I recently signed up to something called QuarantineChat. Every now and then, you get paired with a random person from somewhere in the world, and are given prompts before you start your call.

I had my first QuarantineChat call tonight. 🇯🇲

Her name was Deb, she lives in Jamaica, and she has two kids (6 and 12). Up until recently she worked at a hotel, but has been laid off during Coronavirus and is getting payments from her government. It's her 7th call.

She's nervous, because there have been 63 cases of Coronavirus in Jamaica, resulting in 4 deaths. And she tells me that 5,100 Jamaicans are coming home from overseas, and many are coming from New York. Curfews have been set from 8pm-6am, with the Easter weekend bringing in a curfew of 3pm-7am.

Her kids are old enough to understand that something is going on, but she's unsure if they really understand it all. Her 6-year-old son decided, however, to stop sucking his thumb because he "doesn't want to get sick.",

Even still, she's happy to see people doing good things in Jamaica. Care packages are being given to the elderly, face masks are being donated. She just wants to find something different to do with her time and is unsure what that might be.

Fascinating to talk to a stranger in a different country, and find comfort in the fact that we are, in fact, all going through the same thing.

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I never could stand Mondays until there was no need for me to stand on a Monday. Waking up in a new bed, a new apartment, a new city, a new country, and yet I wasn’t needed at work, or anywhere really. I think back to Mondays passed, the groans, the coffee, the talks about the weather (god, how boring). And now I yearn for them.

For weeks, I lay in bed, pondering life and love and listed all the things I could be doing if I just got myself up. And I had my mini existential crises, mini panic attacks, mini depressed episodes until I no longer could stand my own company. And I fought with myself daily, tried to tell myself that this is where I need to be, to enjoy the present and not think about the past or the future and to just focus on what to eat for breakfast.

With the abundance of time comes what I like to call the Monday Musings. You sit and think too much for your own good, creating paranoid thoughts in paragraphs that paralyze your entire body to the point where you’re too terrified to be alone with your thoughts. So you binge on Netflix until you have to switch to foreign shows with subtitles, just to have noise around you to distract yourself from the sheer loneliness of being in a new country. And it’s not like you’re working out or working on yourself or even working up the courage to go out and make friends. And you’re kicking yourself because you were the sort of person people jokingly referred to as the one degree of separation, the friendmaker, the social butterfly. And you’ve now been reduced to a moth.

But what really saved me was realising that Monday is the most important day of the week. It’s the day after the weekend is over and friends and loved ones go back to work. It’s when the glimmer of time surrounded by people starts to dim, and you’re left in an empty apartment questioning why you’ve moved across the world to a foreign place. Once you start to realise how important Mondays are, things start to change. You schedule things around that oh-so-important day, ensuring you’re surrounded and safe and secure from all those wicked demons floating about telling you that this will be your life forever. The more people, the better. The more events, the better. The busier, you tell yourself, the better. Riding the train for the first time, you watch as the sardines sandwich themselves side by side, standing and swaying and salvaging their alone time before they’re forced to make small talk. You smile and think about just how marvellous it is to be on your way to somewhere. Anywhere. Anywhere but that big bed where you’ve wasted minutes, hours, days doing nothing and waiting to do everything. And now everything is here, and here is on this train, and this train is taking you to places people complain about having to go to on a Monday.

And then by the time you get home on a Monday night, you’re exhausted but happy. And your partner may moan about their mundane Monday, but you madly monologue about how excited Mondays now make you.

“The hardest part of moving will be making new friends.”

That’s what most people warned me about when we announced we were moving to America. Making friends was going to be tough. And so, I prepared myself for the worst. I prepared myself for a life of solitude (bar my husband), relegated to my apartment, never to find companionship during the working week while I waited for my EAD (employment authorization document) to arrive.

But it turns out, everyone was wrong.

The hardest part for me has been the homesickness. And people don’t talk about it much. But they do talk about the socialising side of things. But never about how isolating it can be, simply about how it’s just difficult to meet new people (the former is far too bleak to be discussed, it seems). So I wanted to share some of the ways I’ve found friends since we arrived.

Meetup.com

A few days after moving to Boston, I created a Meetup group for foodies in the Boston/Cambridge area. I didn’t do it with the expectation that hundreds of people would join (we’re currently sitting at 391 Foodies), or that I would make great connections through it. I simply did it because I really wanted to try new cafes and restaurants during my seemingly endless free time, and preferred to be around other foodies. I didn’t expect to meet someone at that first event whom I would spend hours wandering Boston with, nor other wonderful people who have given me countless restaurant recommendations. Meetup.com definitely brings all sorts of people to the table (literally and figuratively), and I’ve actually made some really close friends through it.

