Life in Ink and Footsteps

I was sitting at the airport, my stomach in my throat, nerves getting the best of me. Am I going to be sick? Vomit, pass out, or just plain old chicken out? Or am I going to make it? Can I even do it?

Who knows what would have happened if I had the option to leave if I wasn’t worried about the money I had paid for this opportunity. Who knows where I would be sitting today? Would I have married my old boyfriend? Started a family? Become a teacher or had a comfortable job in the archives, studying medieval texts and scripts? It’s peculiar to ponder things that might have been. I could have even been dead—maybe from a car accident or a fall down the stairs. An allergic reaction? Hit by a tree? Struck by lightning? The options are endless.

But I stayed. I waited. I’m happy to report that no passing out or vomiting took place. I waited some more. And then I sat in the plane and flew across the ocean to start my new life. It was only the second time I had flown. A few weeks prior, I had made a weekend trip to London to know what to expect so that I wouldn’t be so worried. Of course, that measly hour-and-a-half flight was hardly comparable to the 12-hour journey in the massive, crowded plane. But that was an adventure on its own. I’ll save that story for a different time.

Somewhere above the Atlantic, to stave off the panic attack from actually leaving and making this massive leap—and to avoid a claustrophobic attack from being squished in the middle seat of the middle row between two strangers— I took out my new notebook, a gift from my best friend, and started writing. For some unknown reason, I started writing in English, not caring about the fact that my abilities were staggeringly limited. Actually, that’s not true—the reason is absolutely known. I wanted to see the difference in my language skills over time. Kind of boring, I know. I could say I wanted to connect with the land, people, and culture better through the language, to gain deeper insight into their differences and the way they think. But that would be a big, fat lie. Anyway, this habit stuck with me—writing my diaries in English. Later on, that habit found a whole new purpose: a nosy mother. No need to hide the diaries anymore if she can’t understand them anyway. Remember, kids, this was before Google Translate was a thing, let alone translating pictures. At least where I’m from. Heck, for my mother, it’s still not a possibility even now.

But back to the crowded plane and uncomfortable writing on the tiny, wiggly desk. I poured my worried little heart out—all my fears and expectations, all my hopes and dreams.

This blog is a retelling of all of that.

So, heads up, Girl. Your new life is starting. Welcome to Long Island, New York. Your new job? Au pair.

What did you expect? Of course, it’s an au pair. What else were all the girls from all over the world in their early twenties going to do in the States?

PS: I’ll be sharing songs I listened to during that year because Spotify’s yearly playlists of my most-listened-to tracks are one of my favorite things ever. Since I’m diving into this walk down memory lane, I might as well go all in!

To All Of You – Syd Matters