be the voice of the party in power and should be integrated to the state! ** I met chief editors who think editorial meetings are scrutinised by the government... I met producers who don`t want to update the bulletins because they feel too lazy! Yes I met all those people and I`m still proud not to be one of them and still feel proud to be a journalist! ****************************************************************************************************************************************************** Viva JOURNALISM viva PRESS FREEDOM! ******************************************************************************************

to CV or not to CV

Age: 29
Sex: Female
Marital Status: Just wed
Mental Status: Broken down
Occupation: Full-time job hunter
Life philosophy: to CV or not to CV

Here is the guide for the ones who do the most primitive job in our kind's history: hunting!

Rule number 1 - Get up early to compete with your rivals who sleep in the mornings.

Rule number 2- Be updated. Become an update freak! check out European, American, Middle Eastern and domestic news. Read columns, blogs, angry discussions, watch news, commercials, socialize in social media, asocial media, anti-social media, alternative media and even in schizophrenic media (when the walls start to talk to you:).

Rule number 3- Be in good shape. Try not to stay in pyjamas all day, stop wearing glasses and hat to hide your un-made up eyes or undone hair please!

Rule number 4-Think of your every single friend, relative, colleague related to the industry you want to work in. Think of people who asked your help, who asked favours to you countless times, who you've been extremely polite with expecting nothing in return and see how many bastards you know in this world.

Rule number 5- Never give out your CV to someone who promise you to give it to his/her managers, never! Always ask manager's mail addresses and send it by yourself. The point? you will get the interview right away because you have a fucking good CV on which your "contact" wouldn't pass by his/her own hands.

Rule number 6- Always start from the rival companies to the company you worked before. It will make you feel good.

Rule number 7- Go to Starbucks in the middle of the day, do not wear a watch, some days sleep until 11am, have a long long bath and think of the time famine you just came out of!

Rule number 8- Stop reading about the symptoms of depression. You are just the Cindirella who is left behind by her ugly sisters at home. (NOT!)

Rule number 9- Stop reading about bipolar disorder either. You are just in a transitional phase, you are evolving to a next step in humanity: from hunting&gathering society to consumer society!!!

Rule number 10- Make some jobless friends. Misery loves company. And enjoy your phase!

Wedding Chronicles

"When is your big day?" is the most common question when you decide to get hitched. Big day is really a big day!

The whole organisation is full of clichés. I'm not talking about clichés like the fake cake that you pretend like slicing and offering to your just wed spouse or critisizing eyes that wander around your dress, hair and make-up, curious elderly people who check out the amount of golden gifts you receive etc.

In fact, invitations are the biggest hassle. How many people you will invite? How are you going to classify them? Who is going to sit with whom?

Take a look at the categories:

- Political invites: people who you are supposed to invite even though they won't come
- Mandatory invites: your relatives and some colleagues

- Real invites: People who will make your day and who made your life so far.

No matter how precisely you plan everything you will have two surprises: some people that you think 100% would come won't turn up and some will turn up unexpectedly. When you handle the invitation if the person avoids eye contact and moan this is the first signal that they will improve this excuse-like situation later on.

I should mention the last two day's typical excuses too. Last two days are critical. Prior to the big day rock and roll starts. You will receive theatrical phone calls and messages.

All of a sudden they will have to look after their kids and nanny will be off, married ones will blame the husbands or wives, most popular excuse is sudden back pain or diarhea. Funerals are life-saving too. It will either be anniversary of a death or first month etc. What is awkward is people wait until the last moment to realise that it is the anniversay of a death JUST on your big day. Blimey! Some will be travelling and they just miss your wedding. Oh poor travellers. Bless them.

Apparently no one can dare to say that they just don't feel like coming, they don't want to spend money on a new dress, or a gift, they always fancied you or your spouse to be, they don't like weddings or whatever the real reason is.

Big day is a big day that flies. How about your house? The house that people keep promising to visit one day. There are many clichés in the house as well.

You won't understand women's kitchen stuff fetishism. It's even more dangerous than shoe-holics and shopaholics! You will end up with 5 sets of cups, countless mugs, zillions of forks, spoons and plates, trays, glasses, pans, bits and pieces that you don't even know what to use for?!

How about the style? It's hard to disagree with Allison Pearson:

"Is it coincidence that we spend far more than our parents ever did on the restyling and improvement of our homes - homes in which we spend less and less time because we are out earning the money to pay for Italian kitchen and stripped oak floors? It's as though home had become some kind of stage set for a play in which we one day hope to star."

Two cities Thousand Differences

How can I compare and contrast Istanbul and London? One is British capital of immigrants from a multi-cultural approach and the other is an old Roman city and new cultural capital of Turks.

Istanbul is the city that I grew up, I have been a student for the first time, I fell in love and instantly I regretted, I made big mistakes as anyone did and I forgave myself, I worked and earned my money, saved and spent, travelled from and so.

London is the city where I was reborn, reincarnated, rediscovered my limits, and extended my knowledge, wisdom, experience and built up by personality further.