Co-workers

Whilst I’m unable to work until my EAD comes through, my husband works at a relatively young, fun company in Somerville. There’s loads of events on, and spouses are encouraged to come along to most of them. A week after we arrived, his company had a retreat with all the employees and their spouses. We met lots of people who went on to become close friends (and yes, we’ve only been here for about six weeks). A lot of the employees have moved interstate to work for the company, so they’re in a similar situation of having left family and friends behind. Being in the same boat means they know how tough it is for us, because they too are going through the mourning process of their previous life back home. If you’re lucky enough to be working, start spending time with your co-workers. Suggest drinks after work, or stretch your legs and get some coffee in you in the afternoon. You never know how much you have in common with the person sitting next to you until you’re chatting outside the office.

Friends of old friends

When we first arrived, I relied heavily on friends of friends, because I didn’t know anyone else. Problem is, just because they’re friends with your friends, doesn’t mean you’ll instantly click. I met with so many friends of friends, and only really felt a connection with a couple of them. Still, push yourself to meet those your friends know, because it’s a great way to have a base when you first arrive, and they may end up being wonderful friends!

Facebook groups

There are countless Facebook groups out there. From expat groups to hobby groups, there’s really something for everyone. For example, I joined the Australians in Boston Group, the Boston Bloggers Group, and the Boston Business Women Group (where I was able to find volunteer work). Through each of these groups, I’ve found people who share the same passions as me, the same background as me, and the same drive as me. And it’s been wonderful meeting up with people from these groups and finding how much we have in common! And don’t be shy! People will generally welcome you with open arms, and will be happy to help you out.

It was a rocky start for me in so many ways, but making friends has been relatively easy. And whilst it may not be easy for everyone (I’m super extroverted), there are so many ways to make new friends in a new city or country.

How have you made new friends in a new city/country? What has been the strangest way you’ve made a new friend?

I had been working in PR for a few months, and realised I absolutely hated it. The culture, the people, the work ethic. It just wasn’t for me, and I needed to get out. So, I resigned, gave them seven weeks notice (!!), and set about looking for other jobs. And when I saw an ad looking for digital writers in one of the most-sought-after areas in Sydney, I jumped at the opportunity. I did all my research on the CEO, who would be interviewing me, and talked non-stop about the interview in the week before it. My 60-something-year-old relative told me she used to work for his dad, and that he was sexist and mean, and she had witnessed his son (this CEO) following in his father’s footsteps.

But it didn’t matter to me, because it had been forty years since then, and he had probably grown up and was fine and lovely, I told myself.

As I walked in, it was almost as though there was a chill in the air (granted, the windows were open), and I was curtly greeted by one of the two people in the office. I use the term ‘office’ very loosely, as it was a small room, the size of a living room, with two people in it. I was asked to sit and wait, as the CEO was running 20 minutes late. As I waited, I talked with the woman who let me in. I asked her questions about what she did, what her day-to-day looked like, and what the CEO was like.

When asked the last question, her face scrunched up. Now, I had never met this woman before, but it was very obvious that she wanted to say something but thought it best not to. So I pushed. “Tell me, please, tell me what he’s like”.

“He’s made me cry.”

I sat there, numb. I had spent the first two weeks of my PR job in tears, and didn’t want to end up in the same sort of place. But I was here now, and I couldn’t do anything about it. As I waited, I looked on Glassdoor. And, sure enough, others wrote about his abrupt nature, his aggression, his actions. And I realised, in that moment, that I really, really didn’t want this job. But I was here.

Another woman walked in to the small office space. I was a bit confused as to why she was there, but put it down to the assumption that she was most likely another employee. Nope. She was also here for the interview. Oh, okay, so an interview after mine? But there’s no meeting room, no space to go away from everyone.

And then the CEO walked in. The woman I spoke with brushed her hair away from her eyes, put her glasses on, and got to work, pursing her lips as the CEO walked by her.

His voice was low and demanded attention. He introduced himself with a firm handshake, and explained that we would both be interviewed together, with only one of us getting the job. And the interview would take place right next to the employees, who would be doing their work, he advised. I was not ready to be put up against someone who, I felt, would probably want this job more than me. But I decided to give it my best shot anyway.

