Questions and Assumptions

Crossing That Line

Too often am I faced with invasive questions and assumptions when it comes to the really important life decisions that should only be discussed between partners: wedding plans, work visas, family plans – you name it.

Worse yet is when family members are grilled on the same topics, resulting in major assumptions that characterise us poorly, and ultimately leave us incredibly frustrated.

Now, before I go any further, my family are not the creators of such burden. Since moving to the UK, both my immediate and extended families have given nothing but support: emotionally (with daily texts and photos from home), psychologically (helping me to nut out problems I face that require a second opinion) and physically (with the sending of care packages, despite the enormous cost of shipping and customs charges).

While I answer most questions asked of me while maintaining some semblance of privacy, my family aren’t always afforded the same courtesy.

If someone asks me a question that is too personal, I have no problems showing them where the line is and reminding them to stand behind it. Unfortunately, when my family is grilled, it is socially unacceptable for them to respond in the same way without being perceived as ‘defensive’. So then they are left trying to explain MY situation between bossy, instructional comments that tell them what they “should” do, all while enduring intense judgement – for MY personal decisions. It’s not too fair, huh?

So I’d like to dispel some myths about living abroad, living away from my family, working in a foreign country, and our wedding plans. This blog will put my mind at ease, as I cannot be interrupted, and my actions, thoughts or feelings can in no way be misconstrued. What I say is what I mean.

Questions asked of my family

1. (Moments after being told I’m engaged) “Did he give her a big ring?”

A: The ring is absolutely perfect – down to the finest detail. Now let’s focus on the fact that two people will be marrying for love, not money or possessions.

2. “So you're flying over for the wedding? For how long will you stay in England?” 

A: No. This is something we’ve discussed and toyed with, but I’ve been raised to think practically and logically. I have been home to Australia twice to visit, as I missed my country, my family, my friends, and my angel of a dog. I wanted familiarity (and sunshine!). It doesn’t make sense to spend enormous amounts of money to fly my family over, when I’d be at work, or overseas on my honeymoon.

3. “Good. You have accommodation there.”

A: Even if my family did visit, we could fork out money on blow-up mattresses that would be used for a week, but would they be comfortable? Our sweet, neat, cosy 1-bedroom flat wouldn’t be suitable for a family of five.

4.  *gasp* “They want a PRIVATE wedding?!”

A: Oh my lord, yes. Growing up, I NEVER wanted a big wedding. From an early age (and probably due to my social anxiety, and the inherent need to never let anyone feel left out), I always preferred to elope; this made people gasp every time, but it is honestly what I wanted and continue to want. Luckily, my fiancé wants the same! 

The venue is gorgeous: nice building in an old, clean and respected town. Yes, we have a photographer and yes, we have booked our exciting honeymoon.

At the end of the day, flying my immediate family to England means my extended family (who are just as important to me) miss out on the wedding.

Then there’d be the pressure of having a big family dinner – again, not something either the bride or groom wanted. We will celebrate with our families separately when we see them, so we can spend one-on-one time with them. That would mean the world to us.

So yes, we are having a VERY private wedding. And we are SO excited. 😃

5. "Has she bought the wedding dress, yet? Can I see? How much did it cost?"

A: I will wear the modest, modern wedding outfit I envisioned for my wedding. ☺💖

6.  “My daughter drove in to her wedding in a Ferrari.”

A: How lovely for your daughter! If that is her dream, I’m glad it was achieved. For me though, I’d rather save that money for a house deposit. We cannot wait to landscape our own garden in a home not governed by a landlord or pushy real estate agency.

7. Why don’t you just go to England for a few days at least? You HAVE to see your daughter/sister marry!

A: First of all, no, they don’t. They might LIKE to, but they don’t HAVE to. My family is wise enough to know that it is the life we make for ourselves after we marry that counts.

