One-way ticket to Dubai booked.
It’s an odd feeling once you’ve made up your mind to leave your work, your home and your life behind. I imagine everyone reacts differently but, for myself, I became a washing machine of emotions – some days I was happy, some days I was sad, some days I was excited and some – okay many – days I was worried. However, I’m sure there are many people out there who have also experienced this whirling sensation of emotions and for the men out there that reacted in a similar way to me, welcome to what us girls call, a period. But this was a period on a grand scale.
The issue is, is that you have to get through what I like to call the ‘transition months.’ The time period between having made up your mind to leave and then finally leaving. The months where you realise that many of the things you are currently doing are pointless, as this isn’t your life anymore. However, lucky enough for me, I didn’t have to stay in the transition months for too long with fate’s arrow piercing me in the form of an email. An email of destiny. Okay, maybe not that dramatic but an email that asked if I could start in my new job four months earlier than previously planned. And, as I sat there, in my second lockdown, squeezing my fifty sixth glass of rain water out of my running leggings after embracing my one walk of freedom a day in the glorious Scottish weather, I thought to myself….which way to check in?
And suddenly, the transition months changed to transition month. 30 days. 30 days until I switched from the murky streets of Glasgow to the golden dunes of Dubai. But that also meant I now only had 30 days for all of my life admin – and there was a lot of it. There was the car to sell. A replacement roommate to source. A new curriculum to learn. A life to be packed. And finally, goodbyes to be said. Oh – and the consumption of as many Scottish foods as possible while trying to get bikini body ready (now there’s a paradox if I ever heard one).
Yet, somehow, it all came together. The car was sold, the roommate was sourced, the new curriculum learned, the life packed and the Irn Bru was drunk as a re-fuel source while at the gym. That left just one last task – the goodbyes. And it was the goodbyes that proved to be the biggest life admin issue. However, I don’t think it would matter if you had a month, two months, six months or even a year as the goodbyes are always going to be the hardest part, especially with the added difficulty of lockdown – unless you’re Boris and you just throw a massive illegal lockdown party on the reg; in which case it’s pretty easy to get all your mates in the one spot to say goodbye. Unfortunately, I’m not a fat balding prick, so I did not have that luxury.
My first goodbyes began at work. Like I said before, my colleagues weren’t just my colleagues, they were the combination of the good company, good wine and good welcome – a combination that Henry VIII states in Shakespeare’s play makes good people. They were the best.
On my last day, with lockdown rules preventing us from sharing food, they each brought in their own Michelin Star inspired meal of a crisp sandwich in homage to my mature and staple lunch choice that I ate, without shame, every day for three years beside them. It was the sweetest – and the saltiest – goodbye they could have ever given me. And as I sat there, eating my ham and cheese and onion crisp sandwich, I felt very grateful for the people that had transformed me into the teacher I am today. I genuinely believe, still to this day, that they are the best English department I will ever work with – or at least the most knowledgeable on Harry Potter trivia; Ravenclaw Young Team for life.
However, as a teacher, it isn’t just the colleagues that you have to say goodbye to but the pupils as well. It goes without saying, that as a secondary teacher, you become accustomed to the yearly goodbye to students that have risen through the ranks and are now ready to embark on their next stage of life yet, it feels different when you are leaving them. I felt like I was committing an injustice, abandoning my pupils for my own selfishness. But, as my exam certificate classes brought in onion after onion after onion – a homage to my favourite poem ‘Valentine,’ in which the reader compares love to an onion (and no, the poet isn’t Shrek) – I realised they would be fine. Well, fine enough that they at least understood the concept of an extended metaphor. I had played my part in their life.
So, as I left with enough onions to fill a ball pit, I felt sad but relieved at my first set of goodbyes being complete. It was the next set that would cause the water works (but at least I now had several thousand onions at hand to blame for ‘something being in my eye’).
These goodbyes belonged to my family and friends. I believe that if you have good enough friends they become like family, and if you have good enough family they become like friends; luckily, I had both. And unluckily I had both, because how could I ever say goodbye to these people? But, what you come to realise, is, that once you move away, if you have genuine bonds and real relationships well, you never really say goodbye. You simply say, see you later. And as I met with friend after friend, I realised the ones that would be permanent goodbyes and the ones that would not. It’s sad, yes, but really, you are just speeding up the inevitable ending. It was a relationship that would have fizzed out sooner or later. So, as I organised my friends into full fat coke and diet coke categories, it became easier to come to terms with saying goodbye.
Therefore, as I sat my last night in Scotland, with my nearest and dearest while my step-dad played the accordion – tell me you’re Scottish, without telling me you’re Scottish, eh? – I felt happy. Happy that I had so many wonderful people in my life that made saying goodbye hard. But also happy that I had so many wonderful people in my life as it meant that I knew I wasn’t really saying goodbye (although it may have been wise to if I plan on keeping my liver beyond the age of thirty).
This meant that my last evening with them all was actually an evening of joy as opposed to one of sadness. We did cry, but we also hugged, laughed, did forward rolls in the living room (because, why not?) and all took bets on how long it would be before I was arrested in Dubai – my mum said one month, for anyone that is interested. It was the best. And, the next day, as I sat on the train waving at all their ugly faces from my seat, I felt content that I had said everything that needed to be said in those final moments with each of my loved ones. My goodbyes were done and my hellos were ready to begin.
Amazing! Excited to read all about the hellos. Can’t wait for your best friend to visit you 3 weeks after you moved out!!