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Belonging, Almost!


                                     

I am at our local rock choir practice. It is allegedly rock, but we sing Christmas songs this week. Neither rock nor Christmas. But it is late October, so nearly there, right?

The day after Halloween is Christmas for this part of the world. And I entertain this spirit. Or try to. I am wearing my cosy red sweater. Is it Christmas-themed? No. But it is Christmas enough for 27 October. But when I stepped into the room, I saw I was nearly the only one without a Christmas jumper. Hey, I try.

We're singing a few Christmas songs. This time, it is different. Normally, we learn all the songs from scratch. But this time, because they are Christmas songs and because they are the same songs from last year, the teacher doesn't spend too much time teaching and goes straight to singing. And because the majority of the class is carrying on from last year, they all know the songs and sing accordingly.

It is okay; we have the lyrics. Or rather, they have the lyrics. Not me. Because I came to the class a few minutes late. And apparently, there weren't enough lyrics for everyone. So, I'm the only one without lyrics now.

I'm there, standing in my not-so-Christmas-red jumper, trying to attend the choir without my lyrics, as probably the only non-Scottish person.

Welcome to my life up north.

An hour later, my fiancé comes to pick me up.

“How did it go?”

Silence.

“What's wrong?”

I tell him what happened. He goes:

“Ah, baby, they probably grew up with those songs. Of course they could sing. It's a shame no one gave their lyrics to you, though.”

That's it. They could sing because they grew up with those songs. And now I'm even more upset about being the only not-grew-up-with-Christmas-songs person without lyrics.

I've been thinking about this for some time. It's been exactly two months since I moved here. And I obviously struggle a bit because it's a new job, a new house and a new partner. But also, it's all unknown. And I've been thinking about what's different from Southampton or Singapore, the other brand-new places I once lived in.

I had people like me in those places. People who didn't spend their whole lives in that country. And it's fine. In Aberdeen, you could also find foreigners, but I haven't met many yet. And it's so different.

I go to the gym sometimes, when I'm being good. And I see a lot of senior ladies joining the same classes as me. Good for them, very impressive. I chat with some of them. Lovely people. Very kind. Then I think, someone probably calls them ‘Grandma.’ Or more accurately, ‘Nan.’ But how different they are from my own grandma. It's almost like black and white.

I've been sailing the foreign waters since 2018, and yet it still shocks me how different the lives we live are. It's completely different lives, different people, and then some. The more I try to socialise, the more I feel this fact in my veins, my whole body. And this is the scenario where everyone is extremely kind. But just kind. Not friends.

This is what “living your dreams” sometimes looks like.

 



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