Sonny

Apparently some people thought that this blog had run its course; that, having made it through a year since my time down under, I no longer needed the shoulder of this blog to lean on and thus could go out into the world, once more footloose and blog-free.
Since you're reading this, you might have guessed that this is not the case.
It's certainly true that I had originally intended this blog more to document the effects of reverse homesickness and the challenges presented by returning from a year living abroad, so that it might be deployed by future people in a similar situation. However, I found that I settled back into my old routine so unnervingly easily that this site quickly became just a broad-strokes substitute for my old one, the title of which no longer seemed appropriate.
Anyway, the sum of the above paragraph is that no, I do not intend to stop blogging just yet.

That being said, I was finding myself with a dearth of topics on which to discourse; I have done so little of note lately that it seemed like admitting defeat to blog about it, if you see what I mean. I didn't want to admit to you guys how much life had stalled for me recently. But then I was taking an evening constitutional and the song below came up on my randomised music player, and a blogpost planned itself out before my eyes, including this incredibly wordy preamble.

Now, if you clicked on the video above, you'll be aware that that is possibly the saddest song ever written, and may now be fearful of the content to come, but I assure you, I was inspired by the title and nothing more. Fun fact: I very often pick a title first and let my writing flow from that, even though Mrs. Weatherill always used to tell me off for doing it. Some small insights into both my writing process and my attitude towards being told what do do there.

The main reason this post is called 'Sonny' is because the main piece of news it will relate is that I have (temporarily) moved in with Joseph, my once and future heir. Joseph was in both my debate club at Sixth Form and my Freshers' Play group in 2011, and thus is the young mind I have helped to nurture most fully and thus the closest thing I have to a son. 
This latest abode is the first I will be paying for entirely with my own money, instead of my parents footing the bill. This is annoying because obviously it takes a big chunk out of my finances ('finances' is my new least favourite word), but is also a blessing because for once I will not have to put up with my mother insulting my sense of decor, my choice of accommodation/flatmates or my housekeeping abilities. I have informed both my parents quite clearly that, since I now no longer live under their thumb, there are new ground rules for their visiting:

1. There are to be no criticisms, no matter how veiled, of my lifestyle.
2. My mother may not start cleaning up without asking. I don't care how bad it is.
3. They only enter rooms that I say they can, and do not poke around in said rooms.
4. They will be limited to three questions per hour, unless otherwise explicitly stated, and these may not relate to:

• My love live (or lack thereof)
• My hygeine
• What I plan to do next

My mother did not see the need for these rules, but then my mother also doesn't believe she's a critical person, so I guess she'll just have to deal.

My fortress of criticism immunity is sadly not going to last very long, as I plan to leave Edinburgh shortly after the Fringe, as I imagine I'll be sick of it by then, especially having worked Full Time as a waiter during the Festival. Yep, I start, for the first time, full time work on Thursday (technically, I start tomorrow, but Wednesdays are my days off, so I start with a doss): I am terrified by this prospect, because I can only imagine that it will render me exhausted, grumpy and creatively dead inside.
I've recently started writing a new play, partially to honour those of my friends who have recently left or will do so soon, and also to test this hypothesis: if I can get back from working for eight hours and then motivate myself to write something, I know that I may still be able to pursue my dreams even while making my way in the world. Here's to hoping.

Also, Esmond said a while ago that he was feeling neglected on the blog, so here is an entire paragraph about him.

One Year Later

Today is the one year anniversary of my return from Australia and thus the beginning of this blog. Rereading that first post, one can tell how nervous I was about crashing and burning emotionally after what is still the best year of my life (sorry, year that's just happened). I'm glad to report that that didn't really happen: I found I was still crying up til about October, mainly when I was on public transport and certain songs came on, but even then, I never fell into actual depression. As previously stated, most of this is due to my mother, who even remembered that today was my returniversary, despite her inability to remember anything at all. We spoke on the phone, and she checked that I was doing OK.
And I am, I'm happy to report; although, I must confess I still see doppelgangers of lots of my Australian mates when out and about. There's a Charlotte look-a-like who lives in or around Blackford and always elicits stares of uncontained amazement whenever I see her (I had to restrain myself from poking her the first time we crossed paths). I think about Australia alike, and probably talk about it more, due to my propensity for speaking without actually engaging my brain; sometimes people ask me about it, or it comes up organically, but often I'll just shoe-horn it in like Cinderella's desperate stepsister, not to make myself seem more interesting (well not JUST for that), but also to remind myself that it happened. Because it'd be easy to forget. Not literally, obviously, but to forget the impact that it had on me- to lose the memories of the events and the people and the changes that I underwent. I don't want this to happen. I NEED for this not to happen. This is partly why I'm so happy I kept the other blog- it now functions like a diary, but one with hyperlinks and inbuilt videos. I can just click on the 'October 2012' section and see what I was doing at that time: working a job I hate, complaining about the heat, critiquing films...what's actually changed?

