I always wanted to move to a different country. To travel. To get out and experience ‘life’. I literally could never get it out of my mind. My fiancée, however, wants to stay in the town he grew up in and would happily live next to his mother for the rest of his life. No way in hell am I doing that. I mean, I liked his mother, but living next door is for saints. I needed to know she wouldn’t somehow be in my kitchen when I got home from work. That she wouldn’t catch me walking around in my underwear.
I started (after giving my husband multiple hints along the way) applying to various jobs abroad. Mainly New Zealand. I had visited once while I was in college and have not stopped dreaming about it since. I planned my wardrobe, my books, my shoes and even stopped making unnecessary purchases. If it wasn’t food or secondhand clothing, I didn’t buy it.
When my chance finally came, my husband jumped at the chance to move. I was shocked. When I emphasized how his mother would not live next door any longer, he started talking about what furniture we could get rid of immediately. The more excited he got about the move abroad, the more reservations I started to have. We’ve now been here for six months and I’ve only just admitting the worst thing about living abroad. My fiancée loves it. I hate it.