On Monday all that is left of my things is moved to a garage in mid-Wales, to sit still and collect dust for a year, maybe two, maybe just a week, maybe I can’t do this. Maybe I don’t want to do this any more. Maybe I’m just a little bit scared. Maybe my bones are shaking beneath my summer dress like wind chimes in the breeze. My heart is reaching so far out of my chest I feel like I’m suffocating under the weight of all of this. The uncertainty is overbearing.
In a week I move into his attic bedroom, seven days in his space with his air, with his past, his present, his future locked away but beaming at us from behind the bars, what could have been. What could still be, maybe. In two weeks I move into a house with four other girls I don’t know yet. In four months I get on a plane and move to a shared Chinese apartment with new people, new smells, new food, new words and sounds and I’m scared.
In six months I move to Australia; Sydney, Melbourne, the Gold Coast. More new, more of it all, more of what I’ve been dreaming of since I was small. And I’m scared. Today I received an email reminding me that my internship is real and approaching. I found myself scrolling through my itinerary for the onward journey, why isn’t my vegan option written down? I’m sure I double checked with the agent. Why do I feel this helpless? Like I’m being washed down a river, lost in the frothing white.
It will be okay.