So, Kate (no, not myself, ‘meriKate) said something to me yesterday and it’s one that’s quite a good point – it was about not underestimating the trauma and challenge of moving to a different culture – and I guess, like a lot of things, if you look at my ‘Canada’ thoughts from the outside it probably does look like I’m not considering it ‘seriously’ (incidentally, I don’t think that’s what she thought, but I think that’s the way it could come across, with my chaotic and slightly lighthearted approach to life).
But the truth is, for all my lightheartedness it occupies my mind the whole time. In both not-very-serious ways (for example, pondering what it’ll be like to have the gearlever on the wrong side of me (bear in mind I drive a manual / stick-shift car, not an automatic, so I’ll actually have to get used to shifting through the gate right-instead-of-left-handed). And looking at the road and thinking, hell, I’ll be on the other side.
More seriously though, I find myself wondering how I’ll cope, cutting myself off from my friends, from my family, placing myself in a culture which – while it has similarities to European culture is quite definately distinct from Europe – and more so from Britain. Leaving behind everything I know and landing in a country where I understand how nothing works; where I understand none of the goverment / civil functions.
I have a small flavour for it now; trying to find out how to register a car over there – and what requirements it has to meet. Here I know – because I’ve lived here my entire life – I just contact the DVLA. If I want to insure that car – and I have to before I can drive it – I ring an insurance company (of my choice); or I can go to an insurance broker. Before that car goes anywhere else, I know it’ll have to pass either an SVA or an MOT. I *know* how it all works.
I know which government offices to ask which questions, when I don’t I know who to ask who I should be asking. It’s part of being brought up somewhere – the stuff is kind of diffused into you, you absorb the information, because it’s all gradual.
But changing country? I won’t know this stuff.
And I won’t know anyone, bar the people I’ve met online. And as has previously been mentioned, Canada’s really big. My friends, my family, none of them will be remotely reachable. It’s scary. But like riding the nemesis, I need scary.
I am not happy with my life, I am not happy with the UK, and I am not happy with the NHS.
I fell in love with Alaska. Let’s be clear on this, if Alaska had a public healthcare system, that’s where I’d’ve been aiming to go. Well, that and Bush wasn’t in charge of the US. Seriously, I loved the place. It’s gorgeous, incredible, beautiful. But I can’t. I have sacrificed many of my morals and opinions to stay on the nursing course, I’ve not been out in my placements – and I’m not someone who stays closeted well – I’ve stopped buying ethically produced goods and foods, because I just can’t afford my beliefs. I gave up my chance of buying a house to do this course. And I regret not one thing about doing so. But I’m unable to give up one thing – my real and total belief that healthcare should be available based on need, not on ability to pay.
Any culture which fails to recognise that… well, I find it disturbing.
I tried to consider working for a non-profit / charitable health care place, of which I’m lead to believe there are some, but I’d just be frustrated – more so than buy the state of the NHS – by it all.
So, Canada – scenery wise there are areas which give me the chance of living somewhere that looks very similar to Alaska – so hopefully I can fall in love with it in the same way. Vancouver looks to be a very beautiful city too; which should help…
Canada, culturally, seems to have similarities to European culture – which is a positive as far as I’m concerned. And it has proper public health care.
But just finding a country beautiful? Why do I want to leave mine? Why not just visit?
Well – that’s where the state of things in the UK comes into play. I’m British. I’m very British, just ask my friends. But I’m British in a way which doesn’t seem to fit with modern Britain; I guess I’m British the way that people seemed to suggest that Britain was when I was brought up. Culturally accepting, proud of Britain but also circumspect about it’s historical acts, slightly startled by it’s emmense influence on the world given it’s small size, strong believer in a social / societal support system, public health care, public ownership of utilities… That sort of British.
And Britain isn’t the place I want to be anymore, civil liberties seem to be becoming optional. The separation of church and state seems to have disappeared, the education of the next generation… well, intelligent design, need I say more? I know the NHS is struggling – not least because every 30 seconds a new government policy changes the priorities of the NHS – and the staff are left desparately trying to treat people in run down old buildings with insufficent equipment, insufficent staff, and with managers who don’t understand that cutting care in one area will inevitably lead to more care somewhere else.
And to round it off nicely, the studies suggest that the state pension will disappear before I’m old enough to get it – yet I will have to continue to pay for it until then; the NHS pension is going to disappear too – they want to remove the final salary pension… the one thing, which for me, meant that staying in the NHS was reasonable.
Offering a 2% pay rise – the UK’s inflation rate is higher – so essentially a pay cut is the icing on the cake. The pay’s so lousy I can’t afford a decent private pension; and this year it looks like my probable pay will go down. So, really, what have I got to look forward with this? A life of scraping by followed by a retirement of being too poor.
To give the one other thing, the UK is filled with reminders of my past. My past is something I’m alternately proud of and distressed by. But at any rate, although I’ll take the problems it’s given me with me, some of the reminders that the UK provides won’t be there.
And finally. I need a kick up the arse. I work best under stressful circumstances, and I’ve been taking the easy route far to often in my life. This time it’s time for me to do what I think I should.
Well, that’s it really. That’s why I want to leave, and why I want to go to Canada.
