The Countdown Begins....

Can hardly believe it's the 27th December already and I'm a mere 9 days away from embarking on my travels; the past month has flown by. Up to now I've felt no nerves at all, but now they are inevitably creeping up on me and the enormity of what I'm about to do is hitting me square in the face. My room (have moved out of my house in London and back to my parents' in Surrey) looks like a bombsite, and it's becoming patently clear I will never fit everything I want to take into my rucksack, despite the fact it's pretty much the largest on the market (due to a minor administrative error on my part). I've done the 'travelling' thing before, to some extent, so I know what to expect - and I certainly know there's no point in taking any nice clothes because they'll probably all be ridden with bed bugs and fit for the bonfire by the end - but nonetheless the city girl in me is finding it hard to give up the mini skirts and heels in favour of old sweatshirts and walking boots...Still, I've got a week to find the strength to do it, and find the strength I shall.

It's been a funny few weeks, fraught with the stress of moving out of London, giving up a reasonably paid and secure job and jumping feet first into the (extremely inadvisable, given the current state of the economy) status of voluntary unemployment. I can't deny it brought a lump to my throat when my final pay cheque cleared on Christmas Eve, and it's certainly making me look at money in a new way now I know the amount that's currently in my account will only decrease from here on in. But at the same time I feel a sense of freedom. When you're in full time employment, paying rent on a flat and are tied into God knows how many contracts and bills, it's sometimes hard to see the wood for the trees. Every month the money comes in and goes straight out like the tide, taking more with it than was there to begin with. It's only when you step off the merry-go-round of consumption that is modern living that you realise quite how depressing it is, not to mention how goddamn difficult it is to extricate yourself from it all. I've cancelled more direct debits than I care to mention, but am finally in a position where I'm free of all my financial commitments, and I must admit that feels pretty bloody fantastic.

I had mixed feelings about leaving London, after all, it's been good to me for the past eight years, on the whole. But recently I had started to notice myself getting angrier, sliding slowly but inevitably into the state of deterioration that comes with having lived in a big city for too long. Don't get me wrong, I love London; it's vibrancy, variety and the opportunities it offers. I just need a break from it. I'm TIRED of all the late nights, partying, packed commuter trains and tubes, grumpy faces and frankly awful weather. I may be nearly thirty but I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up, so I saw little point in quitting one job in favour of another that I would almost certainly come to realise wasn't what I wanted to do either. Fortunately, I have a wonderfully supportive family and the means to give myself a few months' leave of absence from my life; I fully appreciate how lucky I am and that many don't have such opportunities, and I'm determined to make the most of every moment.

Christmas back home is always a wonderful time; mother and I will always bicker, of course, but in spite of that we love one another dearly and, this year especially, I think the three of us are really relishing some quality time together before I head off into the unknown. I must admit as the years go by it's hitting me hard that my parents are getting older. As an only child this is perhaps harder to accept, partly for selfish reasons as you worry how you'll cope if one or both of them becomes ill or infirm. Even in the past week I've found myself getting frustrated by my mum failing to remember things I've told her, or getting herself worked up about things I deem ridiculous and unecessary to waste time or breath on. It's almost like I'm holding her accountable for succumbing to the ageing process, which I appreciate is deeply unfair, but which I nonetheless find hard to stop doing. It's hard not to worry about those you love the most, but sometimes you have to find a sort of acceptance of the way things are, and go along with them instead of fighting what is ultimately a futile battle. I guess the same applies the other way around; mum's worried to death about me going away, but once I have gone I'm sure she'll find a way to cope just as she did when I went to Africa in 2007. One thing the human race is good at doing is adapting, and I'm sure we'll all adapt just fine once this period of change is over. Aside from anything else, my parents love one another deeply, and I take great comfort in this fact.

Christmas Day itself was lovely this year. In the morning I visited one of my stepdad's care homes, and met 92 year old Tom and Bunty, the latter of whom is in the late stages of dementia. Tom immediately remembered me from last year, recounting the conversation we had about Africa that I must admit I barely remembered myself. They're such a wonderful couple; so warm and gentle. Tom in particular melts my heart, as he barely leaves Bunty's side, and shows such patience and devotion to her in spite of her illness. It must be an incredibly lonely experience losing a loved one to dementia, watching as they fade away and slip out of your grasp, but being at the care home made me realise just how important such facilities are for the relatives of sufferers of the disease. Every relative I spoke to praised the staff and spoke of how their support helped them to cope during the darkest times. It's such a tragic shame that provision for the elderly in this country is so dire, not to mention the fact so many wonderful carers from overseas are now being forced to return to their countries for immigration reasons, leaving gaping holes in recruitment.

After the care home, the three of us went to the Salvation Army Christmas lunch in the community centre down the road, where my stepdad had been coerced into performing a magic trick, and I, in turn, coerced into helping him. I must admit I had been dreading it, and when we arrived and I saw the assembled crowd, many of whom were glaring out from beneath their paper hats and clearly doing their best to have a thoroughly miserable time, the feeling of dread grew even more. Thankfully, however, the 'trick' ran smoothly, and the vast majority of people were good sports and got involved. It was a far cry from the atmosphere in the care home that morning, but then I suppose that's not all that surprising given most of the Salvation Army attendees lived alone and didn't know any of the other people present. I sat down next to one lady and asked if she was enjoying it, to which she replied 'I shouldn't really say this, but it's not really my kind of thing.' I have to admit this made me smile; why should she lie and say she was having a great time when it couldn't have been further from the truth? That said, I'd hazard a guess she was happier having her Christmas dinner there than she would have been sitting all by herself.

Inevitably, with a fortnight to go before leaving the country for eight months, I have met someone who could potentially be someone special in my life. I say potentially, because at this relatively early stage it's really hard to know either way; all I do know is we get on very well, and if I wasn't going away I'm pretty certain I'd want to see more of him, and get to know him a lot better. Part of me is cursing the universe for it's shitty timing (after all, I've been single in London for the past three years and not met anyone even remotely suitable!), but another part is thinking that the old adage of 'what will be will be' is true. I know the next eight months are crucial to me working out what I want from life, and that if I fell into a relationship now there would still be that adventurous part of me that would forever wonder 'what if.' It's for this reason that I know I'm doing the right thing, and can see it's pointless to even entertain the idea that I might be 'missing out' on something special here. At the end of the day, if there is something there, it will still be there when I get back. Eight months isn't forever. I just have to believe in fate.