London is the city of "hope" where Istanbul is "hopelessness". People come to London to find better life conditions, jobs, better education or simply to find themselves. Whereas people come to Istanbul know that there is nothing they can find rather than this beautiful city itself and its unique view of Bosphorus.

Both cities have a theme on water: London's rain and Istanbul's humidity. Both cities are divided by water; London by brown river Thames and Istanbul by crystal clean sea water. Both cities have bridges: London Bridge and Tower bridge vs Istanbul Bosphorus Bridge and Fatih Bridge. Additionally, Istanbul is a virtual bridge between the West and the East, Europe and Asia, conservatism and liberalism. Whereas London is a melting pot, an orchestra of different cultures without any harmony and order in.

London has a good transport network under and overground, light and heavy railways, different variations and so. Istanbul has the most uncomplicated transport network ever -few lines only, also an overground bus lane which is treated as a subway called metrobus!? Both cities' transport system are bullshit when you need them anyways.

Istanbul cabs are yellow, driven by crazy drivers and London cabs are black and their chauffeurs are big-headed snobs.

In Istanbul when you dine out no matter how cheap the restaurant is you feel like you are served and welcomed but in London no matter how expensive the restaurant is you feel very cheap and unimportant.

In Istanbul people do not use many things in daily life: seat belt, traffic lights, fire extinguisher, bins, recycle bins, pavements, sorry, thank you, excuse me...

In London people either do not use or abuse some things in daily life: soap and water, alcohol, sex, toilet paper, napkin, tissue, sorry, thank you, excuse me...

In Istanbul it seems like women do not know how to open their car doors, how to park, how to carry a bag, how to tip, how to pay something if there happens to be a man around. In London women can do everything with or without men around!

In London if you have an appointment at 10.30am you turn up on time or earlier if late you give an excuse and say sorry but in Istanbul you may turn up some time before noon, no need to give an excuse if you do you just say "Istanbul traffic" and that's it. If you turn up on time you are called either an obsessed person or a punctual one!

In London when you send an email you usually receive a reply to confirm that your request is being handled and somehow you'll be got back to but in Istanbul you never receive a confirmation then you call them and the reaction is "offcourse we got your email and we're working on it" Wow really!?

In Istanbul Starbucks we all have our identity: they write your name on the coffee cups but in London you are just a call: "regular latte machiato!"

In Istanbul you don't feel comfortable when you spend all day out alone but London is the city of loneliness. You go to park, you eat, shop alone, live alone happily ever after. Lonely London... Sigh...

Classless or Classy Society? Postcode phenomena of London

Once upon a time there was such a dream called "classless society" where all people are truly equal. It never entirely came true because of many reasons.

Here I am not to give a boring lecture on sociology. But shortly, classifying makes controlling easier. You classify dishes, clothes, regions, areas, streets, military forces, academics, businesses and science. It is easier to set rules, policies, opportunities when you classify a society. And classlessNess prevents to create a classy society. Like in London.

London's classes are coded via post. This is a cliché that postcodes label people immediately. 4 letters 9 numbers draw a picture of your life. Have a look:

SE 16 - South East: You have an entry level job and poor digit salary. You prefer using bus pass. Your neighbours are some black families with cute kids.

SW 4 - South West: You like edgy night life and you've got more gay friends than straights. You've just been to a music festival last month. You live in London for over 5 years now. Still you get 2-digit salary.

E8 - East: Rundown buildings cost a fortune in the name of being "trendy". There is a high turn over in your neighbouring flat. They advertise their shared flat like this: "we are looking for a young professional. We like our privacy but we also enjoy a glass of red wine after a working day in the living room"

N4 - North: You feel quite uncomfortable after a late night out on the way home. You can hear 10 different languages on the streets. Hmmm.. nice kebab shops around. You know what? You are either an immigrant or an immigrant!

W8 - West: Well...if you happen to live there you wouldn't read this blog! you enjoy dancing in the same clubs as Prince Harry. so neexxt!

W5 - West: You have a decent job. You save money, go holidays 3 times a year. You take the tube on weekdays and drive outside London on weekends. You enjoy a bit quieter life. You're still single though.

NW3 - You have either a family that one of your kid is taking a gap year this year or have a degree and luck and been living in London for over 10 years now. 3-digit salary but no one knows how many asses you licked though.

A guide on how to spot a rogue!

10 ways to spot a wrong 'un



1. Has three mobile phones. The one supplied by work is silent. The other two ring constantly.

2. Takes a genuine interest in compliance seminars.

3. Once devised an accounting software programme.

4. Drinks with the IT department.

5. Buys a flat in the City- "to be near work".

6. Has developed unusual friendships with back-office people in Switzerland, with whom he goes on cycling holidays.

7. Is a bit too helpful. Always happy to take care of manual inputting jobs.

8. Is NEVER off sick.

9. Has geeky male friends and (solely) very attractive female ones.

10. Has a wing-mirror on his monitor(seriously people have these).



source: Evening Standard, Simon English column

NHS Tragedy

Today I understand once again that NHS is a useless system that only works for birth control, STDs, and cancer.

