After years of procrastinating, months of saving and dozens of sleepless nights, the time had finally come to leave Aberdeen. For how long? I didn’t know. All I knew is that I wanted it so badly.
Despite their differences, my family had gathered – Mum, Dad, both Grandmas and Grandad – but I had made it clear that I didn’t want a sending off at the airport. My parents were going through a divorce and not on talking terms; my Grandmother from my Mum’s side and father hadn’t spoken in years; and I was a nervous wreck. Not ideal. This would be an important moment in my life, but I hadn’t thought about how significant it would mean to them. They were proud, supportive and would certainly miss me, and of course they wanted to say goodbye. The life that awaited me was within touching distance; A more familiar life, for now, could not have been closer.
Scattered tactically around the restaurant table, my family watched on as I sipped on strong coffee, rifled through my documents frantically, and enjoyed the last Scottish breakfast I’d be eating for a while. I was very much given room to breathe, something to which I had been missing for months prior. There was little in terms of conversation (although my two Grans could chat for all the tea in China) as my family remained focused on me and the trip. They tentatively judged and changed the pace depending on the ever shifting vibe around the table, in an attempt to form a delicate environment for me to star as I stepped up to centre stage. But in truth, I had said most of what I wanted to the weeks before and was surprisingly doing a good enough job of keeping it together on my own. I only wanted one person with me at the airport that day. That person was my Granddad, “Pop” – a strong, wise and worldly man who gives countless great advice and is generous with his words. When the time came to leave, he would know what to say, he would know how to act, and he would give me the added strength I needed to make it through the gate. As it was, I would lead an entourage of loved ones to the airport with me that morning, despite my objections.
The mood around the table changed as the time drew closer and closer. I began to get bombarded with silly yet mandatory questions:
“Got your passport? Got everything you need? When does your flight get in? How are you getting to the hotel?.”
This unsettled me. And I could feel my family becoming restless too as what little conversation there was, descended into unsubstantiated ramblings.
I was flying to Heathrow and then onto a connecting flight to Beijing, China. The impending trip meant the world to me. I had been dreaming of it for as long as I could remember. I hated who I had become in Aberdeen: A gambler, a drunk, struggling mentally and under achieving. I was lost. But I had worked hard, (always have done; always will do) and I was proud that I was finally reaching out to my dream. A dream that was becoming a reality.
My flight was called. It was time. We, as a family, began to make the short walk to the gate. I walked ahead to buy some time as I couldn’t bare to look at my parents. This was going to hurt.
As assumed, both my Grandmothers were in tears and although there was no set order to say goodbye, I took time with them first. They couldn’t be more different: A very Aberdonian grafter, with a love for whisky, bingo, and an incessant quest to cater for my vegetarian mother, despite not really knowing what a vegetarian is. And a flamboyant, eccentric, animal loving Jehovah from South Africa to whom there is never a dull moment. I love them both equally.
I turned to my old man. I was dreading this. I harbour a lot of feelings on him, and our relationship has been, and still is, strained. We are both scarily similar to the way we walk to the way we talk, to the jobs that we do. I see so much of myself in him and he does of me. But we find it incredibly hard to relate to one another despite the similarities. We moved in for an awkward hug and I desperately wanted for us to let our guards down for just one moment. It wasn’t to be. Sadly, moments of true honesty, relaxed conversation and real bonding is few and far between. He loves me and I love him, yet, something, nothing and everything stands between us truly becoming close. Selfishly, my leaving came at a great time for me, but the worst possible time for him.
The relationship between my mother and I had also seen better days. The three of us (my parents and I) had been living under the same roof for the last six months since it was announced that they would be getting a divorce, but I couldn’t remember the last conversation that any of us had, together or otherwise. We had our own rooms now, ate at different times and tip-toed around each-other. My mother felt like she had driven me away. That wasn’t true. And I made sure she knew that. We shared a genuine moment at the gate, and I was reminded how much my mother loves me. It was hard for her to let go. I edged myself out of the death grip hug I had found myself in and pulled away. I couldn’t tell her when I’d be back as I honestly didn’t know. She was devastated I was leaving.
Then, as I approached Pop, suddenly I began to crumble. I had remained strong through out, but it was all getting a bit too much. My eyes filled up, my lip began to tremble and I knew I was about to fall apart. But before I could, he interjected with some more wise words and the wisdom to which I needed. I wanted his advice and I wanted to remember it. It felt right that he would be the last person to see me off. We shook hands firmly and I was almost there. I worried that I would never see him in good health again. Parkinson’s Disease had been slowing him down in recent months and he could well be a different man by the time I returned.
Head down, passport and boarding pass in hand, I took a deep breath and made a turn for the gate. My eyes had been pushing back tears for the last few minutes, but like faulty swimming goggles, I couldn’t keep them dry any longer. I began to sob, but out of sight from my family as I continued to walk mercifully towards the desk. I looked back only once, to let out forced smile and give a wave, passport in hand. And then as I turned the corner, it was done.
I had officially left.
Within seconds of going through, my head started spinning and my stomach did cart wheels. From feeling so loved and surrounded before, I was now feeling instantly alone. I had never felt alone in this way, although a few bad nights of gambling gave me a taste of the feeling in the weeks and months prior. Only a wall separated me from my family, but I may as well have been at the other side of the world. This was it. Sink or swim. I had been ready for this moment for a long time, going through the scenario over and over again. But nothing could prepare me for how I would feel at that moment.
As my hands trembled, I focused on pinning Scotland badges on to my bag, that my mum had bought from from the gift shop earlier. I already felt like I was flying the flag despite only travelling from the coffee shop to the steel bench at the gate.
The flight to London that morning was little over an hour long, and I cried for the sixty plus minutes. The Businessmen, with their broadsheet newspapers, tablets and designer brief cases created an interesting contrast sitting close to the bleary eyed, emotional wreck, tip-tapping his feet and glaring out the window to save face.
Upon arrival in Terminal 5, Heathrow, I had plenty of time to kill and I needed it to pull myself together. I’ve always loved airports: I love the excitement, the bustle and the people that flock to them. I find being on a plane restricting (for obvious reasons) but at the airport I’m free to roam, wonder and daydream. I’m free to celebrity spot, eat sushi and and read magazines. I’m free to eat peanut butter M&M’s, try on fourteen different after shaves and play on the escalators. I’m free to stare, peer and watch. I’m free to go where I’ve been waiting to go for years. But most of all I was free to be me. I just didn’t know what being me truly was. And as said goodbye to everything that was familiar, I was about to embark on the greatest adventure of my life.
It would be fifteen months until I would have another Scottish breakfast.
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