Apparently This Is Actually Happening

So, let's get the obvious out the way. Here's a handy FAQ for you all to refer to:

HOW ARE YOU FEELING?
Erm, all of these four things simultaneously:

• that feeling you get when you've been through or are about to experience something that should send you into an emotional frenzy, be it traumatically sad or electrifyingly elating, yet there is an eerie nothingness in the pit of your stomach and a plain expression on your face
• kinda sad
• am I going to puke? am I going to faint? am I too tired? why does my leg feel weird? what did i eat today? did i take my medication? what the hell is my body doing?
• LARGE SMILEY FACE EMOTICON

WHEN IS YOUR FLIGHT?
Early on Thursday morning. Jesus Christ.

WHATS GONNA HAPPEN WHEN YOU GET THERE?
I'm going to stay with a friend from Edinburgh with his family in a town about an hour and a bit out of Toronto for a couple of weeks, before I find a flat and move in with some people in February.

WHEN ARE YOU COMING BACK?
Never! Mwahahahah! Ah no, I'm going to try and stay there for as long as I can, probably a year. I will return to Scotland at the end of 2014 (or in January next year), hopefully. We can have a big party when I get back.

Glasgow and Edinburgh buddies

So I was on a bit of a goodbye tour this week, and let me tell ya, it was bloody exhausting. I've been on five different train journeys within the space of three days and have said goodbye to at least 20 important people. There were lunches with rooftop views, blisteringly sunny walks around Arthur's Seat and waltzes on residential roads. When I was saying goodbye to my grandma at the train station, she tilted her head and said, "oh darling, I'll pray for you every night," before then backtracking and saying, "well, I mean, I pray for you every night anyway, but I'm bumping you up my list." All right! That means I'm second-to-top, perhaps even the top of the Rafferty Family Prayer Hierarchy!

with every picture of me: the best snood ever 

When I arrived back in Aberdeen, it was serious packing time. I went shopping for some final thermals, and popped into The Restaurant to bid my old colleagues and friends adieu. I checked my messages and realised that I'd been called in to do a final, final set at Korova. I rolled my eyes and thought, I'm way too busy and tired for this, a nanosecond before RSVP-ing "yes". One more song couldn't hurt.

Before I headed out the door that evening, just after the sofa-gripping Sherlock episode (OH MY GOD, GUYS, RIGHT? RIGHT???), the BBC advert break presented a dramatic, snow-capped mountain. The shot scoped round the icy range, snow whistling past in flurries. A booming voice started to rumble, "not you, nor any other can fathom what is nigh…" It was an advert for the 2014 Winter Olympics. As the athletes scaled the jagged peak - skiing, boarding, skating to the summit - a wide smile spread over my face. I've come full circle, I thought.

So I lugged my guitar to the bar and had my last couple of drinks with friends, and played some covers and originals for everyone. A little later that evening, I began to realise how I was very, very close to leaving - the days were slipping by with a fearsome speed.

I was in the bathrooms going over an imaginary conversation in my head, in which I was leaning on the bar and batting my eyelashes, trying to ignite a bit of Carpe Diem behind a guy's eyes without trying to make the whole affair sound like the opening to Eminem's Lose Yourself ("If you only had one shot… one opportunity… to seize everything you ever wanted *gestures to self*, one moment… would you make out with me?"). I then started counting the days until I left, because everyone knows that romantic tension increases tenfold when there's an airport looming. One, two, three…

I swore. Out loud. Like, really loudly. I was leaving in three days. It was terrifying.

After I came home from the bar I was left feeling a little empty. I turned on the kettle for my hot water bottle, went upstairs and sat down on my bed, turning like a dog about to settle in its basket. It had been a good night, yes, but felt lonely, and it was strange: my head was lying to me, telling me that I had no friends, that I had rid myself of everyone.

In that moment I saw each goodbye as a Stalinesque red score over the face of the friend - I had executed them, they were no longer. I had been ticking off people one by one and now all that was left was me, in my room, surrounded by piles of clothes I had to shove in a case for my future life in a country I'd never even visited. I just wanted someone to talk to, but I haven't anyone left, I've said goodbye to everyone, I thought to myself.

Now, many of you will know that I am a spirit that usually sails through life with tremendous (and sometimes crippling) optimism, but every now and then it is punctuated with low moments of dysphoria, and I was having a low, right there, sitting on my bed. I knew it was bad because at one point I was watching Go The Distance from Disney's Hercules, shaking my head because Herc and I were one and the same, I too had often dreamed of a far off place where a great, warm welcome would be waiting for me!

Of course, I knew that I hadn't really lost any friends. In fact, this week had reinforced even more friendships, and I was so happy about that. I woke up this morning and those nasty thoughts had disappeared, but they were replaced by a new foe: sheer, unadulterated terror. As I write, I have a pile of clothes lying next to a suitcase, not inside, but next to (we're, uh, we're getting there). There's wet sweaters in the washing machine. There's a long list of people I have to e-mail. There's a telephone number I've been avoiding to call. There's so much and I'm so tired and so, so scared all of a sudden.

I'll get it done, I'll get there, don't worry. This is going to be my final post before I get on the airplane, and I promise you, I'll get to Canada and I'll share every tremendous victory and every embarrassing defeat with you. I'm shaking as I type. I kind of want to stop because I think I'm going to puke. But I'm going to keep going, just for one more paragraph.

To all my family and friends, especially the ones I leave in Scotland, I say this: I love you guys. I love you for letting me e-mail you when we were fourteen outlining all the details of my plan to take us to the Vancouver Olympics. I love you for teasing me over my obsessive nature. I love you for running alongside the train as it left the station. I love you for making sure I got home safe. I love you for looking up at the sky with me while I pointed out constellations. I love you because you said yes. I love you for listening to my songs, and I love you for singing along. I love you even when you had to say no. I love you for when you cried at goodbye, and I love you for when you couldn't. I love you for the luck you gave me. I love you whether it's been two months, two years, two days or two decades.

Here I go.