I don’t have enough power within me to
Exhale the smoke from my mouth.
This is what you
Do to me.
And the chaotic busyness
In my stomach is
It’s the feeling of something or
Digging their way down deeper and
Awkwardly trying to get to the
Where I feel just as
Empty as a vase full of
Desperately trying to
Suck in water that would give it
I move my cursor to the top right of my screen…”write“, it says. I click on it as it’s too enticing not to.
It’s Sunday and for the first time in months, I haven’t got any work to do. It’s weird. I love my job. I am writer. It sounds so lovely to say even lovelier to say out loud. I work seven days a week. I told myself today would be all about reading poetry and relaxing, but in all honesty—I am so fucking bored.
I did read poetry, dark poetry—Milk and Honey by Rupi Kaur. Her poetry is so simple, like anyone could have written it. But at the same time, it has an effect on me. Her words don’t need to be deciphered, twisted, and analysed like the long and strange poetry we were forced to read in high school. They’re straightforward, and true. Perhaps that is why they have an effect on me… that and her brave account of how badly men have treated her.
I’m home in South Africa for now, and I have almost no stress at all. It’s weird. I sit beside the ocean and write. I hear the stillness of the night, I breathe fresh air, I feel the sun on my skin. I feel reality. It’s now my business to know what everyone is getting up to in their lives—and while I couldn’t really care, it’s sometimes nice.
These are my thoughts as the day—and week—come to a close.
Have a happy week, everyone.
So many new thoughts have entered my overactive mind in the last few weeks. While I love my adventurous side (and still have a dozen more countries that I would like to see), I have this need to settle down. No, I don’t necessarily mean having kids, getting married, buying a house and investing in things. I mean, I want to find a place that I can call home. This has been all too difficult for the past few years because I’ve had to move apartments, countries and cities every 2-4 months for work or because of a lease that has ended. It’s left me somewhat bitter in that I have to pack up everything I own once again and try to make a new place “homey”. So once again, it’s been a total of 6 weeks in this new place and I have to move out. Just lovely.
When I heard the news 3 weeks ago, I frantically searched real estate websites in Barcelona and even went as far as looking at places in Cape Town and Berlin. I also thought perhaps I’d do a month-long travel through Europe. But moving cities and moving countries means yet again getting used to the area, learning the language and so on and so forth. While that is exciting, I am just not in the place right now.
I’ve been living in Barcelona now for 5 months… and I love it. I am quite sure that I am not convincing myself that I love it because I don’t feel like making a big move. When I think back on the places I have lived throughout my adult life, none feel like home… besides Barcelona. Just my luck though, that places available for March are either utterly shit or too expensive. So, in an attempt to get my ducks in a row, I’ve bought a return ticket to go home for 2 months. In this time, I hope to save my money, come back in May and get a one bedroom place. There’s just one problem with all of this…
Having broken away from life in my home country, people move on – much as the same as I have too. They’re different, I am different. And suddenly, I get the feeling as though they really couldn’t care less that I am coming home. Family and friends probably see me as a burden as I need to crash at their place and rely on them (or public transport) to get around. I hate been reverted back to the state where I rely on others. I’ve recently learned that this is the reason why I love living in a different country. I don’t want nor need the help of others. Additionally, I realised that I don’t really have any one in this entire world that gives a fuck where I am or what I am doing. Sad, but sort of freeing.
So while I will only be spending two months at home, it almost feels wrong. It feels like I’ve bought a one-way ticket to a place where I am “the baby” again, asking for help. I really should be excited but I’m just not.
After almost seven weeks in a brand new country, you would think that I would have a lot to say. In actuality, I’m struggling to find my words. The age old irony of the writer that has lost her words.
While I felt immense dread before coming to Spain, I naively had a thought that perhaps things would be different for me. Surely there is a place, a man, and a career out there in one or other country waiting for me to grab it? Sadly, Spain has proven to be quite a let down and truthfully… it’s all my fault.
I was silly to think that I could go back to ESL teaching after having experience a life as a professional writer. I fooled myself in believing that Spain would hold adventure and love for me, and that it wouldn’t matter what job I had if I was living in one of the most breathtaking countries in the world. This is one of many lies I have told myself.
I am living a lifeless life. I don’t speak the language. I have no friends. I am about to embark on a career that I don’t love while giving up on one that I do… and it’s all my fault.
I’ve taken a million steps backwards in my quest for happiness and I am overcome with guilt. I’m stuck and I don’t know how to get out without upsetting someone. Help.
I left London. I left the chaos of London. I left the disappointment of England. I left behind the love/hate relationship that I was in with the country, with the city. While I know that living there made my dreams come true, professionally, I feel as though I have failed.
Losing my job at the only company that I loved, was heartbreaking. I feel as though I had it all and now, I have nothing. The experience left me with skills that are irreplaceable and while I am still doing what I love, writing, England had a way of chewing me up and spitting me out, on many occasions. That is why I will always love and hate London.
I left it, though. “You are really living your best life,” my friends say. Truth is, I am jumping from country to country, pretending to love the adventure when in actuality, all I am searching for is love and happiness. Will I find it in Spain? I hope so.
I won’t lie – the OCD in me makes sure that I post on this blog at least once a month so that I can keep up my months in the archive list. I have missed one month, somewhere along the line, but I’m just pretending that didn’t happen.
It’s February! And after much uncertainty, I am still at my writing job in London and I am still absolutely thriving and loving it. It makes such a difference to your life when you love what you do.
I really do love that people are still reaching out to me about their worries and or concerns about moving to Korea in terms of their weight, and I am always happy to help out when possible – so keep the messages coming.
Things really are just great at the moment. I have nothing to complain about and if you know me, you’ll know that’s rare. It’s liberating to not be angry, annoyed or upset every day.
I still sometimes pinch myself to see if this is all a dream, but it’s not. I’ve made it. I couldn’t be happier with my life.
I don’t know where I’ll be in two months or two years. This place has chewed me up and spat me out on many occasions but I’ve turned around and fought back “Fuck you!” Look at me, I’ve made it. Little old me. The girl who thought she couldn’t achieve anything, zooming around with confidence and stride. Who, for the first time in her life, has people pining over her. I CAN survive anywhere and I WILL survive anywhere.