Last summer, I was saying all my goodbyes to Exeter, to my friends, to my teary-eyed parents at the airport. Yet the fact that those goodbyes would precede a whole year without them did not hit me until that plane took off. Sitting there, opening good luck cards that my friends told me to save for the journey, it dawned on me that in 24 hours I would be in Sydney. I would have to start afresh, build my own community. I started to doubt whether I could do it on my own.
Here, the first lesson I learnt was that I was not on my own. Like the first day of university, everyone at my orientation day at University of New South Wales was in the same boat. Yes, a lot of making new friends is about having awkward and generic conversations – “what do you study”, “where are you from”, a half-hearted “oh, that sounds cool” to literally anything. In the end, one of my best mates from Sydney was a girl from my class I spoke to six months into my year abroad. I didn’t just give up on making friends after the initial few weeks. I’m back home now but we still get on like a house on fire when I give her the occasional bell.
To the contrary, the second lesson I learnt was that I was on my own. Although I had my Aussie friends to hang out with, I couldn’t do that every time I felt lonely or homesick. Often, when I felt that way I had to deal with it on my own. Sydney was a gorgeous distraction. Making the most of my proximity to the beach, walking through Hyde Park or window-shopping in the city, there was always a way to keep my mind off things when it got overwhelming. Sometimes, the beautiful sights brought with it a sense of guilt – why am I thinking of home when I get to call this place home?
At worst, I had to look after myself when I felt low or missed home. At best, it gave me the confidence to go and do whatever I want, whenever I want.
I soon realised that what I was feeling was in fact a universal experience. My friend told me she never felt so British until she moved to Galicia in Spain for her year abroad. My Northern housemate would always talk about wanting to bring her dad to Australia so that she could share this experience with him. I started to accept that what I was feeling was inevitable and necessary in making me into a stronger person.
The whole independence thing is a blessing and a curse. At worst, I had to look after myself when I felt low or missed home. At best, it gave me the confidence to go and do whatever I want, whenever I want. On a solo trip to Tasmania I did exactly that. I hiked through the mountains in 30 degrees heat. I treated myself to Tasmanian oysters and wine at noon. I wandered aimlessly through town with my music in, and took refuge in a cosy Japanese place for dinner when it started to rain. Not once did I have to check in with anyone else, or wished I wasn’t on my own.
When it came to saying my goodbyes, leaving Australia wasn’t as upsetting as I thought it would be. I knew that I would be back and that the people I met would still be in touch. In some corner of Eastern Sydney, what felt like a sunnier parallel universe where everyone still speaks English continues to exist. It’s not going anywhere. The same goes for England. It feels the same as when I left it a year ago. That sense of attachment to a place can be made as long as you nurture it, and there’s consolation in knowing that I have more than one home now.
