Becoming somebody else

When I was a child, I fell in love with the idea of living in New York, renting an apartment on my own, enjoying every single corner of the city as if there was no tomorrow, and working as a journalist in a paper or magazine.

Twenty years later, I found myself living in Sydney with my lovely boyfriend, not going out as much as I thought I would, and struggling to get a job in administration. Probably, you would ask yourself, ‘What happened?’ The answer is simple: life.

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The decision to move countries didn’t occur to me overnight, nor was it an easy choice for me. A lot of tears were cried, a lot of sleepless nights gone. Most of my inner circle believed I was doing the right thing, starting over, searching for new opportunities, and discovering the world. Some others thought that I was insane: ‘You have no idea of what you are doing or how hard it is to live in a country you don’t know. You are crazy’. And maybe I was, maybe I still am.

Surprisingly for them, life in Sydney couldn’t be better. I would lie if I said that I came here with certain expectations because from the moment I stepped into Australia, I let myself enjoy as much as possible without overthinking everything as usual. That is how, during my first two weeks living in the city, I made some friends, met my actual partner, found a lovely room to rent with a family (whom I still visit and talk to), and started working in a production warehouse (which I totally hated).

In retrospect, it seems to me that, yes, I’m a bit crazy for leaving everything and everyone behind to move to a country that I had never been to before, where I knew no one and very little of the land. Even so, I can say now that it was the right choice to make at the right time.

It is crazy to think how a one-way ticket to an unknown place for me changed who I am and challenged me in the best and worst ways you can imagine. Some days are harder than others when I start missing ‘home’ and my people. But it took me some months to realise that ‘home’ would never mean the same for me, because ‘home’ is where I come from, but also where my heart is. It’s not easy to call a house that you are renting your home, you will never know when you will need to move houses again. It’s like you never find the ultimate destination, and you can’t stop stressing about the idea of moving again.

Going back to the idea of how much somebody can change when moving countries, I will tell you that it depends on that person. For me, even if I feel the same as always, I can notice some differences with my past self. It’s like a snake when it sheds its skin. I’m the same but different. Not better or worse, just changed.

Some mutations were necessary to survive, like learning how to cook, how to use the public services, or how to adapt to a job position I would have never thought I would have (like being in poultry farms, or being a pick packer in a warehouse). I guess all that work made me more resilient, and I’m grateful for all those opportunities.

However, other interests and skills were wanted by me like picking a plant that I liked on Bunnings and keep it alive, trying new recipes, deciding that I wanted to change my clothing style a little bit and finding a new one, discovering my to-go winnery, and deciding who would be that person you can count on If you have an emergency or just need someone to talk face to face.

Starting over takes a lot of decisions and thinking. You start reconsidering your worth and how you would act in some situations, you have the freedom to do something that your old self would have never done. You decide what kind of people you want as your friends, if you want to keep your old hobbies, find new ones, or add some others.

I don’t believe that a person who emigrates can still be the same. There are too many feelings and new experiences just to learn nothing and stay the same. A lot of self-discovering and growing, mostly for the best. As an example, look at me, I changed New York for Sydney, and I wouldn’t change this city for any other.