I was going to detail what's changed in the past year here, but honestly you can read the other posts in this blog if you want to know that. I'm not going to pretend that the year since I came back has been a complete bust or a complete triumph- as with most years, it's been mixed-to-very-positive (incidentally, I consider my year in Melbourne an almost-untainted triumph). But I think that this year was always going to pale in comparison to its predecessor, so I'm glad I can look on it with even this amount of enthusiasm. It was hard not to feel like this year was a bit of a step backward, to be honest, since I mostly resumed habits from first and second years, except with fewer people that I knew here; like a greatest hits tour after some of the members of the band have died. Still, those habits weren't entirely unenjoyable, so I don't have too much to complain about.

When I first came back, I was on a real I-must-go-back-as-soon-as-possible kick, but now that the emotions have had time to simmer, I see that really that's probably not a good idea. Or, at least, going back to Australia is no better an idea than going anywhere else exotic: none of my friends are in the same place as when I left them, and probably aren't all that close to one another geographically anymore either. Yarra, where most of my memories are based, probably wouldn't allow me on the grounds for fear I was an escaped inmate from the asylum next door (yes, that was actually a thing). I miss everyone so much, but I wouldn't be able to see them all anyway, they're so disparate now- Jason's back in the US, Will's in Canada, I think Daryl's returned to Malaysia and evidently Charlotte's moved in just down the road. I can't go back to Melbourne in July 2012 and resume my life, and I just have to accept that.

Back when I started writing this blog, I would randomly insert mentions of my friends back in Australia, just so that they would know I was thinking about them. Now, I find this practice kind of disingenuous, and I'm hoping my friends across the world will take it as read that I think about them a great deal (this also goes for my Edinburgh friends who've left recently). I won't forget my year abroad for as long as I can ensure that I don't; it improved me as a person, allowed me some incomparable life experiences and was just a whole load of fun.

Graduation

I was originally planning not to write about this, because academics have really not been the focus of my uni career and also I find the entire process quite tedious. However, I've reasoned that, in the future, I'll want to remember what happened around this time, and so for posterity's sake, here we go.

I didn't actually attend my graduation ceremony, because it cost a lot of money to rent the robe and also aforementioned tedium. I was given the option to stream the ceremony online, which I opted not to do and instead spent the morning entertaining a ten-month-old baby. Later, I went to the after-graduation party, where I got to meet the parents of people whom I know only very slightly and failed to speak to any of my professors, because, once again, I wasn't the most academic of students. It was a swelteringly hot day, most of the students were dressed in all black and they were handing out free alcohol; lightheadedness ensued. There were some boring speeches from heads of subjects whiched seemed to be entirely about them and when they graduated and I refused to clap at the end because I will not be an enabler to narcissism. Ahem.
The event was really more for families and I was there alone: I managed to make some of my classmates' parents jealous because I have an offer of 'proper work' (their phrase, not mine) starting soon. My family weren't there, and I wasn't wearing a robe so a fair few people presumed I hadn't passed the course; I took some photos with my classmates and then left.

The graduation ball was last night, and yet again I didn't attend due to monetary issues, however, at the last minute a shift working in Amphion that night opened up, so I took it and managed to taste whatever of the dinner got on my hands and see whatever of the various activities got in my way as I was carrying boxes.
The ball was also the last time I got to see Rose, which is a great shame because she's the originator of one of the most popular Quotes of the Year that I've ever documented.

We're currently pitching around a talk show based on the catchphrase 'You're Not Human'.

In all seriousness, though, she was funny, charming and I'm so glad Becky could pick up the courage to talk to her, so I could become her friend by proxy. I'll miss you, Rose; it was so much fun knowing you.

Another person to whom I said my final farewell this week was Grace. We went to get ice cream together, and I may have eaten too much, but it was still so much fun. Grace doesn't like photos, so just imagine the cup below was her, and that this photo is in fact heartwarming.

Yes, it was full of ice cream and yes, I ate the entire thing and yes, I am single.

 

Grace is another friend who I met through someone else- in this case, her flatmates. But, yet again, she became very important to me, not least because she coached me for my British Council interview. Goodbye, Grace; you'll always be my little Salt Girl.

A friend who I made all on my own was Emma, who hasn't left yet but it's very unlikely that I will see again for a long time. We had lunch this afternoon, along with Rik, and it was delightful- Emma and I, despite having known each other since Panto in second year, didn't really become friends until Panto this year, but I'm still going to feel it when she leaves. She was one of the title characters in Rob and Roberta, and thrived in what was a very thankless role. She's one of my favourite performers that I know and also just a good friend; goodbye, Emma.

And, finally, I've just come back from saying goodbye to Henriette. I've known Henriette since first year, and I actually cannot put into words how much she has helped me, and how responsible she is for the person I am now. I know that sounds gushing, but she talked some sense into me at a point in my life when I genuinely believe I could've spiralled into anger and become a much worse human being. She guided me, even when I resisted the change and tried to claim I was fine the way I was; she was never smug or condescending, she merely showed me that I was only hurting myself with my ways. I have thus bestowed upon her the title of 'Guru'. Thank you, Henriette; thank you so much.

This has been a rather sappy post with a lot of emotions and gushing, and I'm afraid the next post won't be much better, as it'll most likely be on the anniversary of my leaving Australia (and the beginning of this blog). I'll try and balance it out now with a most shocking announcement: due to the number of folk leaving my life for an indeterminate and probably quite lengthy amount of time, I've decided to start following select friends on Facebook again.
Dun dun dun.