Greetings from Gent

Musings after a week alone in a foreign country.

Hello to those who I've abandoned in my quest for adventure,

How are you all?

It's been about a week since I left Ireland, although it already feels like longer. Without it needing to be said, here I am, alive, after six whole days abroad, alone. Ghent, Belgium. My new home. Oh, she is a beauty. I left Ireland three weeks earlier than I necessarily needed to, with the intention of finding a job. I've been lucky enough to be offered a trial in an Irish bar next week, if that goes well I'll be a hired woman, and this will have all been worth it. 

What are your thoughts so far, I hear you ask, dear audience member. I suppose I shall tell you, then.

I was scared, leaving home. I'd done it before, twice, sure, but never without some sort of 'fallback'. When I left Galway to go to university in Limerick, it's true that the only person I knew was my brother. But I felt like I had little to lose because I'd grown tired of Galway, and the associations I had with it. I needed something new, to discover who I was, to discover what I could be. And, luckily enough, it paid off. I found myself being welcomed into an entirely new world of people and although first year was wild, and weird, it was the most fun I'd ever had. Uni took a back seat, I prioritized putting myself out there and meeting new people, getting involved heavily in Drama society in just a few weeks. I look back now on the person I was, and cringe just a bit. She was so much younger than I realized. But she was trying her best, god bless her. 

A year passed, and I left home, again. It was tougher the second time, because I had grown attached to Limerick, especially the people there. I felt like I was going to miss out, and that when I returned, I would have to find my footing in a land that had known me once, but forgotten me in my time abroad. Leaving Ireland for Spain was difficult, but I wasn't alone. I had Robert, and I had Spanish, and if it all went badly, it was only four months. That played in my mind upon leaving. I didn't know how it would go, but I had faith, I suppose. Four months flew by, in a whirlwind of sunburn, and laughter, vomiting up cheap vodka, new names, faces and eventually, friends. It was an experience I could never have had if I'd stayed in my room, as well I could have if I'd lacked courage. Once I came home, not everything was as I remembered, I'll admit. But I fell into my old routine, and I was welcomed back like the old friend I was. It felt like nothing had changed, even though it had, slightly. 

This time, it's different. I had my doubts about it all. I have my doubts about it all. I don't know anyone here, I don't speak Flemish, and I don't know how I'm going to get by. That's the honest truth. I don't even know what home will be like when I get back, if there'll be anyone at all who fondly remembers the name 'Nab' (that's a slight hyperbole, but the point stands). Before I left people told me that I was brave, and that it was going to be wonderful for me to experience. I was told that if anyone could do it, I could. So I took a breath, and a leap of faith. I moved to another country, ready for the risk. 

Let's hope it pays off.

Signing off for week one,

Niamh.