The whole idea is making things too complicated that you finally give up freaking bureaucracy and find your own way of recovering. Do you want to know how? Take a deep breath and read then:

Monday morning: I had hay-fever last Sunday after a tiring journey. I woke up sweating as if I attended a marathon Monday morning and called my GP (General Practitioner) GP is the doctor who you never meet but you have his name on all NHS documents. You can't reach him when you need him. You are periodically forwarded to a lot of useless nurses instead (there are always exceptions for sure!). You register with a different GP wherever you move in to so that they are aware of your existence, they can invite you for cancer scanning, they can give you thousands of condoms for free or prescribe contraceptions. Yes NHS is obsessed with birth control!

Anyway. GP gave me the "first available appointment" for Tuesday afternoon. I forgot to tell you. You have to make an appointment to see your doctor for a cold, flu etc. In the mean time you are on your own. When you finally get the chance to see your GP you mostly recovered or your medical condition is evolved. You would be survived on paracetamol's, hot tea with lemon or lemsips, reiki, pray, good will etc.

Tuesday morning: Hence I woke up Tuesday morning with an itchy eye. It was eye infection. However it was to take another 2 days to diagnose eye infection for NHS! Because GP said my temperature is fine, my tonsils look all right. I should be drinking lots of liquid and "two of my eyes are the same", no problem!

This "very scientific" explanation from my so-called GP did not impress me at all then I went to Boots to talk to the pharmacist. She said she couldn't give me antibiotics that I should see an optician for prescriptions. Then I googled my address and optician as key words and phoned the first result to make an appointment. Because my eye was getting painful, worse. Considering my job on TV, being applied make up on&off all the time with a swollen pink eye is the last thing I'd like to have nowadays!

Wednesday morning: My eye was swollen, pink, painful. I could see the infection behind my eye lid. I googled everything I diagnosed myself but all I needed was an antibiotic cream and a doctor with a degree who can prescribe it! My colleague David suggested me to go to eye hospital close to work instead of an optician. I phoned the optician to cancel the appointment. And he said he can refer me to the hospital. I should be seeing the optician first. After general check-up he'll refer me. I was helpless, in pain and in need of urgent solution in my long lunch break so that I could come back to work asap...

Optician checked my eyes. Without using computer-based system: I turned out to be "shirt-sighted" 0.50 both eyes, having very dry eyes needing urgent dehydration. AND after 45 minutes he asked for extra £15 to check my REAL problem, eye lid. He said this could be an allergy but he couldn't say anything. He referred me to an ophthalmologist in another eye hospital in Baker Street. And his mate was showing me frames for glasses. God sake I was trying lots of glasses as if my urgent problem was SEEING! I don't drive, I don't watch TV. The longest distance I look is the computer screen! Who cares being short-sighted when you have a painful infection inside your eye?!? I paid £40 for check-up, £30 for artificial tears for dehydrating my eyes, £90 for lenses, £160 designer's frame: I was robbed around £340. Still no diagnosis to my swollen eye. No solution. Nothing.

It took 1 hour to find the hospital. I waited 2 hours to be seen by a doctor. Apparently I was lucky because I had a referral from my optician otherwise they wouldn't see me that soon (!)

And guess what: Doctor diagnosed infection under eyelid, prescribed antibiotic cream for one week. He said it should get better, if not I should come back for a minor surgery to remove infection. Just like what I read online. He also said take paracetamol for pain just like any other doctor in this country. I went back to work, starving, carrying lots of papers in my hand, late for my afternoon job. eventually I bought the antibiotic cream costing only £5!

NHS is the system that you should fight with the help of your immune system. The only logic is take paracetamol, take days off, put your feet up, eat well and try to strengthen your immune system! Otherwise you are in trouble.

Look what London's done to us!

Look what London has done to us:

You had time to kill before, now you live your life as "an appointment-based system".

You've learnt not to open your umbrella for small drops since it can stop soon.

And you learnt not to open your heart too soon since you can find yourself as naked - metaphorically speaking.

You drink, you smoke and define yourself as a social drinker-smoker. This is how they call "shivering smoking" or "drinking in suits" outside huge City buildings and pubs.

You had a lunch break before, now you sneak and munch your sandwich in front of your computer like homeless people.

You wake up with an I-phone or Blackberry alarm not with the morning shine and you switch your brain on with caffeine.

You don't wait for traffic lights turn to green to cross the road as you take initiative not to press "wait" button in rush hours.

You always "mind the gap between the train and the platform", you "press button to operate the lift", you "don't leave your luggages unattended", because you "keep your personal belongings with you at all times."

You wear a helmet to cycle. Well you actually cycle!

You became card-maniac! I bet you carry at least one of these cards:
A-Oyster
B-Tesco
C-company card with a not-quite-like-you picture on
D-medical card from your GP
E-Boots,Body Shop,Nandos, Cafe Nero etc.

