Things in Cyprus are bad. Really bad. Everyone says so.
“Now is the time to go and get your CV out there. Greeks, Italians, Spaniards, they’ve all made the jump. We’re next on the list. Better to get out first before a flood of Cypriot CVs hit the European market and yours is lost in the masses,” says my younger sister, a 32-year-old media professional who keeps her eye on the ball.
But where does one go? What does one do? And will what you find be any better than the situation you’re already in?
Four months ago I decided to move to London. Well, I tell a lie. I actually decided to move here last March after a conversation with my former boss, who, in no uncertain terms, made it clear I would be made redundant.
“The money simply isn’t there,” he said. “I wish it was, but it isn’t.”
And so today I find myself living in London, home to eight million people – including me.
Thankfully I don’t live alone. My boyfriend got a job here in August and we moved into our one bedroom basement flat a month later. To be honest I don’t know if I’d have had the confidence to make the move if he hadn’t made it with me. Too used to my home comforts or the Cyprus bubble as I once heard life in Cyprus described.
Living in London has been a huge learning curve. They say you either love a big city, or hate it. For the time being I’m sitting on the fence. I can see why one would love it and I can also see why one would hate it. My boyfriend would tell me those are my Libran tendencies coming out; an innate desire to strive for balance and equilibrium, weighing up both the good and the bad of any situation.
To date I have no job, my savings are fast running out, and I miss friends and family like crazy. That’s the bad. On the upside I am living with my gorgeous boyfriend, have my health and like the cold more than the heat. I also feel as if anything is possible in London as long as I go out and make it possible. That’s another half point to London (going out and doing it on your own is hard in a big faceless city where you know no one and no one knows you hence why it only gets half a point instead of a full one). When I was living in Cyprus I didn’t feel that. It was too small and advancement seemed possible only through nepotism. Minus one point to Cyprus.
This game of weighing up the pros and cons between the two cities (I don’t care if people think of Nicosia as a village, to me it’s a city, my city, albeit a small one) is something I do often and I have to stop it. I keep reminding myself that London is my new home, and that if I’m to really make a go of this I have to try and lay down roots here. This is easier said than done when I take to change like root canal treatment.
Friends and acquaintances in Cyprus are always saying how lucky I am to be living in London and how amazing it must be. They hear the word London and you see their eyes light up and take on a faraway dreamy look as they say “Oh London! I love London”. And I guess it would be amazing if I lived here the way I used to holiday here: extravagantly. The problem is you can only do that if you’re a multimillionaire with an unlimited income at your disposal and an oil well to your family name. And as much as I may dream it, the reality is I’m not a multimillionaire, I do not have an unlimited income at my disposal, and my father is not a Saudi sheik.
People always think the grass is greener on the other side. I suppose that’s only natural when feelings of envy, jealousy and inadequacy seem to be part of our human make-up. I used to think living in London would be the be all and end all. I didn’t quite take into account the daily hardships of a big city. Take travelling. It is roughly 30 minutes to anywhere you want to go from here. Now that isn’t far for London, but when you consider it’s a trip from Nicosia to Larnaca, well that puts things into perspective doesn’t it? Imagine you live in Nicosia and your work place, friends and family are all in either Larnaca or Limassol. Now if you’re a born and bred Cypriot, which I practically am, then that’s a very rude awakening. We Cypriots are so used to a different way of life. Where driving to Zorpa, which is only a four minute walk from your house, is par for the course. Here, people make do without a car as it’s more hassle than it’s worth.
So here’s what I’ve decided to do. I have decided to take one day at a time. It’s all I can do. I’m sure I’ll continue to compare the two cities and feel very homesick at times but since I’ve decided there is no going back at this point, then I have to integrate myself here and immerse myself into London life, with all its ups and downs. I also have to buckle down and find a job ASAP. Working is not only necessary for financial survival but also for mental health. I used to think that being a lady of leisure would be fun. I can now firmly say that it is no such thing. Unless you have a purpose to your day there is no point in getting it started. And if you don’t get your day started then you end up spending it in bed. That sounds like a luxury to people who work really hard. I know because I used to work really hard until I lost my job. Now I feel like a small fish in an ocean and I’m struggling to find my way. I used to live in a pond and this ocean is very different to that pond. I’m hoping that with time I’ll settle in and find that it’s not so bad here, and that in fact it’s actually damned exciting.
