"I don't think we're in Kansas anymore, Toto."My Big Move has gone rather swimmingly so far. My flat is dinky but very cute, and I have a lovely flatmate who shares my love for carbohydrates and special-offer wine. The city is beautiful, especially now winter is properly kicking in, and every time I walk out my front door I see something else new that makes me smile. And my masters degree course, my raison d'etre (!) has so far proven to be highly enjoyable, with the unexpected bonus of being in a group of genuinely nice, fun people.
The only blip is my failure in finding employment; apparently, my 10+ years of various part-time jobs aren't up to high standards this city expects from potential employees. Having applied for countless positions in all areas of employment, I have so far had only one interview, and didn't get the position due to my inflexibility to working Christmas Eve and Boxing Day. When 'home' is in a different country, it's not so easy to work these festive shifts if you want to have anything resembling a Christmas...
Being unemployed sucks, but I have come to realise that it's not the lack of vodka money that bothers me the most. It's the unsettling feeling of 'not belonging here'; if I'm not working, it's like I'm not really part of the city, the daily grind, the bustle, the hundreds of faces you see every day in cafes, supermarkets, Topshop, driving the buses I ride home from uni. And because I'm not contributing, not doing my fair share of the slog, I don't really feel like I'm properly one of 'them'. But I don't live in the same country as my family and friends anymore, so I'm not really one of 'them', either. When I'm home, everyone's on their best behaviour; the nights out with my friends don't have the same carefree, go-with-the-flow essence that I always loved so much, largely due to the fact that these nights out require regimented planning to ensure everyone's schedules are cleared. I am in a no man's land, stuck somewhere in the middle of the Belfast-Stranraer ferry line, not quite at home but not quite Scottish yet either.
But I have two options: I can either choose to wallow in a sea of self-pity, moaning about being lonely and broke and just being a general misery. Or I can suck it up, realise how very lucky I am to have this opportunity; to have the fantastic family I have with their never-ending support, my lovely mum who (god love her) always lets me whinge and moan and then finds a way to cheer me up, usually by letting me talk to the dog down the phone. Or my dad, who's main concern is making sure I always have a few quid to buy medicinal wine, heaven forbid I don't drink my feelings, I am beginning to suspect the shame of being Northern Irish and having a sober daughter would be too much. Thankfully, there is no danger of that happening anytime soon.
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