And look what London has done to us:

You saw people who had time for sex but too busy for love, who had a fat wallet and thin heart or huge ego and small brain or deep eyes and no vision.

You learnt that girls could ask men out, then get no response and find out those men are both bisexual and racist in this city.

You find yourself looking at the calender to book holidays, checking public holidays, flights, possible long weekends etc every now and then.

You "like" your London friends' facebook status of "BBQ!" when it's sunny on weekends!

You tell your female friends that they look "sexy" when they wear a mini skirt, hills, hold-ups, low V-necks no matter how dreadful they look you appreciate their effort!

And you dislike when they ask you "where are you from?" in pubs, bars, and clubs to start a conversation.

Because no matter who you are, where you are from you are in the same melting pot.

Because in London you are a Londoner.

We love London because in London everyone has their unique IDENTITY and everyone has their ANONYMITY.

Get London reading? Whaa?!?

Few weeks ago, The Evening Standard -London's free-to-pick-up paper launched a courageous campaign to tackle illiteracy in the capital. I was impressed by the jaw-dropping figures given by the paper. Get this: Thousands of 11-year-olds start secondary school in London with a reading age of seven!

And Education Secretary Michael Gove said: "Children who cannot read are condemned to spend their entire life in a prison house of ignorance."

I am not planing to praise the paper because of the charity they organized to get London kids reading by the help of volunteers. Not because they don't deserve but I shall draw a different picture with these colours.

London as the capital city of United Kingdom is the centre of civilization in the eyes of people in the Eastern world. Trains and undergrounds in early mornings are full of people whose only foreheads could be seen, half of their faces are covered by newspapers, Ipads, books, magazines, papers whatever you can read something from! Especially when it comes to education, university degrees in engineering, science, law, literature, art and lately media UK universities are still far more better than the ones in Europe and the US in terms of their educational values and quality.

35 years ago when my father studied textile engineering in Bradford there wasn't even any better course in elsewhere in the world to compete with the textile-knitting technology education in the UK. Years later UK universities still hold their good reputation at least in the Eastern world - hard to get acceptance for masters degrees, strict rules during the studies and intensive academic programmes. So what on earth happened to the UK and its capital suffers from children illiteracy?
The paper reports that illiteracy mostly is the problem of the kids whose families speak English as a second language. We know that almost 80% of London is populated by foreigners. But wait a minute. English is my second language as well. I spent -including cost of living £16k for one year masters degree and another £8k to improve my English to academic level. Excuse me sirs! but if those families are refugees and holding UK passports they shouldn't have the luxury of not speaking English and not teaching or reading their kids in English.

Minority or refugee no excuse is acceptable for not reading in the official language of the country you live in. This is like Turks who live in closed Turkish community in Germany and can't read German or Kurds in the Eastern Turkey who can't read in Turkish.

DO GET London and the rest of the world reading and get them out of this prison please...

Selling Britain by the Pound?

Andrew Sentance, a sole member of BOE's MPC, who has been calling for a rate hike since June 2010 is asking Mr King: Are you selling Britain by the Pound?

And today Pound jumped dramatically to $1,6170, recovering from yesterday's low of $1.5987. His comments helped the speculation that rates will rise soon in the UK.

Who is Andrew Sentance though? Is he to be called a speculator, a realist or "the odd one out" in the committee?

There is wide range of colours in his career palette, from private sector to academics and music. He's a former head of economic policy at the Confederation of British Industry and also had worked as chief economist at British Airways.

Mr Sentance is a star in an Essex-based pop group called "Revelation". He plays bass, guitar and is on vocals. How "cool" is that?

There is something even "cooler" I want to remind you. Annual inflation in the UK hits 4% led by high commodity prices (and VAT rise in January 2011 is yet to be blamed.)

Let's have a look at the implications of this inflation in daily lives:
An "uncool Londoner" who works full-time, stays in a rent house with no car or motorbike and lives 2 zones away from work spends:


- min £4 for transportation

- min £15 for food including breakfast lunch and dinner (obviously very modest dinner cooked at home)

- min £5 of his/her utility bills

- min £15 rent living in the cheapest accommodation


Therefore, a Londoner spends at least 40 quid per day just to inhale and exhale in this country! There is no entertainment, no travelling, no clothing, no cosmetics, no treats in this bill...

I don’t know if anyone is selling Britain by the Pound but it's getting quite expensive for sure - just a revelation…

Flat Search DAY 2/3 and THE END

October the 31th, Sunday... There were 3 appointments noted in my little notebook. The first thing on Sunday morning was texting to the 11:30 appointment human being to push it to some time in between the rest . I deserved a big Sunday breakfast after celebrating Halloween in the cinema watching some paranormal activities, didn't I? :)

First stop Texas, I mean Dalston. It is a four floored massive house with two English guys living together. Their 3 kids come and visit them every now and then. Two bicycles welcome you in the entrance one of which has a little baby chair on the back. Barbie houses, craved pumpkins, paintings, toys, little clothes were spread in EVERY INCH of the house. After starting the conversation in a very English way (either weather or weekend plans) - if you stuck always talk about weather or ask how their weekend was :) I rocked the day with my very straight forward question:

- Are you guys married?
Silence...

