Today marks my one month anniversary back in Sydney. Despite experiencing post-erasmus depression, I have to admit that it's gone by pretty fast. Whereas I was once so hard to get a hold of, I've now been jumping at every opportunity of human contact - coffee, drinks, lunch, dinner. Anything.
"I have no phone, no job and no classes. In other words no life," I would say self-pityingly to those who asked me when I was free.
My old friends had new lives. The ones that were in uni had now graduated and had full time jobs. The animals I used to party with had settled down. Friends who once had time for me were now more 'whipped' than ever.
For the first time in a long time I found myself bored. I was restless.
So I buried myself in a book by one of my favourite authors. I prepared packages and wrote handwritten letters for twelve of my overseas amigos. For more than a decade my grand mother has been asking me when I was going to see her. When on the phone to my dad she would express fear of passing away before that time would ever come. When I was younger I quite honestly told her I would visit her when I won the lotto. It became a running joke, my naivety in thinking it was that easy to win millions of dollars. I've never even won a school raffle in my life. So with my left over money I booked a trip to The Philippines. I leave in five days.
Whereas home was merely a place for sleep in between class and work in the city, I've now been spending the best part of many days there. Sit down meals with my family were rare. Now I have them everyday. And it's been nice.
I've realised who my real friends are. And as happens with time, not only does this group tend to get smaller and smaller but the characters in it change. Friends who said they couldn't wait for my return have yet to be heard from. The first person I thought I would see ended up being one of the last, and I felt, only out of obligation to the friendship we used to have. But with that said, people I didn't know a year ago and live thousands of kilometers away have proven them selves to be more genuine, more supportive and better listeners than people I've known for years in Australia.
If they're the only thing constant in my life, I've rediscovered the meaning of family. On my last European trip to Amsterdam I worried about not having enough space for all the presents I wanted to buy for my family.
"Why, how many people are you buying stuff for? I'm only getting things for my mum, dad and brother," said a friend.
I pulled out a piece of paper listing the names of aunts, uncles and cousins like a weekly grocery list. Turns out a lot of other people don't associate much with their extended family. I came back just in time for Christmas and New Year, and whereas I once hated not being able to spend such occasions with friends, I love that we make a big family fiasco out of them. When someone doesn't show up they're inquired after the rest of the night. My cousins are like brothers and sisters to me. I like that we hang out with each other. And upon booking our tickets to The Philippines, family connections I forgot existed or thought too distant were suddenly offering us places to stay, to drive us around, to be our translators and chaperones. Unlike extended families who stop talking after a quarrel, I'm glad to say hasn't happened to mine. I want my children to grow up with my cousin's children. I want my children not only to know their grandmother, but their grandmother's brothers and sisters.
I've also had time to over-think. People have asked me how many more years of uni I have left (which,
fyi, is one) - and what I want to do after. I intended using my year overseas as a time to get the travel bug out of my system. You know, while I was still young. I would then finish uni and find a job, establish for myself a career in the advertising industry, marry, have kids, and be merry. But now that I've come back, I don't want to do anything else but learn more languages and travel. Some people have suggested doing both, but business trips don't exactly leave you with much time to explore and experience the culture. The most 'successful' people I've met have also been the most miserable. I see them on the train in their fancy suits on their laptops - and they're not even in the office yet. I listen to friends bitch about their bosses, of feeling a lack of self-worth and purpose. The happiest people I've met work 'ordinary' jobs - working at a hostel in Granada, Spain; serving ice cream in Paros, Greece; running a university cafeteria in Logrono; Spain. I had my life planned out, albeit roughly, and now I don't know what to do. I work myself anxious thinking about it.
Even though I've never failed a class I get scared that this year I might, and that I'll be stuck at uni longer than expected. I get scared that I'll never find a job in communications - for numerous reasons. Like for not having a prestigious enough education, for not coming from a more prestigious family, for not living in a more prestigious area. For not being white. For being a woman. For not having enough previous experience when I literally couldn't work unpaid internships because I had to help my family. Or that I'll get my dream job but end up hating it. Or that I'll get my dream job but it will require my own transport and how I don't have my license because I chose a degree that required me to live overseas for a year on my own money, and the very degree I originally thought would give me a cutting edge has instead fucked me over.
Everyone around me is professing their everlasting love on Facebook, along with getting married, having babies and buying houses with their spouses. As for me I don't even know what's going on with my love life.
So now that I've verbalised my distress (and congratulations to those of you who've made it this far), I'm off to try and channel this energy in positive ways, to challenge myself and overcome everyone's worst enemy: personal doubt.
Love, Noeline
xox
