Transition

This is a time of transitions. In less than four weeks I am getting on a plane to literally the other side of the planet, hoping to start afresh and “find myself”, as the hipsters of today call it in their inspirational blogs and quotes on images of sunsets.

Finishing my thesis has become my first and only priority at this point. Bushbabies have turned from the cute cuddly creatures that I studied before starting my fieldwork, to the far too loud and screechy assholes they were in Africa, to the much feared and frustrating subjects of my analysis now that I’m back. It’s a love-hate relationship, really. But in three weeks I will hand in this final piece of university work, ever. I might even play some of those screeches in my bedroom and reminisce about the most fascinating bit of research I have done to date (sorry, housemates).

This is also the first transition. Since the age of five, I have studied. I studied drawing and addition in primary school, French and art history in school, geology and genetics at University, and now the obscure art of trying to write scientifically valid assumptions from useless data for my MSc. All I have ever done and known, is studying. Transition #1 is thus perhaps the scariest and most stressful of all. Because studying is easy. Finding a job, not so much.

Transition #2 is Manchester. This mad, manky, marvellous city has become a home to me that I never expected. Moving here was done on a whim, with a last-minute rejection at another University forcing me to move to Salford. But over the last five years, Manchester has truly become “mine”. I love the little streets that take me to the various houses I have lived in over the years, I love the bars where the bartenders now know my name, I love the places I used to work and now desperately avoid, I love the people that are weird and eccentric and friendly and warm. And I love the people that I am lucky enough to call my friends here. Some new, from my most current degree or new house, proving to be more loyal and trustworthy than I could ever have hoped for. Some old, from my very first days in Manchester, proving to be patient and solid rocks in this turbulent little life of mine. But most of all, they’re all bat-shit crazy. Every last one of them.

Which leads me to the last transition: Goodbyes. Saying goodbye is almost harder than trying to write a coherent conclusion for my thesis. But lately I have learned this: a difficult goodbye is proof of a truly important friendship. Goodbyes are meant to be difficult. So I will cherish the anguish and the slightly paralysing fear I feel as I come closer to that point of saying goodbye to everyone. Hopefully we will all meet up, a mixture of people I have collected around me over the years. Let’s meet up to say goodbye, have a drink, and celebrate. After all, in the words of Mark Radcliffe:

“Manchester is a city that thinks a table is for dancing on.”

So let us dance on the tables and do Manchester proud.