Become an Illegal Immigrant - Sign Up Here
by Liv | Published on July 21st, 2009, 12:17 pm | Life
Most people who know me, and well... let's face it... most everyone does (I'm a social slut) in some form or fashion... knows that I've had a oddly strange urge, a fascination if you will with finding a job and moving to Cardiff after visiting it. Now lets skip the "It's not rational", "Why would you want to do that" bit, and just accept that Liv has a bit of mental retardation, and she's infatuated with the idea despite the fact no normal person including those who live there would. Don't ask me why I'm the way I am, I just am. "You arze what you arze" as Popeye might say. It's gotten so bad that I now introduce myself upon meeting people for the first time as "Hiya, I'm Liv from Greensboring? Oh and I'm looking for a job in Wales, know of any?" "Not that I'd know what to do with it if the offer ever came." I mean, before the whole "Great Recession" last fall I had an open and active job-offer in London doing programming. After speaking with the family about the prospects and realizing that I really never thought I'd get a call, we decided to back down for a moment and let the kid's finish out their year at school which we had already paid deeply into with Ren's tuition. Well, a few months later the job market everywhere went to hell, and to be honest I haven't tried since. But something got me thinking, something on our last trip to London... something I thought it was worth blogging about here:
So we're in the Borough Market, something which has become a bit of a routine as we often pick up groceries for future meals. On our way out we decide to get some glasses wine which I had been regretfully eyeing since our first trip in 2008. It's actually like a hot cider wine, and it's good. We go up to the lady who is watching the stall and whose back is turned, and catch her off guard with a question. Startled she turns around and begins answering our question in perfect American English, then about half way through the sentence she switches to a British accent. "She says that'll be two doll... I mean pounds..." and I smirk as I dig through my change for the coin. It was at that very moment I realized something. Illegal Immigrants aren't just dirt-poor Mexicans jumping the U.S. border to steal hubcaps and eat out of trashcans. Here was an attractive "normal" American. Not only an American, but an American with a bad British accent, who I surmise was living in Britain illegally. It makes too much sense. The Borough Market. You don't need an employer, just some goods, which you sell to make money and if you keep your head down so to survive the 10 some odd years for your ILR. This got my mind really whirling. Apparently a) I'm not the only one with this apparant fascination (and) b) others have gone to great lengths to succeed.
So I started to pay attention, and while in Camden and Covent Garden Market, I notice quite a few Americans working. A normal person wouldn't notice it if they weren't looking for it, but stand and watch people long enough you'll discover 1 or 2. It soon became a game to me. I also began to notice a lot off people from what I would imagine were other immigratory beginnings. Back at home, in middle-class America most families are living happily, some quite angry at the Mexicans who have come to steal their jobs. The idea of the typical American sacrificing their pretty little life for something much less, would make most cringe. For a few the chance to live a dream, it's an adventure. I've really got to respect it.
I guess the one thing I learned out of it, is if you want something bad enough... there's a way to do it. Sure, if I wanted to be there right now... I could. I could probably find some under the table work, and smuggle my whole family in. So the question is if I can, then why don't I? Why don't I just say the hell with it and go sell hot wine in the middle of Cardiff?
I'm not sure I really know. Perhaps it's fear. Perhaps I hope that tide will turn and I'll make it the right way? Perhaps I'm hoping I'll outgrow this childish way and grow up. No not really... I tried that growing up thing, and that never worked. Maybe I'm not so much different then everyone else. Maybe each of us is searching for our Shangri La, our Cardiff. I mean even Bono hasn't found what he's looking for? Maybe it's more of a human thing to be that illegal immigrant. To seek (and ye shall find), To go (boldly where no man has gone)... perhaps that what it feel like to be alive, and everyone else including myself (if I don't act) is dead? For most of mankind's existence we've been nomadic, and now we're all happy to sit in our boxes of glass and wood and stare out at the world as we eat ourselves to death in front of giant televisions.... In fact, I will go as far to say that "Hot Wine Girl" embraced her true human desires, to become migratory, to fullfill her nomadic habit ingrained in each one of our human DNAs and truly is living, and giving into her desires. That's romantic. Sign me up.
