There's No Place Like Here
Last night I cried myself to sleep - a personal first. Crying has always kept me awake in the past, usually leading to more emotional turmoil and over-thinking. I'd see movies with people crying in bed, suddenly closing their eyes and drifting off, freshly shed tears still glittering... And I'd just think about what utter bull that was. How could they sleep knowing they had a soggy pillow? Or how much snot was covering their face? Didn't they realise how uncomfortable that must be? OK, so the snot thing is just me apparently, but even if I'd spent three hours crying, I'd still have to clean up after myself before rolling over.
A little background: as of March 1st, I have been living in Canada for ten months. In May, following a brief sojourn into the US, I'll be returning home to the UK indefinitely. Up until recently, whilst I realised that eventually my time here would come to an end, it seemed too distant to bear thinking about. But since the start of the new year I've been panicking about going home. Back in 2014, the end seemed like it would never come; it seemed like I was here forever. As soon as New Year's Eve rolled around and Auld Lang Syne was being mumbled, my own countdown began. Whilst everyone else welcomed in 2015, my heart sank as I realised what it meant: I had four months left. This personal countdown is admittedly longer than the more popular one on December 31st, but it feels like the whole world has been ticking on without me.
Meeting so many new people, having made such wonderful friends - I don't regret a minute. I hope they come to the UK, and I hope to see them again. Due to my lack of direction, future, and plans, I don't know if I'll come back to live in Canada. At the moment I can see it happening, but I'm also writing this through rose-coloured lenses whilst sat in my Toronto bedroom. Even if I did decide to return, it wouldn't be for another year at least.
Which brings me onto my main concern about leaving (and the reason for last night's Pity Party): about five months ago, I met a wonderful man who changed my life. I won't start listing his traits and bragging about him here, but suffice it to say that he is one of the kindest, most supportive, encouraging people I have ever met. Recently I told him that he has changed me for the better; I'm no longer the same person I was when we first met - and I'm so unbelievably happy about that. From the beginning we both said this wasn't anything serious. I was leaving in a few months, so we'd better not get too attached. Ladies and gents, I've passed that point: I'm attached like a limpet to a rock. I don't want to leave because I don't want to leave him. At the same time, part of me resents the idea of staying behind for a relationship that is so new.
If I go home, will I be able to right all these wrongs I'm currently seeing? Maybe getting a 'career' will help, whatever the hell that is. Or at the very least, I could decide on what I want to do with my life. I'd still love to be a director, but maybe I should start doing something towards that goal, rather than just talking about it - that was one of my aims for this year, after all. Going home means I'll be able to see my family again, and I'll be able to cure this relentless homesickness for good. Or maybe once I get home, I'll just ache to come back here. I'll be caught in a constant back and forth between wanting to be here but not exactly here; to be back in the place that I've imagined and romanticised since I left it. A place that does not and can never exist.
Around and around these thoughts go in my head: how much I'll miss everyone, how much I'll miss him, what will I do, will I still talk to him, where will I go, will I ever see him again. Under this and alongside the usual fears of returning depression, a lack of funds, complete and useless ambivalence... I can feel myself beginning to crack.
Currently reading:
A little background: as of March 1st, I have been living in Canada for ten months. In May, following a brief sojourn into the US, I'll be returning home to the UK indefinitely. Up until recently, whilst I realised that eventually my time here would come to an end, it seemed too distant to bear thinking about. But since the start of the new year I've been panicking about going home. Back in 2014, the end seemed like it would never come; it seemed like I was here forever. As soon as New Year's Eve rolled around and Auld Lang Syne was being mumbled, my own countdown began. Whilst everyone else welcomed in 2015, my heart sank as I realised what it meant: I had four months left. This personal countdown is admittedly longer than the more popular one on December 31st, but it feels like the whole world has been ticking on without me.
Meeting so many new people, having made such wonderful friends - I don't regret a minute. I hope they come to the UK, and I hope to see them again. Due to my lack of direction, future, and plans, I don't know if I'll come back to live in Canada. At the moment I can see it happening, but I'm also writing this through rose-coloured lenses whilst sat in my Toronto bedroom. Even if I did decide to return, it wouldn't be for another year at least.
Which brings me onto my main concern about leaving (and the reason for last night's Pity Party): about five months ago, I met a wonderful man who changed my life. I won't start listing his traits and bragging about him here, but suffice it to say that he is one of the kindest, most supportive, encouraging people I have ever met. Recently I told him that he has changed me for the better; I'm no longer the same person I was when we first met - and I'm so unbelievably happy about that. From the beginning we both said this wasn't anything serious. I was leaving in a few months, so we'd better not get too attached. Ladies and gents, I've passed that point: I'm attached like a limpet to a rock. I don't want to leave because I don't want to leave him. At the same time, part of me resents the idea of staying behind for a relationship that is so new.
If I go home, will I be able to right all these wrongs I'm currently seeing? Maybe getting a 'career' will help, whatever the hell that is. Or at the very least, I could decide on what I want to do with my life. I'd still love to be a director, but maybe I should start doing something towards that goal, rather than just talking about it - that was one of my aims for this year, after all. Going home means I'll be able to see my family again, and I'll be able to cure this relentless homesickness for good. Or maybe once I get home, I'll just ache to come back here. I'll be caught in a constant back and forth between wanting to be here but not exactly here; to be back in the place that I've imagined and romanticised since I left it. A place that does not and can never exist.
Around and around these thoughts go in my head: how much I'll miss everyone, how much I'll miss him, what will I do, will I still talk to him, where will I go, will I ever see him again. Under this and alongside the usual fears of returning depression, a lack of funds, complete and useless ambivalence... I can feel myself beginning to crack.
Currently reading:
Poehler, A. (2014), Yes Please, Picador
McNally, D. (2011), Monsters of the Market: Zombies, Vampires and Global Capitalism, Brill Academic Publishers
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