Bradford

"Bradford’s role in life is to make every place else in the world look better in comparison, and it does this very well." ~Bill Bryson, 1995

People diss Bradford way too much.

True, it’s not as posh as London or as sophisticated as Edinburgh. It is not as lively as Liverpool or at least as busy as Manchester. There’s nothing much to do. There’s only one mall in town and it opened half a decade ago. Shops at the city center will open and then shut down quickly like thin snow on a generous British winter night. Worse, the place is just so freaking hilly! I remember before I left for UK, I met someone who asked me in which city am I staying. I said “Bradford” and the person went, “WHAAAAT?! Why Bradford?! That’s the worst place to go!”

I know Bradford does not have the most stellar reputation but is it really the worst place in UK, or England per se? I’ve been around and I swear there are a lot of places as equally boring. Aside from the big ones, English cities are really just quaint rural outposts or abandoned industrial hubs. Apart from the typical pub, Wetherspoons, Boots, and rows of charity shops, everything is the same. You’ve seen one, you’ve seen all. In fact, I dare say Bradford even has a character of its own. A Chinese restaurant ran by Pakistanis? Off-the-mill liquor and cigarette spots masquerading as Eastern European shops? And a disco club that only plays 80s to early 90s songs? We have them all! 

I would sometimes joke about Bradford being so boring I have no choice but to have a social life; but you know what, I don’t think I would have enjoyed UK that much if I didn’t stay here. I would always see Bradford with love and affection because it gave me nothing else but such. Everyone was helpful and did their best to make sure that no one is left behind. 

It is in Bradford where I met the coolest people I know: the future President; the intellectual beast with the looks of a beauty queen; the world changer; the character straight outta sitcom; the most jovial military man; the most inspiring veteran without him knowing; the sheltered kid who is a cut above the rest; the one who could control the world with the tip of her finger; the girl whose age betrays her immense talent and intellect; the wounded artist who healed himself and plans to heal the world; the voice of peace; the boy who could make the best dish out of the blandest ingredients; the part-time drunk, full-time genius; the change-maker; and the best person in the world. Now that I’m listing this, I realize the labels fit more than one person! Perhaps it’s the ignorance of what awaits us which brought us all there, but the fact that the city’s so-called forlornness did not dim our spirits is a testament that Bradford is just really what you make it out to be.

So yea, to those who can only talk smack about this place: I honestly don’t think it’s Bradford. It’s you.