A Citizen Of The World
It seems surreal that before my 30th birthday I have lived in four different countries. Explaining where I’m from has always been a complicated affair, especially given my mixed ethnicity. Each of my homes – South Africa, New Zealand, and Canada – has contributed to who I am today. Someone once joked that I was touring the Common Wealth. If so, I have now returned to the seat of the former empire and, in another move that had me questioning my sanity, find myself in London.
I once had to endure the company of a basic bitch who said that my moving to Canada and London was nothing special and in the same breath tried to brag that she drank three glasses of whiskey every day like that was meant to impress me. Moving your entire life to a new country and starting fresh is no mean feat, let me assure you. It’s challenging and takes balls. If you attempt it you’ll never be sorry you tried even if it doesn’t turn out the way you had hoped. I was too polite to tell her to fuck off, but I wonder if she has died from cirrhosis yet.
I’m not one to wallow in self pity for very long if things don’t go my way or I’m not content with my life. I’m ambitious, like to be in control and take action. If I don’t like my life for whatever reason, I change it. Moving to a new country by myself where I know barely anyone has made me even more independent, capable and mature. There’s no one to make decisions for you, big or small. It’s up to you to make things happen and figure it out the puzzle. And the friends I’ve made from different countries are worth more than all the whiskey in the world.
My timing is also amazing. When I moved to Canada, I had no idea they were going through an economic recession. My odds of finding a job without a contact were lower than the odds of stumbling upon a mythical creature. Alas, I’ve arrived in London when the risk of a no-deal Brexit horror show looms come Halloween. It’s been a quiet summer of anxiety in the hiring sector while companies try to figure out what the hell is going on. It feels like my future is partially in the hands of Boris Johnson. God help me.
My move to Canada about five years ago definitely taught me a lot and prepared me for London. I knew exactly what I was diving in to, but moving country will still test you mentally, emotionally and physically (prepare to get sick, a lot). Even if the country you move to speaks the same language, there is a sizeable culture shock. It can be overwhelming. Everyone always talks about how exciting travel and new experiences are, and they are, but no one mentions the deep pockets of loneliness that sneak up on you quietly or strike you in the chest when you least expect. Having fun travelling as a tourist and setting up a life for the long haul in a new country are two different things.
I think I underestimated how hard it would be moving to Toronto, a place where I knew absolutely no one. I was lucky to make a small group of friends at my work, who are some of the best people I’ve ever met. It can be tough making connections, especially when you’re older. I spent many weekends roaming about the city by myself, which I was mostly fine with because I enjoy my own company, but isolation can have its disadvantages. One day in Toronto there was a huge snow storm and my door (I lived in a basement apartment) wouldn’t open because there was so much snow packed on the other side. I remember panicking as I desperately pushed on the door, calculating how much food I had in the fridge. I thought, “This is it. This is how I die. Who will notice I’m gone? Probably just my landlord if the rent becomes due.”
Your relationships with people define the place. You can live in paradise, but if you have no support network to share your highs and lows with, the road you walk might be a little less fun sometimes. No man is an island, although I do frequently half-joke about buying a remote oasis and installing a moat full of sharks with laser beams on their heads. Working in a corporate office will do that to you.
Depression is also a sneaky predator. It may feel tempting to stay in your room for days on end, safe and sound, until the shadowy, unarticulated fear in the back of your mind leaves you permanently paralysed. My advice is to fight that urge. During my first week in London it rained continually (typical). No matter, I was out and about on the tube with my boots and umbrella exploring my new city. See the sights and do everything touristy that you won’t have time for once you’re a working local. It is okay to feel out of place and your new city may not be right for you in the end, but try to appreciate the best of your surroundings.
Things are completely different this time round for me. I’m more confident, have more savings and work experience behind me, and am in a better head space. Moving to Toronto was an act of rebellion. There was no way I was going to be stuck in New Zealand forever, with my dysfunctional family in an ailing economy with terrible job prospects. This was not how I had imagined my life nor why I had studied so hard. I was getting out, determined to do better and be the master of my own fate.
After a year, I returned to New Zealand a much stronger person who demanded more from life and those around me. Toronto had not been easy for me by any means. When I thought I had reached one of my lowest points, disaster would strike again and laugh in my face. But I survived in the end and came to love that city. I had proved yet again in an absolute way that no other person or circumstance was ever going to define what I was capable of. I had direction again.
If moving to Canada felt like I was sprinting away from something, the move to London feels more like a purposeful stride forward. London was always in my long-term plans, both for my career and to travel Europe. I had been relatively content for two of my last four years in New Zealand, but deep down I’ve always felt like a big fish in a small pond. I never felt like I belonged there for a plethora of reasons. “Content” is not a garment that falls easily on my shoulders. I’m always searching for the next challenge or adventure.
Maybe I am mad to move again (my bank account certainly thinks so), but I’ve never felt happier or freer than when I’m travelling by myself. Europe has been incredible so far. And before my 35th birthday, I’m planning to add a fifth country to the list of great places I’ve been lucky enough to call home.
