Tag: Portsmouth

  • Pleine lune

    Pleine lune

    What a difference a weekend can make huh?

    On returning from Barcelona, I set my sights on making the move, and pouring all my energy into searching for a position in Spain. I wasn’t too concerned about the field, but more the opportunity to relocate, and of course, finally being able to use my languages.

    My days now consisted of listening to the Gypsy Kings on repeat and scrolling the LinkedIn job app like a woman possessed. Any role that caught my eye was immediately applied to. It was going to happen.

    Beautiful Barcelona: the decision-maker.

    Reaching the end of the year, Christmas came round, and I was happy to spend it at home. There are lots of aspects about the English winter that I don’t love (okay, I detest). However, I must admit that despite the intense commercialisation and overbearing pressure to succumb to the (bloody expensive) festive spirit, nothing really compares to being in your new fluffy jammies, sat by the Christmas tree, and sipping on Bucks Fizz at 7 am, surrounded by a (dis)array of Quality Street wrappers. Heating’s on, Mum’s busy preparing breakfast and you’re already wolfing down your second mince pie of the day. Jingle Bells plays softly in the background as Dad (in Santa hat) hovers over with the big black bin-liner, waiting for my sister to tear open ‘just one more’ of her presents before we eat. And all the while, it’s miserable, cold and wet outside. I live for Christmas morning at home.

    Then follows the week of the withdrawn.

    What day is it? Who knows? Is the year over yet? Are there anymore turkey sandwiches? Do we take the Christmas lights down? How am I working today but not tomorrow? Wait – then I have another day off next week – oh my god is it still December? Someone fetch a calendar! NOT THE ADVENT ONE !!

    Wooly hats always go down a treat in this household

    And so ensued the madness; everyone at work was in a slight post-roast slumber, walking around in a sugar-induced daze and making lots of chat about what St Nick had dropped in their stockings this year. I myself was in a bit of a festive limbo, but still going hard at work on every ‘Apply’ button I saw. Keen to make 2016 my year, (pretend you haven’t heard that before) I felt like seeing out the year with a little celebration; even though I’d learnt London living wasn’t for me, 2015 was still a success-story; I had graduated, managed to hold a proper job in a respectful company, and even had more than a tenner in my savings account (also had enough spare to buy mum a new kettle!). I was getting there. So I fancied celebrating these little milestones/victories with a couple of my nearest and dearest; it seemed like the perfect opportunity to go down to Pompey again and visit Joe and Xav.

    My lovely friends and former Fort-fun flatmates were happily residing by the seaside and still enjoying the benefits of Portsmouth life, sans dissertation – all of our fave student hangouts, and none of the lectures. It had been for what felt like forever since I’d seen them both and even longer since I’d strolled along the streets of Southsea, so I was very much looking forward to it. As was Dobby.

    “Wait are you going for new years? Oh I wish I could come!”

    “Why don’t you?”

    “Ooh…Should I?”

    She was back from Barcelona to celebrate Christmas with the fam, and so decided to join me for what was to be a lovely reunion.

    Pumped from the excitement of the grand get-together, wine, and lots of cheese (the key to a long-lasting friendship) we saw in the new year at Joe and Xav’s pad, Bieber in the background (please read the next sentence before judgement), second bottle of cheap Merlot down, and half-way through an intense board game (the fun kind, that involves terrible attempts at charades and lots of French people shouting).

    Midnight had passed and we’d gotten to that weird part of the evening/early hours where the conversation becomes all about reminiscing and recalling fads, or in this case, ads from the past, “Do you remember Von Dutch caps?” “As clearly as I remember mesh t-shirts; with regret.”

    An half-eaten box of Jaffa cakes on the side sparked a memory which made it impossible to resist acting out the whole 90s advert – YOU KNOW THE ONE. This quickly became the theme of the night, and as we did a circuit of Portsmouth pubs before heading back home (via kebab shop), screams could be heard of ‘PLEINE LUNE’ ‘DEMI LUNE’ and of course ‘TOTAL ECLIPSE’ – those screams mainly coming from myself.

    Obviously on a massive NEW YEAR NEW ME high, I was in a state of merry elation, and a call from my best friend could only make this better; turns out Joshua was in the same booze fueled stupor, only he was celebrating miles away, in the middle of the Spanish capital, with his boss and some colleagues. A lovely drunken exchange ensued; there were laughs, ‘Happy new year!’s,  ‘I miss you’s and excited commentary of our nights up until now. Just as we were about to end the call, I send Josh my love and tell him *in jest* “let me know if they have any vacancies”.

    What followed was a jokey exchange with his boss on speaker phone in a sort of interview role play, which we all laughed about the next day, until, it turns out, it was kind of for real.

    kebab queens<3

    I woke up on the boys’ blow up mattress the next day; “What a night” “Did we get Dominoes? If not, why not?” “Can we watch Frozen?” – All the things one contemplates the morning after the night before.

    Joshua was video-calling me. I had my favourite doggy pijamas on and my hair was what could only be described as a rough looking bird’s nest.

    “Sam they want to interview you.”

    “Josh what”

    “I know”

    “But…”

    So the following Monday, I had my interview.

    Hours before I’d been shouting in French about full moons, and now sitting there in fluffy socks and 8 year old pijamas, everything was possibly about to change.

    Life’s a funny thing ain’t it.

  • Square one: The recent graduate, futile self pep talks and one very worn-out refresh button.

    Square one: The recent graduate, futile self pep talks and one very worn-out refresh button.

    July 2015.

