This is weird. Very weird indeed. After a week in Manchester, where I grew up and still call home, I'm about to leave the UK. This is my last night as a resident of the United Kingdom, and for the first time in this whole process, I'm genuinely excited. Speaking to people up until now, everyone's said 'this must be so exciting', and my response has always been a dutiful 'yes, it is'. The truth, though, was always something different.
You see, the word isn't quite right. Excited is what you feel on your birthday morning. On Christmas Day. Unfettered positivity, happiness, joy etc. The feeling I've had isn't quite that - there's been lots of positive stuff, yes, about the future, the quality of life, the ability to finally settle, starting a very grown up life with the Kiwi, but along with all that was the sadness of leaving my family and friends here, of friendships that have just started and those that've lasted many years, and in particular putting distance in between me and my family, who mean so very much to me and on whom I depend probably more than they know.
This week has been one of saying goodbye to those people, and it's been painful in the worst way. Not the quick pain of whipping a plaster off, but a long, drawn-out ache, a week of catching people's eyes mid-conversation and both thinking the same thing, of last hugs that neither wants to end, of tears and the hope this isn't as final as it feels.
Tonight we're staying at Yoog's with his wife and son, as we have been for the past few nights. It's fantastic that we can spend this time having dinner with one of my oldest and closest friends, in such a calm, welcoming atmosphere, drinking brilliant wine and, from the smell of the cooking downstairs, soon to be eating excellent food. Tomorrow we drive to London, fly to Vancouver, and begin a phase of our lives we've talked about, dreamed about, and planned for for years.
Now I'm excited.
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