Despite the million and one ways to do it, staying in touch can be tough. If you can get past the crackly lines, steep costs and seeing your friends and family as blurry, pixelated shadows of their former selves, then there’s still the problem of actually wanting to. Before leaving for the UAE, I found myself trading email addresses with anyone and everyone, and having teary goodbyes with virtual strangers. However, I know the likelihood of hearing from any of them ever again is slim.
That said, moving halfway around the world is a big change, and the fact that I had never visited Abu Dhabi made providing reassurance tricky. So I promised to contact my family on arrival to let them know I’d survived the journey, and call my friends to tell them about the palm trees and heat. And tell them I did. My first job on setting foot in the hotel was to call home and share this vital information.
The gift (and curse) of modern technology is it makes it easier to keep your old life from halfway around the world. While you may not have the heart-wrenching loss that comes with a big move, you risk missing out on new experiences. Instead of seeing a long evening stuck in a lonely hotel room as a chance to get out and see something or meet new people, the time is spent catching up with old friends who you are comfortable with.
Of course, modern technology is wonderful, I could get back to rainy Wales in a matter of hours, if I so desired, see my friends and family on screen every day and hear their voices whenever I want. I know that if something went wrong I wouldn’t have to spend two weeks on a Lord of the Rings-style quest trying to get home. However, the old life being so easily accessible does lead to a sort of dual existence. And while missing people may not be as intense, it seems to last longer because you know what they’re doing. When friends go out, you feel annoyed you’re not invited.
On the other hand, you are eased into your new life, and knowing you can still speak to someone who gets your sense of humour, understands your habits and patiently tolerates your love of dodgy Japanese movies is something of a luxury.
So I’ll endure the stresses of being torn from the people I love, and the hardships of living in a hotel room, and perhaps become accustomed to my new way of life. I’m already wondering how I’ll cope when I eventually move into my own apartment and return home at the end of a hard day’s work to find the bed hasn’t been made, the towels haven’t been washed and the toilet roll hasn’t been folded into a point. But then, at least I’ll have someone to complain to.
Becs Morice is our sub-editor.
