Living in London | A London Life Update

Originally written and published in 2017.

For anyone who doesn't follow me on social media, or does, but hasn't noticed, I've moved to London! Yes, that's right, I've undertaken the seemingly popular Australia rite-of-passage and packed up shop in Brisbane to make the 16,000 kilometre move to the motherland of English breakfast tea, overcast days and Brexit.

I've been very quiet about the move for mainly two reasons; 1) because I've been busy learning basic life skills, such as how to work a washing machine, how to rent a house, and how to make five VERY basic dinner meals; 2) because I didn't know how to feel about moving to England, which is actually quiet ironic considering how sure of my decision I was three months ago.

I crossed the UK border on the 18th February 2019 after visiting France and Italy with my Mum and immediately started looking for a place to rent. In the coming couple of weeks, Mum and I were switching between playing tourist and sorting out my new life; one day we would be visiting Stonehenge and the next day we were viewing houses and setting up a bank account. By the 2nd March I had set up the three hardest pieces of moving abroad; I had a job, I had a bank account, and I had a room to rent.

Dad had said to me before I left home that the whole moving to the other side of the world thing probably wouldn't hit me until Mum had said goodbye to me at the airport before boarding her flight back to Brisbane, and I hate to say it, but he was completely right. After seeing Mum pass through passport control, I headed to the closest airport bathroom, sat in the cubicle and cried for an hour. The build up of emotions was partially because I was saying goodbye to my best friend and partially because I was now on my own. It finally hit me that I wasn't in Australia anymore, that I wasn't surrounded by my family, that I didn't have the comfort of the big, spacious house that I grew up in, that I didn't have the few friends I had close by, and that I didn't have the life that I was accustomed to anymore. It hit me that things had changed and it hit me that nothing would ever be the same again. I was scared because I had no idea what I had gotten myself into.

I've been here for two months now and every day things get that little bit easier; I get that little bit more comfortable and I get that little bit more settled. I'm starting to get a hang of my new job that I've come to love and completely enjoy, I've settled into my flat and I'm gradually filling my room with knick knacks that make my house feel more like my own space rather than a landlord's business venture, and I'm trying to push myself that little further everyday in terms of making friends and meeting new people (something I completely avoided at home).

Almost two months in and I don't regret anything so far. The beginning is always the hardest part and I feel like I've just passed that phase. Don't get me wrong, I have days where I just want to give up on everything, jump on a plane and go home to be with my family, but that's when I remind myself that I'm doing something that I've wanted to do for so long, and that 90% of the time, it's incredible. The other 10% sucks when it hits, but that's when you take the time to have a good cry and the get over it. I find that reminding myself that nothing at home will change and that, if it gets to a point where I find myself in a really bad place, home is just a 21 hour plane ride away.

This is my sixth week of living in London and I have no plans to go home anytime soon. I promised myself that I would give this experience six months, and right now, six months doesn't seem like enough. Not to bark up my own tree or anything like that, but I think I'm too proud of myself to give in just yet. To conclude, I'm okay, I'm happy, and I can't wait to see what the next six months bring.

Autumn in Westminster