XII - All Roads Lead To Munich

Life: A never-ending spiral of complexities and conundrums that just won't stop spinning until you either decide to plunge off a cliff or let your light extinguish naturally.

I remember my youth, a never-ending series of questions, mostly "Why can't I do _____?" and the answer was generally "Only grown-ups can". I always told myself that I couldn't wait to grow up, because then i'd get to stay up late, eat ice cream from a tub, go out after dark and do all kinds of cool stuff grown ups could only do.

These days, I only stay up late to apply for jobs and watch Dave into the early hours of the morning. I don't eat ice cream from a tub so much as drink tea by the gallon to soothe my jittery nerves before laying in bed and staring up at the ceiling, worrying about whether i'll get a job, move out or get a life or if the Tory parasites will take that final inch in the end. I don't go out after dark because the few times I do get promised to go out drinking, it's always a lie, that and I'd rather stable my bollocks to a moving ferris wheel then go out on the lash in Middlesbrough of all places. (Up in Scotland? I'd love to.)

Of course, I realised that this "cool stuff grown ups could only do" soon essentially translated to "Worry about money, worry about bills, worry about the future and worry about life" (Alright, I'll admit I don't have to worry about the second one, which is one of the positives about being a Jobseeker. Until they snap shut one of their trillions of loopholes and cut you off, all but outright killing you.) I've been told countless times I shouldn't be stressed, but why fucking not? To say I can't be stressed because i'm young is like saying I shouldn't be worried about a bowling ball smashing into my shin because at least it's not aimed at my skull: It's laughable reasoning, and it discounts a real threat that is harming young people across the country.

I'm stressed because I want--Nay, DESIRE some degree of independence. I want to do what my family never did, and travel. I want to see sights. I want to move to a foreign country, own a dog, and start a new slate, away from the bullying and stresses that scarred my years growing up.

And here's where the never-ending spiral of life's complexities kicks in: Independence is even more terrifying because those stresses magnify tenfold when you're on your own. And as this very blog heralds, my very desire to achieve independence and escape Britain.

Hang in there, it gets even more complex.

However, for me, independence is swiftly no longer becoming a choice, but rather a forced hand. Sounds odd, right? But it's just another stress compounded upon my shoulders. Once again, it's because of that goddamn Jobcentre.

A little known fact about me: I'm highly indecisive. Ask me to make a decision and I will spend hours thinking it over. When it came to a career, I never really knew what I wanted: When I was growing up (And for a period a few years ago), I wanted to be an astronaut. That dream was crushed when I was crap at Maths and realised that the odds were stacked against someone from Northern England. For a long time, my mind flitted between wrestling, writing or animal care. I took work experience in animal care, and though I still hold onto aspects of that dream, I realise I probably won't be able to get work in that field because I love animals too much and couldn't bare to put them down or the like.

After that point, from around 16, I wanted to go into writing. But I swiftly realised you can't make a career out of writing from the get-go. J.K Rowling, one of my largest inspirational figures, spent a long period on her life, prior to writing Harry Potter, on benefits, continuously jobless and depressed, but she still emerged from the other end: She went from being broke and hopeless without a leg to stand on, to one of the richest women in the world. She flitted from destination to destination, juggling caring for her child and writing. Many writers often hold careers as they write: Jim Butcher, off the top of my head, working as a computer support technician while writing the Dresden Files. (In the introduction to White Night, however, it states he turned to a career in writing, so he's probably transitioned from it supporting his career into a full-blown career)

I still want to be a writer. Those plans are still there, written out, and I fully plan to try and push a novel through to publication. If Rowling can hit rock bottom and bounce back ferociously to seize the literary world by storm, surely a hopeless, luckless North-Eastern kid can do the same?

However, now i've found out what's going to support me while writing.

Teaching English as a Foreign Language.

On my first signing on session, I made the grave mistake of stating that TEFL was an option. The Jobcentre, not realising that option is not interchangeable with complete goddamn decision, quickly decided that they would pursue it vigorously. On my last sign-on session, they palmed me off to a government loan company, told me to give them a call, and sign onto a TEFL course. That was that.

I spent almost 10 years trying to wonder what my career would be. Jobcentre decided it in a month. If I don't follow through, they'll probably take my kneecaps anyway.

Part of me is hesitant do it. It was an OPTION, a little extra. A little something to do while finding my feet. It was a background thought to stop my brain from killing itself with stress: "You may be a Northerner and your prospects look utterly bleak, but the good news is that there's an option there." See, though I want independence, there's a difference between achieving it on your own terms and being jettisoned into it by means of a cannon.

Part of me wanted to teach English in Japan.Too bad it's likely i'll end up in China.

It's all come so quick that my heads reeling: This is it. This is actually it. 

It's funny how life works: See, when I talk of life's complexities, here's another. My dream was always to travel the world, but now that it looks like my dream COULD technically come true (Pass TEFL, and the doors blow open), I'm fucking terrified. I don't know what to do beyond scratching at a door and waiting for time to pass. It would probably be easier if I gained independence here, at least I would know what to expect, but in China? Thailand? South Korea? I'm so out of my depth i'm going to need kiddy swimming bands. It's not just a step into independence, but the unknown: You have to learn an entirely new culture, learn a new language, and try to fit in. While doing that, I'll also have to teach English: This won't just be an expat job of moving, but a case of two sides jostling for power internally: The English side that I so desperately want to shed but needs to be available, and the Nomad side that will need to scramble up to learn the ins and outs of the country and to help me survive without any help whatsoever.

I'm excited and terrified. I'm excified. Next year, possibly, I could be in China. My dream to escape Britain will have been fulfilled. But at the same time, I'm wondering how the hell i'll survive and cope. How i'll manage to struggle through daily life. And I loathe the idea that the Jobcentre is going to be the gigantic boot kicking my rear across the seas, rather than my own manapult flinging me to a far-away freedom.

My ultimate dream, for the record, is to become a citizen of Germany and live there as an author. So this is, in fact, a precursor to that dream. And it's terrifying. Terrifying that it's happening so quick and so fast that i've barely had time to comprehend it. I never really wanted to teach English to foreign children, but hell, it's a mandatory choice if I want to move, right? It's even more terrifying knowing i'll be going through the motions of TEFL, yet another educational course, with the ape of the Jobcentre latched onto my back and pounding me violently.

...And at the same time, escaping from Britain to China will allow me to finally shed the Jobcentre.

And it will be a precursor to my dream. Perhaps next month, my journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. All roads lead to Munich, and this could be my first step onto that road, and it's still utterly terrifying. I can't even do it really on my terms, but on the Jobcentre's terms. I don't know whether to thank them for kicking my rear, or to strangle them for slamming the sole of their boot against my rear and pushing me forward without time to wrap my head around a career I only thought about a few months ago.

 But It's time to stop being terrified.

In this tale of a Smoggy On The Run, all roads lead to Munich, and it's time to take the step.

I'll enter those countries like I entered this world---

No, wait, apparently I entered sedentary and spent my first hours chugging bottles of milk down.....That doesn't sound too bad, though........Ahem........Either way, time to man up. The dream begins here. I just wish it was on my terms.

But that's not how life, for all its complexities and conundrums, works.

And, to be quite honest, I doubt anyone would have it any other way.