Rester, Partir.

I cannot stand the thought of being the one who stays. It makes me physically sick to my stomach, staring at my new passport in its brand new peach-coloured Ted Baker passport holder that says “Fly me to the moon” in script across the front. Hell, if all I needed to get to the moon was a passport, I’d be there as soon as I could get a flight.

But I am so tired of people leaving when I want to be the one who leaves.

My Instagram right now is so full of throwbacks to when I was living my most perfect life. I don’t post things that happen now. I spend all my time thinking about where I’d rather be and I know that’s so counterproductive and not healthy but I can’t help it. And these final months are going to be the worst because it’s so close and yet so far. And there’s still that final hurdle to get over which is the biggest, most stressful one.

I feel like all I’ve done is wait to leave. All I will do until I go is wait to leave. And I cannot wait until I am the one that people are making time to say goodbye to me before I jet off to my next spot.

It’s so frustrating when I see people with these opportunities to go places and they don’t appreciate it. They live for the Instagram posts they could get likes on or they hem and haw and drag their feet through their departure. If someone offered me a one way ticket to Europe, departing tomorrow at 9.00am? Goodbye. I’m packing now and saying my goodbyes via phone and FaceTime.

I am an under-watered plant planted in too shallow of soil. I refuse to take root here. I refuse to grow. And I’m waiting until I am carried on a breeze to where I am supposed to be.

 

Siren Song

“I understand why you are suddenly so drawn to mermaids,” she says to me at 12.30am in the kitchen. There is a sweet grey kitten curled up in a pile of mail on the countertop and I am blinking back tears. I’m tired, I miss him, I’ve been feeling his energy all day and I just want to sleep.

“You do? Because I do not get it. I just don’t get it. I was never into The Little Mermaid, I was always more into Beauty and the Beast, and have you ever noticed that Prince Adam is a ginger in human form? Not like a ginger ginger but his hair is definitely reddish.”

“Well, it makes so much sense,” she replies, swiftly cutting me off and stirring the pot boiling on the stove. “Mermaids are traditionally separated from the ones they love by, literally, an ocean. They represent freedom. They can traverse the entire ocean in literally one second.”

“One second?” I ask, tracing every movement of the grey kitten with my eyes. She turns her large green orbs onto me and narrows them, as if to say “Pay attention, little miss.”

“Yeah, one second. Also, they can snap their fingers and instantly be in any ocean in the world. But it’s that freedom, that separation by an ocean, that makes you identify with mermaids so strongly.”

I think for a moment, picturing throwing myself into the ocean and powering across the sea in three thrusts of my tail. I imagine washing ashore on a pebbled beach with the sounds of aggressive seagulls and screams from the pier pounding in my ears. The smell of fish and chips and 99 ice cream fills my nose. I wipe the water from my face and cradle him in my arms in the shallows, crooning a siren song into his ear that mirrors the melody of his own heartbeat.

“I never thought of it like that,” I answer, as the pounding of the waves in my own heartbeat fills my ears. I use my tail as a brace, curl him in my arms and hold on as the tide drags in and out.