His questions were worded in such a negative way, I didn’t know how I could turn them into positives without looking and feeling like I was too optimistic instead of cynical like him. I twisted and turned his words, sending them back to him with a glass-half-full mentality, while the girl opposite me used the words he had used, filled with cynicism. Were full-time jobs usually given to people after a group interview? Surely not. Towards the end of the interview, we were told we could each ask him a question.

“How would you describe your leadership at the company?”

“I like to get things done. I like others to get things done. If people aren’t happy with the way I run things, too bad. Yes, yes, I’ve made some people cry in the past, but they obviously aren’t cut for business.”

Yep. That. Read it again.

I decided in that moment that I had really, seriously wasted my time. And I wanted to get out as soon as possible. We were told we would get a call in the next few days to let us know who got the job. And I got a call. And I was asked for the next stage (even though we were told that it would be a one-interview process).

And I turned it down, because fuck that.

When I was at university, I spent every break doing an internship. I had four internships over my four years at university, and I believed that I would not be able to get a foot in the door without one. And I was right. Internships really set me apart from my competition, and they also helped me develop skills I otherwise would not have had. I’m so grateful for those who sat patiently as I learned, and know I would not be in positions like I am today without having had those internships.

But here’s where it gets weird. Once you’re out of university, and have your first job, your internships don’t seem to matter as much as the experience you’ve had in a job. If you’ve had a job, and then decide to apply for another job, the fact you’ve had an internship doesn’t really come up in conversation. It’s all about what you’ve done in your previous job, and what you’d like to do in the future. And, even though you put in all that hard work and long hours into those internships, they are skimmed over on your resume in favour of the actual jobs you’ve had.

The same can be said of dating, in a way. In November, I was married, and my husband and I have our seventh (dating) anniversary today. But, once you’re married, do people ask how long you’ve been together, or how long you’ve been married? Do you celebrate your dating anniversary, or your wedding anniversary? Do the numbers just get erased, even though it’s a huge achievement on your part (hey, seven years is a big deal!)? And, similarly, should the internships I did be erased from my LinkedIn, my resume, in conversations with future employers?

As I sat, looking at my LinkedIn, I realised that I hadn’t added my internships anywhere. And those internships took time away from my now-husband, from my family, from social activities. But you know what? I loved every second of those internships. I made contacts in the publishing industry at the age of 19, I had a fantastic mentor who became a friend, and I learned about so many different types of style guides across many different publications. And, during my seven years of dating my now-husband, I’ve grown into the person I am now, I’ve loved like I’ve never loved before, and I’ve found happiness. So I will continue to celebrate our dating anniversary, because that achievement shouldn’t be erased.

And my internships? I’ve found a place for them on my LinkedIn, and I will keep them there as a badge of what I went through to get to where I am.

Growing up in Sydney, Australia, I always knew I’d go to the University of New South Wales (UNSW). My school was affiliated with it, my dad had gone there, and I had been there a few times a year as part of a gifted children research program as a kid.

In the US and the UK, students move out of home to go to university. In Sydney, you only move out of home to go to uni if a particular university elsewhere has a better degree. In Sydney, we have four main universities, ranked 4th, 6th, 10th and 13th in Australia. With those rankings, what would be the point of moving interstate?

I find that, since people in Sydney don’t move out of home at the same age that people in rural areas of Australia or other places in the world do, we end up lacking something. Perhaps we don’t grow up, perhaps we are too spoilt, perhaps…perhaps we don’t gain as many life experiences.

Last year, a journalist from The Age exposed how “in Sydney and Melbourne today, a quarter of 20- to 34-year-olds still live in the parental home.”

A QUARTER!

With university being so close by and so accessible, have we ended up missing out on experiences we otherwise could have had if we had just moved away from home? Like sharing a house while studying, being away from parents, perhaps even being in a different country. In the UK, simply by owning a British passport, one can travel, live, work and study anywhere in the European Union. This makes studying internationally more accessible for students, giving them the opportunity to have a whole new experience in the next country along.

I was given an opportunity: to live on campus at university for two years while my parents went off to London with my sister. As a Sydneysider, it was the most ridiculous thing. I was the only person living on campus who had not come from a country town, overseas or interstate. My friends from school lived down the road, my boyfriend lived an easy five-minute drive away. I didn’t take the experience properly at first. I thought I didn’t need to make new friends, as I already had friends nearby. I didn’t think I needed to go out to clubs and bars, because my boyfriend was living so close to where I was. I missed out on experiencing college for a whole year. It was only in second year that I stopped myself and realised that what I was doing was detrimental to my university experience. My fellow Sydneysider friends were envious of the freedom I had, while they remained at home. I could do what I wanted, come home whenever, not be relied upon by anyone.

