I thought moving abroad again would be easy (spoiler: it wasn’t)

At the end of September, I moved to Toulouse, a city in the south of France. I used to come here every summer as a child with my family because my grandmother lived in a town close by. I loved spending time in my grandmother's house, picking raspberries in the garden, going to the market, cycling around with my sister and going to swimming lessons in the local pool. My grandmother spoiled us beyond belief. I remember how, a couple of days before we arrived to her house, she would call the house phone and ask me what cake I wanted. I would put in an order in of two or three cakes, and on my arrival they would be sitting on the edge of the long wooden table she had in her kitchen. Imagine my disappoint when we travelled one year to surprise her on her birthday and I wasn't able to put my order in so as not to spoil the surprise. I had half hoped that she would have guessed we were coming and made some cakes anyway, but she hadn't. She had no idea we were coming and when we turned up at her door, she was completely shocked and thought she was dreaming. Although I was very glad to see her, and found the surprise element of the trip very exciting, I was slightly disappointed about the cakes. I can't remember what type of cakes she made for me now, but I know that I loved them.

My grandmother died when I was 5 years old, and after that, we stayed with my auntie or rented apartments near the city. Over the years, we rented an array of different types of accommodation; someone's mum's cousin who was renting an apartment here, an old friend's sister had an apartment there. We were lucky enough to always have a nice place to stay. My sisters and I always shared a room, which gave us the opportunity to spend time together and give off about whatever our parents had said or done in public that was 'so embarrassing/annoying.' At night, without a fan or air conditioning we would get frustrated with each other, who was generating the most heat, breathing too heavily, moving too much, who left the light on and the window open and let in all the mosquitos. In the morning, all would be forgiven as we ate brioche and Nutella for breakfast and watched 'Grease' on the TV for the 10th time that week because we had only brought one DVD with us (I think I still know the whole movie off by heart).

I'm very grateful for the summer holidays I spent in France as a child and how my mother made sure to immerse me in French culture and the French language. I thought that because of this, and because of the family I had living close by, moving to France would be a piece of cake. Last year, when I decided to move to Spain, I could barely speak a word of Spanish, I didn't know anyone who lived in Alicante city and I was going to do a job I had no experience in. When I moved to Budapest the year before for Erasmus, I hadn't so much as googled the city until a month or two before my departure. Surely, I thought, moving to Toulouse will be so much easier and in many ways, it was.

I don't feel panicked when things don't go as originally planned, I know that Google Maps is my best friend for getting around, and, at this stage, I'm more than comfortable meeting new people, although I don't think it's possible to escape the initial awkward embarrassment of arriving at event by yourself and standing around waiting to pluck up the courage to speak to someone. However, although it's true that in a way, some things were easier or more familiar to me, I definitely had some unrealistic expectations about how the move would go. I thought I would arrive in Toulouse and feel great, I naively (or arrogantly) didn't anticipate any sort of transition period. I was itching to get away from Ireland and start a new life in France, but when the time came to leave I was heartbroken, and, for a brief moment, I even considered staying. The day that I arrived in Toulouse was like a strange fever dream, and I spent the first week organising my documents and my work schedule, travelling left right and centre all over the city. When Saturday night came, I realised that I had been so busy that I hadn't met anyone to do something with and spent the night watching Netflix in bed and feeling like a complete loser.

Moving to France was easier than moving to other countries, but that didn't necessarily make it 'easy.' Although I can speak French fluently, I have never lived in France before, so of course there are some things that I don't yet understand. For example, last week, I turned up late to my babysitting job, confused about how in France they say, 'fifteen o'clock,' instead of 3 o'clock (15:00) and, in a shop the other day, the shop assistant told me to go to the basement instead of 'downstairs.' I stood there, staring at her blankly for a couple of awkward seconds, she repeated the word louder and louder, which, funnily enough, didn't make me understand any better. Eventually she sighed and physically directed me to where I had to go. At a lunch with my family, my cousins found it hilarious when I said I was going to 'ramasse' (physically lift up) the child I babysit instead of 'récupére' (collect). I admit that, to a ten year old, it probably is funny to imagine me going to the crèche just to physically lift up the child, set her back down again and then go home, instead of just collecting her and bringing her home. It's safe to any that I'm still getting there. I try to tell myself that if I managed in Alicante, despite not knowing any Spanish on my arrival, I will definitely manage in Toulouse, it will just take a bit of time.

Even though I thought that I was too good and too experienced to struggle with the transition period that comes with moving abroad, I was rudely reminded that any and every sort of change in life is unsettling and disruptive. I feel like when you're in your twenties, everything changes all the time; your studies, your job, your friends, maybe even your partner. The plans you had for the life you imagined for yourself just a few short months ago have been completely turned on their head and it feels like you're back to square one again. The constant change creates a sort of instability in your life, leaving you feeling vulnerable and unsure. I think it's a human experience, I don't think it's possible to go through life without going through periods of instability and vulnerability. However, I know that personally, I would much rather feel the insecurity that comes with change, than feel the boredom of being trapped in a steady life that I don't like. I try to remember that change is indicative of a host of new possibilities and opportunities, and that although I feel scared, I also feel so excited about what is to come.

La Garonne