More or less the sound of internal dilemma. I’ve been thinking about my future, you see, and this feeling I have about travelling elsewhere has finally come to a head; to the point where leaving this country for a different one has gripped my imagination. For the past few weeks, my mind has been haunted by the prospect of working in Australia and going over there for a year at least, before I get too old, as I’ve reached this edge in my life where doing what is safe is no longer kidding me.
Let’s face it: I’m not convinced that being in a job which doesn’t inspire me is how I should be spending the rest of my twenties. When I was made redundant from the Night Shift, there was this flicker of instinct urging me to go, to leave the Emerald Isle for another opportunity, but I just didn’t take it. I’m risk-adverse; I have an aversion to risk. And it’s down to the fact that leaving these pleasantly mundane yet convenient shores may result in a tragic downfall that could possibly embarrass me until the end of my life. I mean, come on, nobody wants egg on their face, not if they can help it, so if packing my bags and hitting the land of Australia should drain all my money and leave me practically penniless and homeless to boot, then whose fault is that, exactly? All mine, they would say.
And my other half isn’t as hot on the plan as me, though I wouldn’t really blame him: he’s even worse than I am when it comes to taking a risk. Since the recession struck the year he finished uni, his ability to secure any steady, meaningful employment has not been very good and he’s scared that leaving the only job he has (freelance, and only part-time, at that) could mean he might never get a job again, regardless of Australia or any other country. Many have scoffed at his lack of confidence and indecision, and have even done this in front of me, as I grit my teeth with a smile (fucking remember who you’re talking to!), but society has raised men to always believe they’ll get a job, that the woman needn’t worry, that he’ll always provide for her needs. Alas, how times have changed and so have the women, willing or no. Nowadays, you’re more likely to bump into a man being supported by his girlfriend or a partner earning way more than he does, so it’s pretty hard to ignore the source of low male esteem. Not only have the women had their fairy tales shattered by the great financial drain, but men have also lost their “purpose” in the traditional sense, and no man wants to feel like they can’t be proud or worth something.
So I’m hoping that he’ll come around, that I won’t have to leave here without him. Because I shall. I shall have to leave. I can’t stay in this place any longer. I’m done with this place and I need to move on. I have the money, but the timing… it’s always the timing! I’m supposed to finish German this summer and supplement my qualifications with yet another exam so I can further trap myself in the coffin that is “finance” – but I’m not even sure if I’ll ever come back to this country and use that qualification. I try not to revisit a place where I once lived. There’s just a sadness about it, like you’re going back in time, reversing all the progress you’ve made in your life. I know other people view such visitations differently, but I certainly don’t. I’m still twenty-something. My mind’s still tatty and shit from all the angst. I have to move on!