Chantal - Have Laptop Will Travel

After my trip to Fuerteventura in July, I had assumed I would return there for my birthday, to spend it amongst the sun, oleanders and the friends I’d made over my last two trips. But then I lost my job, was out of work for a while, started a low-paid job then finally, recently, a higher-paid job, and though it was probably largely due to the manner in which I left Network Rail, I’ve realised that the people who matter most to me are those I spent nearly two years with there, and the friends I made in my few weeks of transition at Lewisham.

When I was a kid, as you entered the kitchen, there was a bookcase to the right, and somewhere on one of the lower shelves, there was a book which listed every day of the year, and every imaginable reason to celebrate each day. When I thought to look for that book again a few years later, it had gone, but I’ve never forgotten it; it seemed to inform much of my mother’s upbringing of me and my brother – trying to instill in us an ability to enjoy celebrations for what they were, to value them as a reason to celebrate something out of the ordinary. Twenty years on, I wonder if it was some kind of Holy Grail – something to remind us that, no matter how bad things get or look, there’s always something to be positive about, to celebrate, to inspire optimism. But twenty years ago, all that it – and she – left me with was an overdeveloped need to celebrate certain occasions.

My birthday’s at the end of November. I was meant to be born a month later, but a fallen car bumper decided otherwise. However, for me, the academic years have determined the changes in my life far more than my birthdays ever did; in September, the seasons are still changing, and there are still possibilities. By the end of November, habits and patterns are set until Spring, or at the very least, until my return to Guatemala a month later, and then until I recover from my return, and at best, it’s only ever a half-hearted attempt to celebrate myself, if mostly because I won’t allow it to be anything else. November has only ever meant the start of a new job, and a rapid countdown to a long return home. And a traumatic return to London a few weeks later.

Yes, in an ideal world, I would spend my birthday in Guatemala, where it truly means something, where I’d be with my family and extended family. Where I’d wake feeling I was at home, that the day truly meant something, and that even being able to walk across the plaza would be an enormous gift. My mother’s friends cannot understand how she can live so far away from her children, nor me so far away from her and the place which is my home. Though I would dearly love to spend my birthday in Antigua, at the lake, in Ram-Tzul, at Hacienda Tijax, in Mexico, gorging myself on tacos and enchiladas, that bumper didn’t do a good enough job of allowing long enough between my birthday and Christmas for that to ever be a feasible option.

While I was at Lewisham, I have a nasty feeling that I talked non-stop about Matt, Jenny, Ian, Simon and the Furball; I also talked lots about Rahat, Predict, and all the others I’d become close to over the years at Network Rail. I emailed a Lewisham friend today about not wanting any poison dwarves, furballs or Jabba the Huts etc at my birthday party, and I can only hope he remembers the context behind those names and not dismiss me as a complete nutter. It’s only been a few weeks since I cried out, ‘The Hamster’s having her leaving party!’ or something like that. That may make complete sense to Matt and I, if not to that many others.

As I’ve said so often, Network Rail was the ideal job for me, where I created most of my own workload, and could work my way through it it near-complete independence. Where I had so many close friends, and ultimately, where they (and my salary) were the deciding factor in whether or not to quit. Seven weeks on, I now commiserate; I’m fully aware that there’s a far healthier life out there than that which the Project offers, but that doesn’t stop me missing it, my friends there, or urging my remaining friends there to leave for somewhere less draining or blatantly unhealthy. From what I’ve heard – besides the Furball’s demotion and transfer, if not would-be relocation – it’s not somewhere to be unless you don’t have a choice, however I can’t help but feel for Laura, Jenny, Matt, the Ians, Sarah and all the others caught up in it and unable to leave. A hard choice: to be there with them and suffer alongside, or to move on and make the best of what the future has to offer, without them.

Maybe if my leaving party hadn’t been such a shambles, I’d have had fewer hopes for my birthday party next week. I really wanted it to be everything that my leaving party wasn’t, but already Laura can’t make it, neither of the Sarahs can make it, Simon has t’ai ch’i and Dominic is recovering from dental surgery, and hasn’t yet responded to my suggestions of large quantities of tap water. Just as I never allowed non-dance friends to intrude on our post-dance class and post-dance rehearsal pub sessions, in two years I’ve never mixed non-PSU friends with my colleagues, so next Tuesday will be a gamble.

I’ve just left a voicemail for Rahat, and texted Myles and Nick. I phoned Brendan last night, although he’s in Galway (lucky bugger) for the next few days. Theoretically, by choosing the Wellington, my PSU colleagues don’t have a credible excuse to not turn up. Catford to Waterloo, however, is a far more disputable situation, but I can only hope that Zak, Dominic and Stacey can sufficiently brave the journey, that my few short weeks with them can justify it. I would so very much hate for two weeks ago to be the last time I’d ever see any of them. Or more specifically, I would not have invested so much energy in them had I imagined I would not see them again. I may be a homing pigeon, but the only other thing I care for are my friends.

Maybe what birthdays are about is evaluating how far you’ve come socially in the last year: who you can count on to spend your birthday with versus a year ago. Maybe more importantly, who you want to spend it with, even if you can’t count on it happening the same way in reality. But just as I can’t imagine Katie’s world revolving every April, nor does mine every November; all that ever seems to happen is my assessing who I care most for and frantically hoping they feel enough of something to want to spend that evening with me.

I sent The Email out a day and a bit ago. It’s been two years since I last had to send out any such email, and given I had just said goodbye to all my friends, moved to Dublin then hastily returned, I didn’t have very high expectations at the time. A year ago, I went to Amsterdam for the weekend, to spend it with my sister rather than with friends who may or may not have wanted to be there.

Heart on sleeve, and all that crap. I drew up the list of invitees a week and a half ago, specifically based on those I missed the most and who I most wanted to be there on my birthday. But as I’ve said, I’m torn between wanting to turn it into a non-event, and wanting for it to be a really wonderful night, whatever it takes. Each year, I can only hope I’ll be in Paris the following year, which makes me want to make each birthday all the more special. And if Paris doesn’t happen, it’ll give me the sustenance to survive another year here. But heaven forbid I should actually admit that to anyone….