Friday 29 June 2012

I wish we didn't need wishes

I'm pretty sure one of the Goosebumps books extolled 'be careful what you wish for'- evidently I Did Not Learn. After posting yesterday's gushing swansong, I learnt that I would not in fact leave the Burgh that day- the heavens had conspired, decided that hiding the modern gospel in children's horror books was evidently not working and then opened, flooding Newcastle and showering Lancaster in mud and generally cutting off Scotland from the outside world (read: England.) So, I guess I was not the only one who needed to be taught not to make wishes; all those who have been calling for Scotland to indeed fly the nest have seen just what such a separation will do to their nation's train stations. They're just lucky they weren't on the train I finally managed to catch- I wouldn't wish that on anyone.

Yet, not for me the furrowed brow, as it means I got some extra time to fritter away with the good lady Freya, who was positively incandescent with mystery and wit. And I still managed to make it home in time to catch my sister and use up a year's worth of conversation in five hours, forty minutes, so we shan't feel cheated when I depart. So, heavens, I applaud you- I've been taught not to make idle wishes yet not suffered any real consequences for my actions- and isn't that the best and most reliable way to learn? You may have to try harder with the SNP, though.

Thursday 28 June 2012

10505 Miles


Genuinely at this moment, I don’t want to leave Edinburgh. Compounding this is the fact that if I weren’t about to cross the globe I could’ve saved myself a lot of stress and anguish this past week (I know, I know, #firstworldproblems), but the meaty heart of this lamentation stew is that Edinburgh has never seemed so uniformly charming in all my time here. As I was clearing out my flat this morning, everything took on an aura of delightfulness so potent that I nearly burst into tears upon finding a note- written by an American exchange student in my first semester- telling me ‘farewell’. I swooned over finding some mementos of a show that at the time nearly killed me. I pored over posters, wept over washing baskets and cuddled a shoe; the better half of a pair where one’s ruinous, worn existence had condemned the other to garbage.
I wish I were exaggerating, but despite the tepid atmosphere and decidedly damp vibes I’m getting from her right now, I want to lie down and wrap Edinburgh around me like a blanket. This week alone I’ve said goodbye to Becky, Freya and Rik, all of whom I’ve known since Fresher’s week- Becky has never been earnestly fun, Rik so quintessentially knowledgable nor Freya so unfathomably fascinating. ALL of them will be here next year. I could bask in another year of their friendship if I weren’t sodding off down under. Of all my fresher’s week friends, only Esmond remains to bid adieu, and then I am officially alone.
But, if my heart of hearts wants to kick and scream and hold its breath and refuse to get in the car, then my mind of minds is perfectly fine with that, revving the engine, leaving now, goodbye, going to leave you behind. I KNOW this is an amazing opportunity; it will improve my employability, gain me life experience, flesh out a sadly depleted CV (I think those might all be the same thing)- and I must confess, the allure of my antipodean paramour is intoxicating. But goshdarn it, did Andy have to be so witty last night? Did Connor have to be that loveable? Did John have to be...John? I am not particularly close to any of these people, and a voice in the back of my head is yearning to plumb their depths (metaphorically, guys, in case you’re reading- this is not a love letter). And I could, if not for the fact that I’ll be 10505 miles (a pleasingly round number, don’t you agree?).
So all I can do is hope; hope that I find an Australian Andy; hope that my friends don’t change too much while I’m away; hope that my year abroad isn’t just a bullet point on my CV or a kooky story I tell my children; hope that it’s a start of a whole new life, one equally as awesome as Edinburgh seems now. I’m realistic about what will become of this blog- at best, it’ll be a curiosity wheeled out to entice future freshers to apply for exchange years. My advice to you then is this: take off the graduation goggles, and you’ll see they’re rose tinted.
P.S. Flipped a coin as to whether the title should be ‘10505 miles’ or ‘Graduation Goggles’ before realising that the former is a better title and will stop me from having to think up a ‘How I met your mother’ themed title for each post.

Saturday 23 June 2012

How I'll meet your father


My parents met in South America. Both were university graduates, working in completely different fields, who just happened to be in Arrequipa simultaneously. My dad wasn’t even meant to stay for all that long- he was meant to fix a problem then leave; six weeks, no more.
It was two years when he finally returned.
I have no idea after what amount of time he met my mother, it may well have been within those first six weeks, but in my mind it was at least half a year in to his seemingly unending sojourn. I love the arbitrarity of it- how easily they could not have met, how close I came to never existing.
This is partly why I want to meet someone in Australia- I want a great story, like my parents. And, let’s be honest, even if I meet him at a bus spotting convention held in a public library, it’ll be a great story simply because it was filmed on location on the other side of the world to where all my previous anecdotes had transpired.         
And I REALLY want to meet someone. All my female friends are sure I will; the phrase ‘aussie hunk’ has been bandied around, no doubt fuelled by Neighbors and its endless parade of speedo clad beefcake. I won’t pretend I’d say ‘ no’ if I were offered. Let’s be honest, I’d gorge myself on that beefcake.
The problem is, I think I’m expecting to meet someone, as though it were a god-given right. Sadly, I felt the same coming to uni in Edinburgh, and look how that turned out. It’s not good because it means my year will probably be a disappointment in at least one aspect, because unless I literally meet the love of my life down there, it won’t match up to the portent I’ve granted it. And the whole thing of my story beginning in the Amazon (well, technically in Peru, but can’t I have a little dramatization?) because, now, in my head, that’s what my family does. We find love in the exotic locales of the world. Nevermind that my sister met her current squeeze in Nottingham, nor that my maternal grandparents found each other in the village where Balley Kiss Angel was set.
Alack.
Of course, another reason I’d love to meet someone in Australia is that it would blow my sister’s story out of the water and automatically make me the most interesting person in my family. And it would be so romantic because I’d have a lover on the other side of the world and we’d skype all the time in fourth year and it’d be a relief from all the studying and I’d get to say my antipodean paramour because I’m pretentious like that and then I’d move back to Oz once I’d graduated and we’d live together and have so many wild adventures and then we’d get adopt a baby which I’m not sure is legal over there and then we’d get married which I’m certain is not. But we wouldn’t just stay in Australia, oh no, we’d live all over the world and I’d visit Arrequipa and find that it wasn’t quite as romantic as the public library of Wangabanga and then when I died everyone would reflect on my life and be all ‘goddamn but that man was interesting’.
Is that so much to ask?