Getting there

Whatever this means

Everybody is asking me, how are you doing? How is everything?

And I always answer the same: Getting there

I guess the first month is always the hardest. You land, with your 8 suitcases, so you don’t have enough arms and legs to push everything. Even when you put them in a trolley, they don’t fit. So you push the 80kg trolley with all your body, and the suitcase left, with your feet. Nothing makes sense. It’s just too much. The images of your grandparents emigrating to Switzerland are coming to your mind. But maybe not exactly the same. At least they had each other. This thing of women being empowered and able to achieve everything is overrated.

I am not empowered, I’m just alone.

Whatever. You arrive to your new place, without light or heat. Great. This is like being back to your twenties, you think, when you were just eating pasta with tomato because you could not afford anything else. Is fucking cold. The house too big. You’re too small – you think. Is the weekend, and I am being told that Aussies don’t work the weekend. Top. Is winter here. I open one of the suitcases looking for my big Teddy Bear Coat. I put it on. I go to bed. I don’t sleep.

How is everything”, Jen asked, “Great”, I answered.

“Do you have already friends” Jesus, give me a break, I thought, I landed 3 days ago. “Well, not yet”, I said. “But people looks really nice, I see lots of potential”, I reassured her.

“Oh, I am sure you will meet plenty of interesting people.”.

This has to be the modern way of people to say they don’t give a fuck in a polite way, I thought. Everything will always be ok, of course. Because we are all afraid of the idea of what happens if not.