The one who is a computer animator (or should i say the geek number 1) said that they both had their wives lived closeby, they separated around same time and decided to live together. Two weirdos!Then the geek number 2 who does some IT job passed me my tea in a mug. We headed to see the house upstairs (with me still holding the mug by the way:)
It's a massive, giant double or say quadruple room with two massive windows and wardrobes, shelves, everything I would need for my shoes, mountain of clothes, bits and pieces, books, toys etc etc.

Price was fantastic as well, then I recovered from my astonishment and thought that was "too good to be true Kubra". Bless my naiveness!

- Who was living in this room before?
- There was another girl, she left... (Silence) You may meet her one day, maybe...(Silence again)

God! I may well be getting myself into trouble voluntarily, what does it mean I may be meeting her? In the Hell or Heaven? In mental hospital? What the fuck did they do to the other girl!? (I was still under the influence of last night's horror movie and was still holding the mug) I ended the conversation with my polite wording of "I can't decide right now since I'll see few more places but I'll let you know asap". RUN KUBRA RUN!

Second and third stops were both in Whitechapel. Chapel, yeah right word to define. No one told me that there was a MASSIVE MUSLIM community lived in that area! I thought I ended up in Baghdat or Tehran or Riyadh etc. The afternoon pray started in the East London mosque HERE WE GO: guys with long breads, women wrapped up so well that you could only see the pupils! No offence but if you were born in a Muslim country as a woman, you kind of hate Middle Eastern stuff inevitably! If I lived here they would give me a "recm" punishment for my Ruby Woo lipstick in the first place! :)

The both rooms were awful, they are called ironing rooms in Turkey as I said before. The second one was in a one bedroom flat and the guy was renting the bedroom and invading the living room so it's like imprisoning me in the ironing room! I couldn't see any proper wardrobe, there was 3 (THREE) shirts hanged up on the rail. YES THREE!
He said:

- Yeah.. I'm weird...

I can see that you are weird man, how can you have only 3 shirts in total to wear all through your life?!? And no jumpers or shorts, raincoats, or jackets, or cardigans, coats, ties... Blimey! Will I pay to stay here? Actually they should be paying me for giving them this honour of living with me! :))

Next day, after my first hit on the phone with sleepy eyes I forced myself to jump into the shower to wake up properly so that I could make it to my 10:30 appointment in Caledonian Road, slightly Northern quiet neighbourhood. Lovely modern room by a Russian girl. We Turks all have a weakness for Russian girls. But come on! I'm a girl even though I don't sound too straight when I comment on other women still I'm a girl not a Turkish man!!! I can't excuse them easily.I turned up to the station and called her as we agreed last night, she picked up in a rush and said:

"Please call me in 5 ohh no in 10 minutes" Klink!

5 minutes, 10 minutes, 20 minutes... I got carried away with setting up apps in my new Blackberry... Then I phoned her, no answer. Again... no answer. Again... no answer! ARGHHHH!!! I was going write what she deserved something like you BITCH! But saved this for facebook status update and wrote that her behavior was very amateur and she should have let me know about any change beforehand, I worked and had limited time... "London is not a city of amateurs!" I ended my text.

1 hour later when I was at work my telephone rang, a strange number. Compared to the one of hers, nope a different one.
- Hello, I do apologize for this, I'm really sorry Kubra but something went wrong and couldn't get back to you. I lost your number and you were already gone when I came around... Blahh blahh blah...

She was carrying on, I said yeah it's OK and hanged up!

Lessons to Learn:
- East London is over for me, cool kids can live there happily ever after WITHOUT knowing me!
- Sharing a flat is not a way of socializing it's actually torturing your social and cultural limits for the sake of nothing!
- Plus you would never meet the man of your life in a shared flat! Or in a Rynair flight, or in a 3star hotel!
Forget about it!
- Be a normal person and go to an agency and rent a studio flat in the North or centre.
- London is not a city of amateurs! ( still holding the mug)

Flat Search DAY 1

After making countless phone calls and crossing most items on my flat/room list finally I managed to make two appointments. The first one was in Hoxton, no one told me how horrendous place it was!!!
No offence to any Turk but all the ugly Turks must have chosen this area to settle down! Well... we Caucasians are the best looking minorities in Turkey (as well as the ones from the Balkans) ;)
After asking so many passer-bys and calling the guy two-hundred times I finally found the place. A heavy smell of weed welcomed me in the building! Someone must be smoking very cheap stuff... I hesitated to go through, but no! I have to have an idea about London housing, what they call "a room" to evaluate and appreciate the other places.

- Hi Kubra!, a skinny guy opened the door. I spoke to him in last 2 hours more than I spoke to my dad in last two months!