The other thing is, money aside, many of us have multiple responsibilities that prevent us from travelling willy-nilly. I won’t go into them here as it’s nobody’s business but ours, but seriously, stop pushing the issue. Do NOT feel sorry for us, we aren’t the ones with an issue here – you are! We are all very satisfied with the wedding plans as they are, thank you. 😊 

A Change in Direction…

Now, on a slightly different note, I am a young (multiple) business owner who works diligently and efficiently to make these work – with measured success.

My best friends and family know what I’ve achieved, I know what I’ve achieved, where I’m going with the businesses and how they will grow, but too many (nosy) acquaintances feel it’s their place to make very personal assumptions without knowing the full story. And because of that, some people have developed a false understanding of both me as an individual and an entrepreneur.

So, here are some questions I am often asked (but not given the chance to actually answer):

1. Do you know what you really want to do? It seems like you’re just banging about with no real idea of what you want!

A: Firstly, how incredibly rude. Secondly, if you’d stopped at the question before making your assumption, I would have told you exactly what I want to do. And you’d know I’m doing it.

2. You are always working so hard! You’re struggling financially, and I just want to help!

A: Yes, I work very hard. I rarely switch off - a failing of mine, but also a strength. But the thing is, business excites me, and for too many years I was afraid to take a risk – even if that meant simply researching the business I wanted to develop. I guess I was afraid of failure. How many successful people achieved success overnight? Success that earned longevity? I can’t think of any.

As for the financial assumption, we are not ‘struggling’ at all. I ALWAYS have an income, because I have always budgeted and planned out our immediate and distant future:

-   Where will we be in one year?

-   How much will rent be?

-   What job will I be doing?

-   Do I want to give up my weeknights and weekends to mark Secondary English papers again?

-   Can I put the teaching workload ahead of my relationship?

-   How much will this visa cost?

-   Can we end our current lease sooner?

-   When will I find time to have the car fixed?

-   Will this plumber ever return our calls to fix that leak in the flat above?

So in short, we do not need financial help. What a terrible assumption to make. We are capable adults with clever heads on our shoulders. If we are struggling, we’ll let you know. But honestly, don’t hold your breath.

3.  Does Gigamov make money yet? What is your plan? It’s just a hobby. Focus on something that will earn you money.

A: I find this so rude. I don’t bother explaining to people who tell me how to run my community-led website how this so-called ‘hobby’ works. But I will explain briefly here.

I am so proud to have built Gigamov from scratch: from its conception, to its development, recruitment, and the small successes it’s earned in its 7 months. Yes, that’s right. I founded Gigamov in December 2016 and launched in January 2017 with a solid team of foundation writers (voluntary) who continue to write several news and reviews items each week.

No, I cannot pay the writers at this time (as they knew when joining our community). We do not profit. So if that constitutes as a hobby in your books, fine. But let me remind you, earning money from click-ads isn’t as simple or as lucrative as it first seems. It takes time.

We will get there eventually, but right now, we have a steady team of writers who have grown in confidence with every review they submit, and who have even received job offers in the writing field because their work is published on a professional website separate to their blog pages. I am happy to give these writers the chance to become published in a world where publication is near to impossible.

We have gained special access to numerous gigs and conventions because of the work we do, and for pop culture fans, this is a massive win! So if we’re not making money right now, that’s fine by me. It will happen eventually.

4. Why aren’t you teaching full-time anymore? Is it a lifestyle thing?

A: Lifestyle? Really? I still work really hard, both as a supply (casual) teacher and at home. If I taught full-time, the workload I’d be bringing home would prevent me from working on our businesses of an evening. I know what is important in life, and it isn't drowning in data entry, reports or marking.

5. Why are you teaching Primary now? Was Secondary too hard?

A: Secondary was lovely. I have so many fond memories of the students – even when they were being little s**ts! It really was both the most exhausting and rewarding (albeit quite thankless) job I’ve ever had.

What I didn’t agree with was the focus on data (and too often, ‘fudging’ data to benefit the school), and the misguided leaders who had no concept of or empathy for children anymore.

