Leaving home…


I left home three years ago. “Refreshed” after twelve months free of school or study (I worked full-time), I jettisoned off to Brisbane after a phone call from a friend offering me a job. I had a grand total of a weekend to pack up and move. I would have been so much more nervous if I hadn’t had a friend who was already living where I would be living. But it was still hard to leave the place and the people that I was so comfortable with.

Blah, blah, blah. You’ve heard all that before. It was hard, but the people I met in Brisbane? They made it so much easier. So this is basically a dedication to them.
I left Brisbane three days ago. It wasn’t the plan. I was planning on staying in Brisbane to completely finish my studies. But you know how it goes: life got in the way. 2013 was a particularly trying year for me. The details are boring, but basically there were some money troubles, a relationship that went south, and a strenuous work load. So I needed a change. It wasn’t anything at first. Just looking around the Internet, checking out my options. After one hurtful day too many, I made my enquiries into a university far, far away from Brisbane: the University of Canberra. Once I’d applied, it was time to start telling people. You know, just to prepare them. Scratch that, to prepare myself.

I told my mother first, seeing as it was her ex and his wife that I’d be living near. That was such a horrible conversation, but at the end of it I knew that I’d made the right decision to leave good ol’ Brisvegas. Which is what mums are for.
Next was my dad. I was more than happy to stay on campus at UC, seeing as I’d looked up the rent per week and it wasn’t much more than I was paying in Brisbane. When I said that, though, both my dad and his wife insisted that I could stay with them. So that was education and accommodation sorted. Such a relief. Thanks guys!

Once all of that had been sorted, I had to start telling my friends. That sucked. The conversations weren’t hard or anything – everyone was really supportive. But that was what made it so hard. After such a trying year, having the people who got me through it support my decision was such a beautiful thing that it almost made me not want to go. I only hope that the people in Canberra are half as lovely as those I met in Brisbane.


A delicious parting message from one of my Brisbane sisters...

It’s funny, the people who become important to you. For a lot of people the people you work with are just that: the people you work with. Be it at work or uni. But not for me. Because I worked so much, these were the sympathetic/empathetic/hilarious people that helped me get through each day. I’ll always be eternally grateful to them for that.
Something I never think about, though, is how people think about me. I’m not talking about the usual “I-hope-they-like-me” or the “God-I-hope-I’m-not-annoying-them”. It’s the idea that people will miss you as much as you’ll miss them. And in my last two days in Brisbane, I was spoiled. I felt so loved and appreciated. Even by my boss.


...and spoiled by the rest of the family!

I always believed in putting in 100% at work. So to have the boss recognise this as a good thing made me feel like all the late nights, early mornings, and extra hours were worth it.

Home isn’t always the place you were born, surrounded by the people who share your nose, freckles, or penchant for dairy products. Home is the place where people make you feel the most needed, appreciated, and cherished. And everyone I came into contact with in Brisbane made that huge city of over two million people feel like home to me.

So thank you guys. I’ll definitely be home soon.


About Bec Graham

Bec Graham, 24, was born on the wrong continent. Everything from her burns-like-paper skin tone to her inability to cope with the slightest hint of a hot day suggests she should have been born under the gloomy skies and mild sun of the UK. She hopes writing will get her to her rightful home one day. Failing that, she scans the skies for a spinning blue police box, hoping to catch a lift back to the motherland.
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