Beyond-Curious

“I feel like London tourism — Big Ben, London Bridge, Westminster Abbey — don’t really paint a realistic idea of what it’s like to live here.”

My boyfriend’s best-friend says, as the first bead of sweat runs down my face.

Usually, I hate when people talk in saunas. We’re all sitting there like rotisserie chickens, deep-roasting ourselves; only to have someone else’s conversation forcibly enter our minds, like a hostage situation.

My best-friend and I used to spa all the time in Australia. She introduced me to it as a Russian pastime, with the sauna walking distance between both our houses.

I loved that, at 24, it was something social that didn’t revolve around drinking — somewhere that welcomed both silence, weird hats and deep conversation.

Now I sit in the same hot boxes on the other side of the world, beside someone else’s best-friend.

“Yeah, I agree,” I say.

A few minutes later they retreat to the infrared seats where they can discuss the first love of their lives — football (call it soccer and you’ll be socially exiled).

Alone in the sauna, I think about London.

About extending my visa for a third year and paying the British government a tasty £1,300 or $2,600 AUD.

“You’re so bold, moving halfway across the world alone.”

Whenever I meet people, that’s one of the first things they say. I never really believe them though, as to me it felt full of adrenaline, anxiety and lots of confusion.

Moving abroad alone is a bit like the start of your 20s but all at once.

I remember when I first arrived, every day felt like a holiday. Everything had novelty and meeting people was almost too easy — especially when your accent does half the work for you.

I never thought that much about being Australian until I left Australia.

Suddenly I kept hearing my own words repeated back to me. “No” became “naur.”

At first it’s funny — London is bursting with different accents: Brummie, Cockney, Scottish, Welsh, Geordie… Then, slowly, it becomes exhausting. Every comment — even kind ones — remind you that this place isn’t fully yours.

After a while, you stop missing the big things about home and start missing the tiny ones instead. Like your humour landing properly, or the violent colouring of the tropical flowers in Brisbane — the waxy feeling of a frangipani between your fingers, calling your family after a hard day, except they’re asleep, just like you’re asleep during theirs.

I miss my best friend’s birthdays — she begins by going to a coffee shop and journalling, where I would then join her for this layered watermelon cake she so loves and then, of course, some spa and sauna, followed by dinner.

“You’re so bold, moving halfway across the world alone.”

Year two was a little better, with £20 Ryanair flights around Europe, making up for it.

Year two was when I finally started making a decent enough wage, which invited consistency back into my life. Hello stable job, long-term goals, partner, flat-share and nice friends. That was when I finally stopped struggling and started picturing myself here — a future seasonal lover or Londoner who hates London…

Another layer was that I met someone in my first 4 months.

Without him, I think I would’ve gone home when winter hit.

Instead, I fell in love with someone who made it impossible to leave. And I realised that stupid, infectious love that when you’re single for 4+ years, you start to think statistically won’t happen/only happens in the movies, ends up existing.

And it was even better than you imagined.

“You’re so bold, moving halfway across the world alone.”

When I was 15, I remember a friend and I made a pact that we were going to be three things in life: bold, courageous and wonderfully alive.

And if I’m being honest, that’s why I moved to London.

I’d spent most of my 20s finishing my degree, working and travelling — waiting for the right friends, partner, and opportunities to find me.

Now almost 30, I chose to move abroad to challenge myself and see if my later 20s were going to be the “best years of my life,” like everyone says.

Because what’s more bold, courageous and wonderfully alive than starting from scratch and realising you’re exactly who you hoped to be.