Sunday, 30 April 2017

Five things I'm going to miss

Buggering off to another country comes with its fair share of stresses and worries. Have I got everything packed? Am I going to run into any trouble during the trip there? Will I make any friends there, or spend the entire trip moping in a corner eating instant noodles and spam? Does any of it, cosmically speaking, matter?

Well, I'm not entirely sure I'm qualified to answer that last question, and lack the foresight to answer the rest of them, but I can at least think on some of the things that I'm going to miss, because ruminating on them is totally gonna make things easier, right? Here are five things about living in the UK that I'm gonna miss. Probably.

Wednesday, 19 April 2017

The end.

I quit my job today. Strolled into the office as normal, smart shirt and smart-ish boots, gave the usual greetings to the usual people, before walking up to my manager's desk and handing her my notice.

I spent the entire time trying to appear blasé and casual about the whole thing, as though it was no big deal - just another Wednesday. No-one bought it of course; I've been planning this for months.

Around about November 2016, I was feeling like shit. I'd just finished my probationary period as a customer services agent in a call centre - my job was to be shouted at by people who weren't happy with having to pay for their car insurance. It was a weird time - I'm 23, technically a grown-up, but like most people I feel like I'm faking it. I got the job through a friend, who handed my CV in to the company a year beforehand, where doubtless it slipped to the bottom of a filing cabinet until all the good people left for bigger and better things. Honestly, it's been a good job, despite the shouting. The pay is okay, I work with some absolutely lovely people, and they'll find the flimsiest excuses to have a buffet. But it scared me. It didn't feel like me. I worried if I stayed there, then one day I'd wake up forty years old with no idea what happened.

So I decided to leave. I've spent my entire life reading about amazing, far-off places, about travellers in antique lands, about heroes and villains and some rather fantastic cowards. And I always felt a sense of envy, of longing - I wanted an adventure. Where was my wardrobe leading to a magical land? How come my acceptance letter to wizarding school never arrived? Why didn't a wizard come knocking on my door and whisk me off to fight a dragon?

Well, bugger that for a lark; if I'm not going to get dragged into an adventure, I'm damn well going to make my own. I'm leaving for Australia next month, taking a working holiday. And after that, who knows?