Five years …

I’ve sat in front of recruiters as they’ve asked me where I expect to see myself in five years time. I am not a fan of this question. I sit there trying to read their faces. To me, five years is insanity. I’m not even sure I can guarantee my existence for a week.

I start to feel my heart race. Can they tell how panicked I am? I start to sweat. Can they now see I’m panicked? At this point my eyes are darting around the room wondering how I can escape this question. I can’t. At this point I think about the job I’ve applied for and think about where they might potentially want the position to be doing in five years time.

If I think five years back I am shocked at how far I’ve come. Five years ago I had long hair that could be pulled back, I wasn’t as heavily tattooed, I would never have made a joke, I would say yes to everything, wouldn’t let people see any of the horrors I’ve lived with in my head and if you asked me I’d tell you I would want a quiet country life.

Five years from that point and all of that is wrong and even though I don’t understand who I am I can recognise what I’m not. I’m not the quiet country girl. I was and did everything I could to try to become the person my parents wanted me to be. Maybe they’d love me if I could make myself better and good in their eyes. Nothing ever seemed good enough. I tried. I tried very hard to live up to what they expected. Even now I wonder what was so wrong with me that they couldn’t love me.

Today I am heavily tattooed. I swear too much. I hurt myself too much. I crash hard too much. My hair is insane. My clothes are short, sometimes tight and I always love to make a piece a little different by tacking on some weird bow or matching it with a crazy beanie.

I fucking hate the country and love cities. Cities are busy, colourful, noisy. They are filthy, grim and dangerous and it’s busy at all hours of the day. I love that I walk around and I know nobody. I’m alone but not alone. That’s somewhat comforting.

I know I’m not being judged. Nobody I walk past cares. They are all busy trying to get to their destination. I can wear the most insane things and I’m not out of place.

I like traffic in the rain. Everyone is bustling about, headlights, warmth of your heater on your fingers, the promise of your destination heating your body up even more. And the rain. The rain looks so pretty when it falls on my window and I see the lights of the city dancing with through it.

Most people don’t like fighting for car parking but this is just a promise that wherever you are headed is busy with people of all types. Restaurants, cafes and dodging traffic when on foot is like heaven to me. The odd little quirky finds. Those hidden city secrets.

In five years time – if Pedro the black dog has swallowed me whole – I’d like to think I’d be in a busier city than what I currently live in.



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