Reading 'All who live on islands' by Rose Lu, I was introduced to a new way of describing myself: as a 1.5 generation immigrant. I was young enough to adapt to Sydney really quickly, but old enough to have a firm relationship with Bulgaria. I also see it as a question of agency. No-one consulted my seven-year old self over the relocation. I was uprooted, and it was kind of traumatic, even though I was optimistic about leaving the Balkans. If I had a choice in the matter, I might have chosen to move to a different country. My dad told me that Canada was one of the few other nations accepting people like us back then. I could have just as easily been a Toronto native.
In recent years I've developed a bit of an interest in getting to know other English-speaking cultures in-depth. Canada, New Zealand, Ireland, Scotland, the rest of Britain... Knowing that a common language binds us opens up opportunities for cultural immersion on a deeper scale than almost anywhere. I may have spent some time fantasising about zig-zagging through London in search of the most innovative cultural events. Or making fast friends in the melting pots of Vancouver, arranging French language exchanges in Montreal, Maori ones in Dunedin. Finally tackling 'Ulysses' in a Dublin café.
So if I ever have the opportunity to do a gap year, I am in for a world of indecision.
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