A Year From Now
So a year ago I made this empty, untitled draft, lying in wait all this time for today I guess.
Pause for the cringe but I felt a surge of 'lets do something most definitely out of my comfort zone'; therefore, the decision was made to start typing and posting on a blog that was practically left to rot online in a hidden corner of the internet which will never be found (and considering how wide the web is, you'd be surprised by how things can be forgotten). Whilst writing this, the constant barrage of thoughts racing through my mind are 'have I made this too wordy? Is this even interesting for at least one stranger to read fully?'. With how fickle I am, there is potential for me to leave this and return in a decades time to this draft still unpublished.
Shall I tell you a little back story about me? Alas, it's not interesting I must pre-warn you; so don't get out your popcorn or find a comfortable seat. I immigrated to England in 2005, travelling to this unknown country with only my father. My mother was holding down the fort in the UK; working 15 hour shifts to get by and afford rent for the one bedroom flat. I still remember landing in Heathrow, amazed by the atmosphere and finally setting eyes on my mother whom I had not seen for the past year. Suffice to say this was a tearful reunion. Walking to the car, I remember being gifted a monkey teddy, the still brand new scent of the toy; holding this close to my chest, the first item that I could call mine in this new life we were embarking on.
Truthfully told, there is not much I remember of my childhood. The memories I hold, are compartmentalised in my mind; Before England and after England. Before England, every day was an Indian summer. In that hazy, sepia toned filter (apparently it's not just Hollywood that does this, I can add my brain to the list). My grandma feeding me by hand (being the first granddaughter in the family certainly has its peaks as much as downfalls), my granddad walking home after closing down the bank, running with a school bag bigger than me to the auto which picked up the children along the street to go to school, waiting for the first monsoon of the month so that me and my cousins can dance in the rain, our anklets clinking with the sound of raindrops. There were so many things I adored about my life in India, the hospitality of our neighbours, the togetherness of family, the heat, the FOOD, and too many other aspects to name consecutively. After England, it's the colours blue and grey taking prime spotlight, it's my first day at the local primary school; holding on to my parents ankles for dear life as they attempted to sneak out of the classroom. It's screaming in Malayalam 'enniku ivide powanda' 'I don't want to be here', sitting on my teacher's lap due to my constant crying during recess as no other child wanted to play with the girl who ate food with her hands, who just pointed at things, because she didn't know how to speak English
Eventually things got better. Most of my after school activities consisted of being picked up by my dad to go straight to the care home, where both my parents were employed. I dare to say some of my first friends were the elderly residents; I was very easily bribed with custard creams might I add. I certainly have fond memories of that place; the scent of antiseptic and urine will forever be ingrained in my sense memory, sleeping on the sofas, completing my homework sat with the residents, eating dinner; experiencing a roast dinner for the first time (it was a religious experience).
I am proud to say that by year 2, I had a good grasp of the English language and this kept evolving until I was deemed 'British enough, but not quite to stop the racist comments'.
*Sigh* we must move on; long story short, primary school was fun, high school had its highs and lows, it was a battle between wanting to fit in or embracing my Indian heritage, there was no compromise at the time; to embrace it was to feel like an outsider. To this day I still don't understand the intentions of the school play director who made my beautiful, pale, red haired friend a salt shaker and myself a pepper shaker in the adaption of Beauty and The Beast, but have no doubt, I owned my 2 minutes of stage time, pepper shaker costume and all.
I was never a bright student, contrary to what my parents believe. I was overwhelmingly average; nothing like realising you didn't want to be a doctor, lawyer or engineer during puberty. Both my parents drilled into me, the importance of education and reputation. These were the two main components of being highly revered in Indian society, between this pressure and teen angst, it was a rough ride.
I achieved my GCSEs with above average grades (the first and only time I peaked with my grades), scraped by for A Levels, and headed off to university to complete a degree in Mental Health Nursing. Flash forward 3 years, in my last month of the programme, my granddfather passed away. I got the call as I woke up ready to do my 24 hour open book exam. Bear in mind, this was during the time when the world was only beginning to recover from COVID-19. I went from someone who visited India for a month every year to not travelling for 3 years; during this time, my granddads health deteriorated and we kept hope that we will see him that September of 2022. It was not meant to be. My dad took an emergency flight, my mum continued to work, to pay the bills and I remained at university, 200 miles from my home in England and 5000 miles away from my family in India. I filed for exceptional circumstances as I could not complete my assignments, this went to an appeal that I'm still waiting to hear the outcome for.
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