Schools unfortunately are now all about data and training and increased workloads – which is totally detrimental to the students we teach. I can no longer be a part of that environment. Primary schools are much the same, but at 30, I needed a change.

Teaching Primary has been a totally new challenge – not harder in any way, but not easier either. Just… DIFFERENT. I’ve drawn upon my Secondary Teaching skills, and honed others to develop them for a younger audience. It’s been a great adventure.

6. When will you go back to Australia? Or are you staying in the UK for good?

A: January, baby!

7. What food can I get for you? I don’t have any superfoods or special health products on hand. I’m so sorry…

A: Don’t be! If I’m a guest in your home, I’ll be grateful for whatever you provide. Of course I prefer to eat healthy (I can eat more and relinquish guilt!), but unless you’re a commercial organisation who is expected to cater for nutrition-focussed individuals, a sausage on the barbie’s fine by me! 

I know there are PLENTY of other questions and assumptions that are made about my life here in the UK, as well as the exciting ventures my fiancé and I have coming up, but I hope my answers have cleared up any misconceptions you yourself may have had.

One thing I have always struggled with in life is defamation or misrepresentation: I speak for myself. No-one speaks for me. And, some questions just needn’t be asked.  Think to yourself, “will it kill me now to know?” If not, it’s probably best left unsaid.

Now, back to my Sunday morning where the sun is actually out in abundance, the church bells are ringing, and my cup-a-joe is waiting patiently to be sipped.

By Belinda Pearce

18/6/17 

Fear of the Unknown

London Calling

It was a cold and drizzly Tuesday afternoon. I’d just left work, happy to have left with a feeling of elation that my six lessons that day had gone off without a hitch… and having chatted with my crush made it all the more better. The wipers undulated slowly across my windscreen, slightly blurred by the fine moisture emanating throughout the atmosphere below the dark, foreboding clouds. No Doubt’s ‘Settle Down’ played through my car speakers. I sang along emphatically as I normally would within the safe, non-judgmental confines of my black Jeep Wrangler.

‘You can see it in my eyes / You can read it on my lips

I’m trying to get a hold of this…’

As the lyrics continued, my chest tightened slightly, leading to a sudden and deep breath of inhalation. In this unexpected moment of previously avoided introspection, I remembered the life decisions I needed to address. As the lyrics suggested, I was trying to come to terms with something. The uncertainty, the doubt, the anxiety… it was still there, threatening to consume the forefront of my mind; threatening to wipe my pleasant, short-term memory clear, much like the wipers sarcastically waving to me from the outside of the windscreen. As Gwen Stefani’s vocals endured, little did I know that the song I was so happily belting out foreshadowed what was to happen next. And further to that, what would happen next would be the perfect metaphor for my current situation.

**

Driving my usual route home, I noticed a digital traffic update sign that flashed 'Accident on Richmond Road. Take detour.' “Poor bugger…” I thought, silently thanking God that it wasn’t me. I flicked on my left indicator and moved into the next lane of the freeway, leading me to take an earlier exit than usual so as to avoid the expected delays.

Gearing down appropriately as I approached the red traffic lights, I touched the brake peddle and came to a complete stop. I squinted at the street signs through the misty air: one pointed left, the other right. It was an intersection I was unfamiliar with though I recognised the street name. I made an executive decision within due course before the lights turned green – my inner compass has always steered me in the right direction. “Right it is,” I said aloud as I slowly but surely released my foot from the brake. Much like riding a bicycle, my foot now pressed gently upon the accelerator as if automated to do so without a second thought.

As I crawled my Jeep around the ever-dampening bend, my eyes remained focussed on the cars in the two lanes to my right. One car was slightly overhanging its lane, clearly having misjudged its ability to fit in behind the car that was ahead. Knowing I had to be even more careful, and acknowledging that my tyres had a tendency to slide erratically in wet weather, I lightly tapped the brake with my right foot so as to slow down even more.

Big mistake.

