I had started to dream up the most amazing holiday I could think of. Travelling to four different continents; camp under the stars in the Australian outback, try amazing food from Thailand, sunbathe on a beautiful beach in Fiji and hitchhike across the US of A. In my head, it was perfect. In reality, this big shadowing figure called Mum stops it from happening. Popping the dream cloud above my head. Slamming me back down to earth with a bump.
Next year will be my second gap year before going to University in 2014. It is my last chance to explore, to find myself, to make new friends and new memories. But my mum forbids it as I am not competent enough to go by myself. I understand she might be worried, but to not even agree to negotiate with me is just fucking heart-breaking. Just when I thought she understood that me travelling, experiencing different cultures, finding out for myself just how happy it is possible to be, she goes and deletes it all.
It sounds dramatic and almost pathetic when I say that if I go travelling I will feel complete, I will feel cultured, I will feel truly happy…but it’s the truth. At the moment I feel so tight chested, constricted…trapped. Don’t get me wrong, Cambridge is a lovely place to live, but I have lived here for 14 years now. I’m sick of the people, the same sights every day, the same smells, food, everything. I want to live. I want to explore. I want to be truly happy and carefree. I’m serious. The longer I stay here, the harder I find it to ever feel free.
If I don’t feel free, I have no idea how long I’ll last before I contemplate finishing everything.