He was so skinny that his legs were the same size as my arms! My mum must see this guy before calling me "skinny"!
He showed me the room which had the same size as our room in Istanbul that we used to put our ironing board and wrinkled shirts to be ironed. Huge flats are inherited from the Ottoman Empire palace traditions in Istanbul. What a massive difference between life standards in Istanbul and London! Living in the poshest area just by the lovely Bosphorus and now searching for a room in Hoxton!

When he was gazing at my dark pink Estee Lauder lipstick with a mesmerised face, I was counting the grey socks hanged-up to guess how many guys should be living in this rundown place.

- Would you like to have a cup of tea?, he pressed the kettle's button.
- No thanks, I'm in a hurry. I have to see as many flats as possible before December. (which meant I have to run away from you as far as possible! lol!)
- You have loads of time!
- Yeah but I won't be here after next week and a very busy week is coming up.
- Where are you going?
- To Germany.
- Are you German?
- ?!?
He must be quite high to think that I was German.

- No I'm Turkish.
- You don't look Turkish.

I gave him a quick vain look...

If a guy tells you that you don't look Turkish that means he is chatting up with you in the cheapest way possible.

My second stop was in Old Bethnal Green street. Without google map and internet I felt like someone from 1990s! I asked a Brit who was selling not-very-fresh vegetables on the street.

- Ya going to Liverpool street direction or Dalston?
- Ermm... Dalston. ( Not because I knew where I was going but I liked the name Dalston :)
- Where are you goin ixactly luv?
- To Old Bethnal Green Road.

I walked on and on and on... Then I must have ended up in Turkey! Pelin supermarket, Irmak off-licence... And a mosque called "SULEYMANIYE"! Whaaa?! I was definitely in the WRONG place! Or it was a nightmare.

I looked ahead and I saw the PENIS of London city in the horizon (Gherkin building) !
YAY! CIVILISATION!!!
I had never felt happier to see a penis in my life :))

Not long after, the Shoreditch kids wearing the uniform of SHOREDITCH FOOTBALL CLUB have started to mushroom on the road. Skinny jeans, funky hair cuts, trainers, tartan slim fit shirts... It's like a uniform isn't it?I can wear the same uniform to fit in, can't I?

Eventually I gave up seeing the second flat and stopped my fight against technology and ended up in a mobile shop to get a Blackberry.

Lessons to learn:
- you can't fight against technology!
- asking address trend is over!
- if you dump your bf who adores you and knows London very well, you have to deal with everything on your own!
- Day 1 of flat searching can fail.

My hilarious job interview

At 08:10 miss London correspondent, miss financial princess is in central London searching for a bloody address, market place number 13. Where the hell is this market place? Is it like a market place really? Like Broadway market, local food, amateur singers on the street? Not very West London type though...

Who told me to sell my lovely iphone? I miss you my iphone... I miss lots of things lately... I miss him, and him and him and the other one, and the one before that one... All the good things in my life have left me behind and gone with the wind... The wind of change, my favourite one. (by Scorpions)

Market place number 13. Mmmmmmmarket place numberrrr... All the annoying things in this world begin with M. Don't they? M's usually become annoying if you repeat them too often.
Hey I heard a whistle!... From "the wind of change" playing inside me? Not really. This one was from the cleaner man behind me. The thing is when I get lost, there is always an African origin cleaner is up there to help me. A girl with widened Mediterranean eyes with plenty of question marks in it. How bad to be that transparent in the eyes, they always know how much I hate people, or how much I love them or care for them just by looking into my eyes...

- Good morning Kuu--(silence)Qbra! (Yes bitch it is my name, cooler than yours :)
- We have another task for you today, you have 40mins please help yourself with the laptop and word processor and email it back. Good luck!

Another idiotic member of this place is landing NYC in 40 minutes, he needs a good restaurant for Friday evening, equivalent to Scott's, Ciprioni and Hakkasa in London. Scott's? He has money but no soul then!?

After 40 boring minutes and HR interview which I had 1,000 of them in Istanbul when I was only 22 and eventually time for the actual presentation that I prepared the night before with sleepy eyes...

The manager lady: All right Kubra, would you like to start from Rome mission?
Me : Errm.. Yes. (Sipped my English tea with milk to wet my lips)

The story is : There is a member who wants to take his girlfriend to Rome for a romantic weekend and he is planing to propose her. He is asking for suggestion where and how to propose, what restaurants to take her etc. BEST PERSON TO ASK ABOUT ROMANCE LOL!

After acting 10 minutes (acting is my job), drawing philosophical conclusions about romance, Rome and love and importance of customer services bloody blah blah... I noticed that I was driving myself crazy with my acting. And finally Q&A:

The manager lady: What if he loses the bag that he put the ring in it in the airport?
Me: The ring, you mean the engagement ring?
The manager lady mumbles: Errm.. yes.
Me: He has to buy a new one!
The bloody manager: How would you help him? How is he going to distract the girlfriend?

I lost my temper here.

Me: Well it is his problem, isn't it?

The manager lady: !?!

What a loser, isn't he?
He doesn't know how to treat his girlfriend, asking for suggestions to propose her, he is ACTUALLY paying for this service! Get an iphone man! And moreover he is bloody losing the engagement ring and calling me to help him!

