14
“Gap years are just an excuse to avoid the responsibilities of real life.” Seriously! I’d been chained up to school for thirteen years and he wanted me to be chained up to adulthood for the rest of my life! So old school. I think he didn’t want me to go because he would miss me but you’d never catch the stiff upper lip brigade talking about emotions.
Of course it’s lonely here and I have a crappy job temping and London is freezing and raining. I spend a lot of weekends curled up with a book. I’ve been trying to avoid the Aussie bars and the Aussie Kangaroo steak eateries and the Aussie Labour Day BBQ in the park where it’s pissing down with rain and the sausages are limp. I mean I didn’t come thousands of miles to hang out with a bunch of Ockers. But the English are so… well frankly my dear they don’t really give a shit. I thought they might think I was interesting with my cute Australian accent but maybe they are just overdosed with temping Aussie girls. They are all pretty much caught up in their own worlds and they know I’ll only be there for a few weeks and then be gone again.
Like today. They are all putting on their lipstick and getting their handbags out of the drawer and I’m sitting there and one goes “Oh didn’t you get the email. It’s Marcie’s farewell. You coming?” And I guess I could go but my pride is hurt so I sit there and say, “Oh no, can’t make it, got to get this in by the deadline.”
Before I left Australia, my aunt told me that when I went overseas there would still be sky and earth and trees, like home. I didn’t really understand what she meant at the time but now I do. ‘Overseas’ has got this magical, shiny ring to it, but it’s still me I’m stuck with, and day to day life; still have to work out what time to put the alarm on to catch the tube to some boring office block or another, and have to make sure I’ve got rent money in the bank. I really didn’t get how much it would cost overseas. Saving up for six months doing admin in a real estate company before I came here didn’t really do it, pretty much just enough for my fare and a bit more. I only worked part-time, I wanted to take it easy after the HSC, all that study for a bunch of stupid exams about stuff that you’ll never use again. The cost of living here is ridiculous: food, fares, clothes, beer. And the exchange rate is not great. Dad had tried to get me to do a budget before I left, which I thought was so lame.
I yelled at him. “You think I can’t manage my own life!”