Suddenly, my car careened around the bend uncontrollably, and at an unexpected speed. The back tyres seemed to have absolutely no grip. I’d lost control of the vehicle. I put my foot down harder on the brake - no dice. I turned the steering wheel as fast as I could to avoid hitting the car that had driven up alongside mine. I spun the wheel one way then the other. My reliable Jeep had lost its shit. Before I knew it, I was situated halfway up the sidewalk facing oncoming traffic. I was directly below the freeway’s underpass at the time.

The most dramatic part was over. I was at a full stop. I was unharmed. I was safe. Miraculously, I’d avoided hitting any cars at the T-intersection and although I did feel a sudden jolt as my Jeep exceeded the gutter, the incident left me quite literally parked perfectly between two enormous cement pylons. Somehow, I’d managed to avoid making contact with either one.

‘No big deal (I can handle it) / It’ll bounce off me (I can handle it)’

I wasn't hurt. I wasn't even rattled. I distinctly remember my unsettlingly logical and calm train of thought as my car spun into a frenzy: "I cannot afford an insurance claim right now. This is bad timing. I really don’t need this. If I have an accident, I’ll have to call work and let them know I won’t be in. What a hassle!" Logical, calm and forward-planning as always. Though my immediate reaction to the potentially fatal situation was alarmingly skewed, it did instigate me to drive with more patience and care from then on.

As soon as the car came to a halt, I took off my seat belt, pulled up the handbrake and started to reach for the ignition, ready to switch off the Jeep and assess the damage. It hadn’t quite clicked that I’d gotten off scot-free. As I looked at the two pylons neighbouring either side of my front bonnet, I realised just how lucky I had been. No one had been hurt. There was not a scratch or dent to be seen. Few people saw so my dignity remained intact. As my motor continued to hum healthily, I assessed the area for oncoming traffic and reversed back into my original lane. Slowly I made my way home via the detour I otherwise would not have taken had there not been a reported accident on my usual route home.

**

The near miss became a symbol of my inability to choose between the two choices I was facing at the time: the comfortable path I was already on as a high school teacher, or to forge ahead towards the challenging obstacle course that was the unknown. If you're a close friend, loved one or acquaintance, you would know I lead a very busy and purposeful life. Leaving no stone unturned, my spare time is often spent writing and researching for personal fulfilment, learning a second language, working as a P.A. at geek cons, playing guitar and piano, and dedicating a good amount of time to exercise. If this comes as no surprise to you, then you'd also know I've booked a one-way ticket to London in 2016.

"You must be so excited!" people chime. "London! This must be a dream come true!" The response to both of these statements is a dull and boring "no". Besides the fact that many focus on the 'holiday' aspect of the journey rather than the stress of migration, the impending move to London has evoked in me a sense, or rather, fear of the unknown.

Currently, my future in London is completely set: teaching work is all systems go; working visa has been sorted, and accommodation is close to finalisation. However, if the extensive administration of moving to London was so simple and stress-free, why then am I so damn opposed to the idea?

Plan B was hurled into action as soon as the doubts began to surface. Ardently, I set forth on a job hunt, passionately seeking a career outside of teaching that would allow me to immerse myself in the world of writing. The ABC advertised a position that had me head over heels in love with the idea of working for a highly respected and ethical media corporation; but alas, my heart was broken when, after spending a solid two weeks writing a three-thousand word selection criteria document, I received the dreaded email that my application had been rejected. Painstakingly, I continued to search for similar jobs, my mind set on establishing a career that prided itself on truth, accuracy and the exposure of media manipulation. It was soon after the professional rejection that I came across a position modestly titled ‘Writer and Editor’ for an eclectic Sydney marketing agency.

Upon calling the Editorial Director, I learned that the role comprised of copywriting and managing social media for a multitude of fields: design, business, hospitality and medical to name a few. I could do this job with my eyes closed. The next six days were spent working tirelessly on a cover letter that thoroughly addressed the obscure selection criteria of the advertised position. During our phone call, the E.D. had noted that applications were open for another three weeks, so I had plenty of time to make this one count.