Is he going to ask for help in bed too!?!

Miliband kids

There are scenes in life that you can never forget like black-and-white pictures from 50s. It was one of them when David was clapping his younger brother Ed Miliband on the front line of the crowd at the first leadership speech.

Has anyone noticed the coctail of feelings of pride, envy, grief, defeat on David's face? It was clear as a cathedral bell though. He was a bit like Railway Children seeing their father off to jail. He seemed to me that he shut his eyes and tried to summon reserves of patience at the end of that day on his return home.

Two men; young, bright and charismatic holding the same surname and having the same blood wandering in their veins. Blood... This word becomes a fat word when it is pronounced in politics. David seemed to have a lot in mind, he was as amazed as I was at the cheap discourse of so-called socialist movement of Ed. I think using Iraq war as your main discourse stinks badly. Ed was not an MP when Labour ruled by Blair (or B-liar) voted the Iraq war. He has never been opposed to Iraq war openly until the leadership contest. At least he has never expressed his standing against the war.

How about Harriet Harman, the Miss deputy Labour leader? She was clapping Ed with passion as well. Hasn't she voted for Iraq war in Blair's cabinet? This is what exactly David asked her on the spot!

I believe making politics out of war is as cheap as making politics out of religion- just like in Turkey...

Are politicians NOT allowed to be GAY?!?

This question flashes through my mind when I read and also reported the story of William Hague today. Foreign Secretary of United Kingdom is snowed under allegations such as he is in a relationship with his aide. He shared the hotel room with him in abroad... he... blah blah blah...
I understand that he is a married man with no kids. And he has a very decent position in the Commons. But he has RIGHT to be a gay!? No? As well as he has RIGHT not to disclose it so far!? No? Why?

Why gayness is acceptable when Ricky Martin poses next to his boyfriend? Or Lady Gaga sings about her muffin in her songs? But when it comes to certain job titles it is NOT acceptable at all? Is politics something meant to be masculine? And gayness ruins this "FATHER" image? Well... I'm speechless about the country I live in honestly. I thought my country, Turkey has some stereotypes like that. It is simply because we are male-dominant society and the state is a "father" figure. The father rules the motherland in my country. Gays are usually among the artists, media industry and so. Gayness is pronounced as a swear word that we call the refree in football matches who is believed to make biased decisions. It represents a type of character which means HYPOCRISY!!! NOThing to do with sexuality.

But here in the UK, sexuality can be expressed freely (at least as far as I'm aware of). So why is this pressure on politicians? A gay cannot rule a state? What is the reason behind this? Is this because of Conservatives are in power? And they represent the values and traditions? Just like spending scandal came to light when the Labour were in power?

Well... Even where I work there are more gays then straight guys! I do not hesitate to write this because they are all express gays except one of them.

Mr Hague is married and have a lovely wife, please do not let anyone disturb him any more. He may or may not be a gay or may be bisexual, it is his privacy. Even though there is no such thing as a bisexual. Scientists say that bisexuals are on their way to gayness. But anyway, this will be a topic for another writing. What I was saying?

Hmm... So gays are everywhere, deal with it!

I love London when it's raining. Oh really?

Rain makes most cities dreadfully romantic except London...

Because London is not a city to hide. It's a stage with no holes to lurk. It has a powdered story, a made up face with lots of matte foundation on it. Its song is the noise of shoes... Shoes, shoes... Sea of shoes; every town has its own pairs. For example East London has few options: babets and hills for women and leather shoes for men. All signed by Threadneedle Street dust on their corners.
If there is nothing to hide then there is nothing to love? Certainly not. Everything has a price in this city some are written on the etiquette some are not pronounced but known by all.

First of all love and London come from the same directions however they absolutely go to opposite poles. Love is fed by probabilities just like London. London likes probabilities, forecasts and estimates... Nevertheless this city does not have any patient, it expects a result in twenty-four hours. In contrast, love is eternal, less complicated but not simple.

Second of all love is uncountable whereas London is countless. Too many options, things to worry about. Love is away from worries, it is to give happiness with or without you.

Lastly, London does not require you to have a gender. You can be something or someone tonight and wake up as another one tomorrow morning. But love traditionally emerges from two-sided male/female energy- like a two-sided sword that no one can win the game.

And I love London when it's raining because the rain removes its make-up and makes its people disperse to find a hole to hide themselves...

How to Live Your Life to the Fullest?

We are clueless about how long we will live in this world. The question is "Does it really matter how long? Or how good? How happily we live our lives?"

Time is priceless, not to steal your time here is a little test for you to check if you need to read this article till the end. If you say YES to at least one of them YES you need to read this:

- Are you watching your clock during the day?
- Do you feel exhausted, helpless, frustrated when you hear your alarm goes off in mornings?
- You don't have energy to do simple things like laundry, feeding yourself, ironing, doing your hair etc?
- You think today is a very similar day to yesterday?
- You don't feel like picking up your phone most of the time?
- Is your skin looking dull and pale?

