Firstly, allow me to apologise for the complete blackout of updates in recent weeks. For those of you who follow my social media accounts, or are fortunate enough to be my friend, you’ll be well aware that everything has changed massively since December. After many failed attempts, fate and luck collided and I was finally taken notice of and got offered an internship. An internship, I should add, that was based in London.
I’d always been adamant that I would never move to London. I found that I liked it when I visited, but when stacked up and compared to many of the other cities I’d been to, it just wasn’t for me – too busy, too anonymous, and too expensive. While there’s no denying London is a bustling city with all kinds of things going on all the time, I had the impression that to live there would be a nightmare. It was a city of polar opposites – the high-flyers and the penny-scrapers, the rich and the poor, the us and them. Everyone that I had spoken to who had moved to London was unashamedly scraping by to live simply because that’s how you lived in London, and the whole mantra of living to work was something I never wanted to be a part of. I’d been of the idea that you should do what makes you happy; that you shouldn’t get run down by your job and have no time, money, or energy to do nothing but work.
Despite such reservations, how could I be so idiotic to turn down such a great opportunity? Not only had someone finally been impressed by what I could offer, it was a job in exactly the field that I was hoping to go into, and it involved doing work on the Eurovision Song Contest, which at this point was just an added bonus. Only a fool would turn down such a chance. And so, I accepted the offer, and started the process of making the Big Move to the Big Smoke. I was so happy that something was finally happening, and I knew that I was one of the lucky few that had managed to break down the barriers to embarking on a professional career. I’ve got my degree, I’ve done loads of travelling, and now I’ve got a job! This is it!
Occasionally there were those moments of apprehension, those flutters of self-doubt, and the creeping in of sweet nostalgic memories reminding me what I was giving up. But all of these combined didn’t add up to the potential of such an opportunity. A particularly painful part of moving was packing up all of my things into boxes and putting them in the loft at my mum’s house where I grew up. All of those memories, photos, and other silly memorabilia that had adorned my walls and bookshelves in the flats I’d lived in over the last five years, couldn’t come to London with me. There wasn’t room or reason to take them. It was as if I was packing up my personality and my story, and saying now I have to start again. Even though I still have the memories in my mind, they can no longer speak for themselves, instead their stories must be told to someone who wants to listen.
Nevertheless, I packed up the essentials that I needed for my ‘new life’, said my goodbyes, and boarded a train to London Euston with a one-way ticket. My entire life was crammed into two suitcases, a holdall, and a rucksack and it’s the beginning of the next chapter. Now, I’m finally at a stage where it’s time to get some real-world experience in the field that I studied at university, and tried for so long to get a job in. For the next three months at least, London is my home.