Only hours after my car had spun out of control on the wet and slippery road, I was eating dinner and sitting at my open Macbook Air, decidedly set on completing my convincing application. Another hour later and I breathed a sigh of relief. “Done...” So eager was I to apply that I’d kept the advertisement open in my web browser for six days – its presence acting as a reminder that the figurative clock was ticking. Ready to submit, I clicked Google Chrome’s ‘refresh’ icon. However, rather than being invited to ‘Apply now’, I was met with ‘Sorry – this job is no longer advertised.’

‘Here we go again / Are you insane?
Underneath the avalanche / So heavy again…’

I felt lost, even more so than before. I felt directionless. I felt hopeless. I felt like I wasn’t good enough… No – rather, I felt like I was damn good but my talents and expertise were being disregarded by future employers, and wasted in my current job. I felt frustrated. My future was hanging in the balance, and I was desperately grasping for lifelines that just weren’t there.

“Maybe I’m destined for London,” I thought before dragging myself to bed, dejected. “Maybe that’s the universe’s plan.”

Of my decision to live abroad, my friends and family have been incredibly supportive - I cannot fault them on that. Each of them wholeheartedly wishes for me to embark on the adventure as they know I’ll realise aspirations that would otherwise have gone unaccomplished in Australia. They lament on upcoming ventures they envision for me. They tell me exactly how we will communicate in the future - Skype calls with my friends and their yet-to-be-conceived children is the agreed mode. They tell me that they will miss me dearly, and selfishly wish I’d find a job in Sydney so that we can continue to see each other on a regular basis. Although their support has been so very appreciated, it has me left questioning my ability to cope in a foreign land without so much as a loved one’s hug for months on end.

Then there are the heartstrings, and the incredible guy tugging at them. As individuals in a highly digitalised society where face-to-face interactions are becoming more uncommon by the day, rarely do we meet people we have an instant connection with, as if drawn to them by some unknown force. Sure, I’ve only known my crush for a short period of time, but our conversations both in and outside of the workplace have led me to consider him a valued friend. I was instantly comfortable with this gentleman, as if I’d known him for years. Within a week or two, I found I was sharing my inner thoughts, hidden 'talents' (or rather, my less than desirable musical attempts), expressing self-doubt without restriction, and exposing my flaws quite comfortably. It was (and continues to be) a beautiful feeling.

While our paths seemed to cross in synchronicity with our experiences at the time, London remained a ticking time bomb, threatening to destroy the positive progress made with this intelligent, witty, grounded, soulful and kind-hearted man. Though regardless of who the love interest may be, my commitment to international migration created a temporary barricade around my love life, the sign stating ‘OFF LIMITS’ to any man who may be interested in getting to know me further. London soon became the invasive chaperone that ends your date before you get the goodnight kiss. It is the stroke of midnight that turns a beautiful ballgown back into rags. In an ideal world, our friendship would blossom into a solid relationship, albeit in due time. I worry that my efforts have been in vain if London's calling lures me to its shores in 2016.

**

As I write this, it continues to rain. Not drizzle, but pour. I’m sitting at my desk in an empty staff room, listening to the obnoxious ticking of the clock on the wall, well-aware that I’ve stayed well-passed my usual finish time, and further aware of the stringent amount of time I have to make a decision about my immediate future. If time is of the essence, then, like my wily car accident, it’s no wonder I’m so uncentred.

That said, I am resilient. I am focussed within my very being. I know exactly what my end goal is, though I may not always like the journey. I persevere, I endure, and I overcome obstacles as they occur.

**

As I drove away from the dangerously damp intersection of which my car slid, I couldn’t help but thank God resonantly for not only keeping me safe, but for making me the irrepressible person I am today. ‘Settle Down’ continued to play as I glanced back at the freeway’s underpass. Despite the immediate events, I continued to sing along with the equally tenacious Stefani:

‘I’m a rough and tough / And nothing’s gonna knock this girl down…’

By Belinda Pearce

4/11/15