Australia is a very isolated country, meaning it takes close to 24 hours to fly to London, close to 20 hours to fly to New York, and close to 22 hours to fly to Paris (I use these as examples because they are well known and Asian countries are a lot closer, meaning they wouldn’t help me prove my point).
Living so far away stops 22 year olds from having the opportunities others around the world have in terms of easy access to travel. There are 22 year olds in Australia who don’t have a passport because it’s so expensive to fly anywhere and takes too long.

Taking a step back from location being a factor in 22 year olds not having enough experiences, let’s look at careers. The average 22 year old does not know what they want to do after university, opting for something unrelated to their passion or degree simply to make ends meet. They may work in retail, hospitality or at a job they don’t enjoy at all. By doing this, they get experience in having a job they don’t like, and they gain experience in realising what they do and don’t like in a job in general.

Relationships. How many relationships, weddings or children has the average 22 year old had? I’ve been in one long-term relationship for the past four years, but do I count that one relationship as an experience compared to the numerous people who have had their heart broken, found their true love after several unfortunate events?

My question is this: Do we, as young people living in a first world country, really have the right to assume we’ve been through enough to write about our experiences all the time?

I can never be subtle. I always have to be big and bold and blah.

Big and bold and blah.

Those words describe me to a T (or is it lowercase?). When I get invited to come in for a job interview, I go crazy. I research and ‘like’ and follow and connect and stalk. I try to get to a point where I know what it would be like to work for that company, and I imagine the people there becoming my close friends and all of us going for drinks and laughing about our day at the office.

It’s quite sad, really. These imaginary things. It’s like a yearning to be included, but having to pass a test first. And if I don’t pass the test or they don’t check all the ticks I need them to tick, I’m stuck with an embarrassing situation where I can’t ‘disconnect’ with them on LinkedIn or ‘unfollow’ them on Twitter. And so, I am forced to sit and view their tweets or updates or instagram snaps, furious at myself for putting myself in such a spot. And then, just as I’m hitting myself over the head with a book like Dobby in Harry Potter did, it happens all over again. As soon as I get an email asking for me to come in, bam. Again.

It’s not like I’ve had a large number of interviews. No, I’m not some kind of job-getting stud. I just get too excited and hyper and anxious at the same time, and want them to like me and love me and keep me forever. My awkward witty-but-not-so-witty banter can put people off, and perhaps my tone in emails can come across as a tad arrogant or ungrateful. But I swear I’m just a graduate, looking to make a break in one industry or another, trying desperately to not look desperate.

@the_punctuator

Problem: our society makes it quite clear that you’re meant to know what you want to do when you graduate.

If you do know what you want to do, then you go to career websites and check the classifications and industries you’re interested in. This worked for me, for a while. Advertising, Arts & Media with a sub-classification in Editing & Publishing. It was always a short list of jobs, but I knew I could always rely on it to have jobs that interested me.

Until now.

Now, I don’t even tick the classification boxes. I select the location and the type of job (Full Time). I kick myself for thinking I could ever be so certain about a career path, and am struggling (almost drowning) under the invisible yet present pressure of choosing a career. Fortunately, there are those out there keen to help me on this journey. There are companies who don’t even want me as a proofreader, who are willing to simply meet and discuss what sort of career I want, where I see myself in five years, what my passion is. My passion used to be proofreading. Three months ago, I could tick a few boxes and depend on the results. Now, I can’t be sure of anything.

To be sure of something — anything — is such a luxury. That feeling of knowing that everything will be okay and that you have everything together. Maybe you’re the only one out of your friends in a relationship. Maybe you’re the first of your group to buy an apartment. Maybe you know what career path you’re going to take. When any of these things fall apart, it’s devastating and humiliating. Suddenly, you’re not as put-together as everyone thought you were. You’re just like everyone else, and you have the furthest to fall because you put yourself so high above everyone else.

Any life crisis is terrifying. Whether you’re 22, 48 or 65, you may find yourself lost and confused, and wonder how you could change as a person in a matter of months. It’s come to the point where I can apply for a job that basically has my name written all over it, go to an interview, then spend two days thinking, and realise that I’ve only applied for the job because three months ago it was the job of my dreams. Past-me would have been excited at the prospect of having an opportunity like this, but present-me is disgusted at herself for even playing with the idea. I started too young, was pushed by imaginary people to succeed and do something I’m ‘good’ at. It’s time for a change, and it’s time to find my new passion. It’s time to stop the invisible pressures getting to me and making me feel as though I have a goal in life other than living and enjoying it.

