Us

"You'd be great in a hostel."

I wad told this today by someone I consider one of my closest friends. And six months ago I would have agreed with her wholeheartedly and without hesitation. But right now I'm not as sure.

It's not that I've changed drastically. If you'd asked some of my closest friends who and what I was six months ago I expect (or at least hope) you would have got some of the following answers:
Someone who is ridiculous; who cares little for the opinions of the general public; who is willing to wear her pyjamas in everyday life; who is casual; who will day drink with me; who will say yes.
I would like to think the same phrases still apply. It's just I think they apply in new ways.

A person's public identity is a strange and frail thing, because it relies so heavily on other peoples' perceptions. Last week I turned some phrases that in Australia would have warranted little more than a wry smile or a sarcastic return comment, but here made people look twice at me, so seemingly out of character they were. And the reactions of my friends made me think: who exactly am I here?

When I left home I left behind a series of complex and often interrelated friendships that had taken me the better part of 21 years to build. Of course it's unrealistic to expect such a network to be replicated or even challenged in a mere six months. Still, I would like to think at least some of the people who I've met here have made a significant impact on my life, and vice versa. But how can that be when every day I come home exhausted from trying to be someone I think people would rather I be?

I liked myself in Australia. It took a long time, but I did. And I like myself here. But I have much less conviction here, because I'm not sure what my London friends will think of me if I start saying and acting the way I did at home. Will they like me? Will they understand me? It sounds patronising and I hate, it but I miss having friends who speak English as a first language the same way they miss speaking Spanish or Finish or Swedish on a regular basis.

But really the language issue is just a front. What I'm really worried about is that they wont like me. I admit there are a lot of things about myself that may not be to everyone's taste, but for the most part these are the things that define me, that I'm happy about. And I love living in London with the people I've met. Honestly, I have no intention of moving home anytime soon (or anytime at all, if possible). Everyone I speak to back home marvels at how happy and healthy I seem.

The thing is, whatever I use as an excuse - my self image issues, my less-than-ideal self esteem, the language differences between me and my friends - in the end it all boils down to one thing: what if they don't like me? Because I am who I am now. People may not like me, but I'm a lot less likely to change because of somebody else's opinion. And that's the scariest thing I've ever had to face.

Halfway Home

I've been trying to remember how long it took before uni felt like home to me when I first moved there.

This is a pointless exercise on two fronts. One, because moving away for uni was completely different to moving across the globe for shits'n'gigs, and two because thinking of uni is in itself a destructive behaviour at this point in time.

For the past week or so I have been brutally homesick. I would even go so far to say this bout of homesickness is worse than the original. Because there is no real reason why, three months in, I should suddenly start to long for the motherland. And while I've not been reduced to awkwardly holding back tears over the dinner table, I have had serious trouble finding the motivation to do anything other than lie in bed and watch internet re-runs of The Animals of Farthing Wood. Not to mention I had no warning for this one. It was just...BAM. Out of the blue.

Well, no. That's not strictly true. About a week ago I finally got around to telling my student liaison officer I wouldn't be attending my graduation ceremony. Those of you paying attention may notice this email was sent around the same time I decided hibernation was the best idea, like, ever.

I've obviously known I wouldn't be at grad since I decided to move to London last year. And I figured travelling trumped a testamur. But I hadn't told uni because some small part of me held out an illogical hope that maybe I'd get to do it anyway, which kind of implies I was kidding myself. So now I'm wondering: did I make the wrong choice?

On the one hand, Europe is pretty much guaranteed to be here for at least a little while longer. Grad is something I'm only going to get to do once. Even if I do another degree later on, it's not really the same. Is missing the ceremony something I'm going to seriously regret?

But then again I can't pretend that I haven't been loving being here. If I hadn't moved when I did I would never have met any of the people or done any of the things I have in the last few months.

I don't know. Right now all I want to do is basically get so drunk I forget I'm in England, which is always a bad option because it inevitably leads to my making terrible life choices (something I don't actually need any chemical help with), and also because it's depressing and shit. Nobody wants to be that person. But I still have the degree. And going to grad would have effected me for a day. I'm fairly confident moving to England will have further reaching effects.

It's not all bad, though. What I can gather from the similar experiences of other au pairs I've met here is that it takes roughly six months before London really feels like home. So I'm halfway there.