Well if so you DO NOT enjoy your life!
Here are some tips:

- Love your job, or love someone from work this will keep you going until Friday.

- Always plan something for weekends.

- Do not stay too long in one city, plan trips- long or short trips, just TRAVEL!

- Try new things. New places mean new faces, listen different types of music, wear different style of clothes, different hair etc.

- Always smile to people whoever they are, whatever happened between you and them in the past!

- Always be the one who says Hi, always be the one who starts the conversation.

- Find a way of expressing yourself, paint, sing, dance, write... If you feel seriosly bad, cry, vomit :)) What I mean is you need to be decharged somehow.

- Whatever your job is watch daily news this will keep your mind updated.

- Always be a student. Learn a new language etc. This will give you a little goal and a challenge in life.

- Love your self, your body.

- Not always but time to time look at old photos.

- Always remember people's birthdays, always use sweet words to other people.

- Try to be away from arrogant people do NOT let them to feed their egos with your energy.

- Eat well, sleep well, dress well. But don't limit yourself, if you think that junk food will make you feel better on that day go ahead!

Enigma

I wish we could speak the richest language in this world so that I could tell you how much you mean to me... Now I have to put wings to the words to fly them higher or deeper than they actually can ever do.

No no... this is NOT another boring love letter that any boring shallow girl can write to a loved one. This is just a rain drop to wet my lips before I start to move my mouth to talk about you... You... My magnificent self. The reflection of me and my dreams. You... Tu... Sen...

You are my missing years... my teen energy... my wasted dreams, thrown away, cast away, far away...

Your enigmatic smile invaded my eyes with a victory gained unintentionally. You conquered my existence, got a life inside me, blossomed like a little primrose. You were dead before I discovered your distant self. Remember you did not have a heart to live, lungs to inhale, any tears to cry...

I don't love you at all! In the first place I made you alive, I created your self in the castles of my imagination. I lighted the candles in your jewish-asian eyes to give me pain in the most masochist way. Yes I created you to give me pain... Ignore me to the fullest with all your neglected heart!.. Please do it more. This is what I need: pain of you.

I will keep on desiring you with passion, love and hate as I did for hundred years. Because your hate is like a poison ivy feeding my love to death. My love is reborn every time you look at me pointlessly, unexpectedly, unpredictably... No wonder you enjoy so much mesmerising me and looking at my puzzled face for a while. I am puzzled with looking at my reflection on the lake! I see myself not you. My pearl... my beauty spot... good bye...

Facebook Embarrassment

Once upon a time, I used to use facebook for my evil plans to check the facebook page of my ex-boyfriend who's younger than me and who were somehow triggering my jealousy in an obsession level. It is time to confess so that it can be inspiring for other obsessed copy cats.

This idea seriously woke up the little devil who has been living inside me, my zombified self! Here is my evil plan:

Firstly, I openned a fake facebook account and put up a sexy (but not porn-like)profile picture of a latina chica. Then I started to add his friends one by one to have friends in common. If I can have friends in common he wouldn't get suspicious about this unknown girl and would add her without hesitation. I joined some groups, night club pages so that more people could add me by the time. I needed my fake account to look as natural as possible. Then, I turned this latina chica to a good-looking hot man's facebook account. I changed the profile picture and name. I put a former Mr.Turkey's pictures (somehow I managed to find his daily pictures not professional ones) and started to send friend requests to his female friends. They were so cool with adding a random guy on facebook though... The plan worked.

Then I turned it to the hot girl's account again (I was in psychosis now with a split personality!) And finally added my dear victim poor boyfriend. Time to lie in ambush :) He then accepted my friend request from this unknown girl who has 18 friends in common! Goddammit! The victory invaded my jealous self!!! He is a bastard adding random hot girls on a social networking site for God knows what!

Well he deleted this fake friend few times by guessing it was me messing with his account afterwards. I promised him not to act like a teenager(!) anymore, apologised him, deleted this account blah blah blah...

As Gaga says: "Trust is like a mirror you can fix it but you can still see the crack on motherfucker reflection!"

Months later on his birthday I wanted to check his wall from my fake account to see if he is hiding anything from me. (I can't even remember the exact reason) Then I left my fake account logged in. Some time later wanted to wish happy birthday to him and wrote a nice poetry on his wall. Two minutes later I noticed that Mr.Turkey with his hot profile picture wrote these birthday wishes on his wall!!! Because I forgot to change the account to mine lol

What the fuck I was going to do now?!? Everything messed up like a spaghetti!!! I deleted them all. And wrote a simple happy birthday message from my own account. But I missed a fact that whatever the hell you write on facebook people receive an email notification.

On next day my man was being so sarcastic about my fake facebook accounts.
He said: "I thought you deleted this stupid account ages ago."

Me: "WHAT?"

He: "I got your birthday wishes thank you"

Me (still resisting): "What are you talking about?"

He smiled then we started to burst out laughing for hours... at the fun, embarrassment, passion, innocence and jealousy of this big hearted little girl living inside me...