It’s time.

@the_punctuator

In exactly 129 days, I will be 23. That terrifies me.

At 15 I was editing friends’ creative writing pieces for school, at 18 I was editing HSC essays, at 20 I was editing theses at university for anyone who would pay me to.

I edit. I knew I wanted to be an editor, and I gave up holidays and experiences to put myself into an ideal position for when I graduated. I had a job lined up for me four months before graduating. While friends of mine were going through the crisis of what they wanted to do after graduating, I was smug and arrogant and sorted.

I never had the whole “What am I going to be when I grow up?” existential anxiety, and I didn’t realise that it put so many of my friends into a deep depression — one they couldn’t get themselves out of. I skipped along to my new job, bright and shiny and in the centre of the city, and boasted about looking for apartments and moving overseas. I was fired within two months of working there due to many reasons, one of which being that I was not experienced enough. At the time, I scoffed at the idea. Not experienced enough? I’ve been editing for years! But there’s a difference between editing for years and being willing to learn, and I found myself on the not-so-humble side of it all, causing me to fall in a heap as a failure.

My next job came as a surprise. I had been out of university for 4 months, had one full-time job under my belt, and had travelled around the US with my boyfriend. A cosmetics company head-hunted me, and asked me to start as soon as possible. I was told it was a temp position, but that I would most definitely be there permanently. There was next to no editing to be done, with the company being a bit old, international, and not too keen on change. I waltzed in, my humility gone, my arrogance emitting from every pore in my body. I, a recent graduate, had been head-hunted by an international company. I, a recent ex-employee of another company, had been saved. I wanted to implement a style guide, I printed off proofreading marks for everyone in Marketing and Creative, I came up with a marketing idea for the company to utilise in a more youth-oriented way. I was let go within two months.

Apparently it was nothing to do with me as a person, but everything to do with the fact that the company had been losing money for 7 years, and felt that my role there was unnecessary, as the company had started to turn towards everything digital.

So here I am, a 22-year-old unemployed graduate, looking back at all the four-month breaks I used as internship opportunities instead of holidays, the parties and social events I said no to because I was up late freelancing for magazines, the boyfriend I had to limit my time with due to the opportunities I felt were pushing me towards a better life after university.

Watching those same friends go through their crisis of what to do after university, I too must undergo the same ritual of existentialism. Who am I? What do I do? What is my purpose?

And then, just as you and your partner are looking for an apartment, your partner dumps you.

You walk into a room and your partner is sitting there. You think nothing of it. They immediately tell you that it’s not working out, that you’ll have to leave. You don’t stick around. You are shocked and speechless, and haven’t had the time to process anything, meaning you’re not even crying. Like a zombie, you walk out and go elsewhere to sit and cry as it all sinks in. They say you should come back and pick up your toothbrush and perhaps bring a bag to store all of those clothes you left in that drawer they put aside for you. You think about how stupid it was of you to start leaving your clothes there. As though everything was going to be permanent. You don’t want to go back, but you have to say goodbye to your partner’s roommates or neighbour or family. It’s humiliating.

You go in a few days later to pack up your stuff. Your partner is there because they want you to know that they’ll always keep you in their lives. They then ask you to help them with something. Hoping to leave on good terms, you do as they ask. They haven’t cheated on you or treated you badly. But as you’re doing that favour (maybe moving boxes or doing some vacuuming), you question why on earth you are doing it, and feel like it was all a big mistake — that you should have turned around and said “no”.

The roommate or neighbour or family member sees you. They want to sit with you and explain how crappy it is and how they’ll always be there for you if you need them. It’s sweet, and makes the whole humiliating experience better. Your partner stands at the door and asks if you want to join them for drinks or trivia or a party. You question internally why they would want to put you through that, but make up an excuse as to why you can’t attend. You leave, sobbing on your way home.

Arriving home, you’re a mess. You have your belongings in a bag with you, and are not sure what to do next with your life. And then, just as you start to give up on ever finding someone to love again, someone walks right up to you, picks you up, takes your bag and puts it in their home. And you start all over again.

The above all happened, just not with a partner. Replace a few words, and you’ll have the story of how I was fired.