    The tally so far stood as following: Laptops broken: 1 (we’re not counting all the other years okay). Mama noodles packets ravaged: 55. Cups of tea: stopped counting. Glasses of morning wine: didn’t bother trying to count. All-nighters spent with head in a book (on table): more than is acceptable.

    And one more thing. A degree.

    After four years of:

    “Oh my god I think this coursework might be the actual cause of my sudden and untimely death”

    (tragic)…and

    “I sat on the library floor from 3-6 am and very nearly ordered a Dominoes to the main entrance” (a majestic thing to witness, and yes, I’ve seen it with my own eyes),

    also not forgetting the classic…

    “What do you mean ‘Did I turn the page?!”

    I had finally graduated alongside some of my nearest and dearest; WE HAD DONE IT.

    fort fun graduate
    Stepping up in the world (literally hehe)

    My friends and I were finally ready (eek!) to join the world of post-Higher Education employment. In other words it was time to find a nice suit, stop waking up at noon and start publicising our  current working status (very available) to the job market; aka armed and ready with a good bachelors degree, big dreams, a well-rounded skills set and plenty of ambition.

    And so here begins the trials and tribulations of the search for a door to wedge (with brute force) my foot in.

    This is not a story (or rant, don’t worry) about how it is just IMPOSSIBLE for a recent graduate to find employment right after finishing university, nor is this a tale of woe. In case you’re wondering I did find a good job and I didn’t have to wait too long to join the 9-5 community/daily grind/hustle of the real world, that is not to say it didn’t feel like

    f o r e v e r.

    Rosé getting me through the rough times
    When the going gets tough, the tough drink wine, lots of wine

    Studying languages, I have always found myself in an environment where the more you know the better; okay so that goes without saying.

    What I mean is, the more you expose yourself to a new culture, the more you allow yourself to be taken in by a language, the more you let it take over and become part of yourself, the better. Once you have that down, don’t stop there! Don’t ever stop. Keep learning more languages and more and more. Take the time, really master the language; languagES, and let them take you where you want to be – let them open doors for you!

    I still believe in this, and for the most part it’s true. The nature of my degree imposed on me a mindset that what I possess is valuable, and every response to ‘I study languages’ was usually met with expressions of

    ‘Wow really? You’ll find a job no problem’

    ‘Everyone’s after language graduates, there’s a HUGE demand for bilingual employees these days’

    ‘How do you say 2 beers please in Spanish?’

    Okay the last one was my Dad, and he already knew the answer to that one anyway -_-

    IMG_20170830_104950
    This cheeky chap needs no dictionary!

    My point however is, I was under the rather foolish illusion (WAS I REALLY THE ONLY ONE?) that by becoming a graduate with language skills, the doors, or most of them, would not exactly swoosh open at my presence, but not be as difficult as they were to budge; the options would be plentiful, and more importantly attainable,  and the idea of a bilingual candidate would excite an employer, maybe even as much as seeing ‘Expert knowledge of Microsoft Excel’ on a CV.

    To be fair leaving the Uni bubble (and eating cold Dom’s pizza for breakfast) was a huge lesson in itself.

    …Apparently it’s now all about on-the-go coffee, ‘I don’t have time for Coco-Pops’ and granola honey goji berry vitamin whatever yoghurt from EAT/Starbucks/anywhere that charges a fiver for breakfast a la express.

    Fact is, there were many other individuals with the same thought-process and skill-set as myself. Competition in London was also a factor I didn’t really give much pre-thought to. And unlike some of my companions at University, on different courses, I didn’t have a trade as such. I was interested in translation (and still very much so) but as the interviews became more frequent and the follow-up emails less so (if, at all) I started to become somewhat disheartened, and there was definitely a sense of

    ‘Do I not have that much to offer afterall?’

    Which was probably the worst thing to contemplate.

    graduation
    Me thinking about future prospects and exciting career opportunities and probably (definitely) celebratory cake and booze

    On returning home to suburbia I found myself in a bit of pattern; or funk, to be more specific. On a high from graduation, I was determined to do something with my degree, and invest all my time into searching for that first job, the first foot on the ladder of employment; to make the first connection to the big wide world. Illusions aside, I had been fairly proactive and practical about the whole thing (I was shocked at my behaviour too) and became literally attached to my phone (not just for the dank memes); constantly connected to my inbox and spamming every opportunity of interest there was on LinkedIn, Indeed, Monster; and every other dependable source. I was invited to a number of interviews to places I genuinely would have liked the chance to work at, but in most cases, unfortunately,  ‘it just wasn’t meant to be’.

    At first it was only a little knock of reality to my self-esteem, which drove me even more in interviews, and the more I went to, the more confidence I actually gained. The process is pretty similar in most cases, and there are only so many questions they can ask you right? WRONG

    “If you could be a type of pasta what would you be?”

    **painful British silence of more than 5 seconds**

    “The one that looks like the bow-tie?”

    **sends self into exile with new found hate for Farfalle**

    Kay that was a bit different but even with that particular interview, I walked out unperturbed. Bemused somewhat, but overall unperturbed. Without sounding like every life guru out there with one published book and obnoxious YouTube channel, the key is confidence and to forget the nerves, and also to NOT TAKE IT PERSONALLY. Something in which I still have room for improvement.

    I will admit the constant rejection did become a little demoralising and a lot demotivating. My family and friends were a great support and viewed my struggle for employment with a lot more understanding than I did;

    “You’ll find something soon”

    “Maybe you just didn’t fit their profile”

    “It’s always difficult at the beginning”

    These phrases that frustrated me so much at the time, I look back on now with a sense of gratitude, because even if it was just to keep me motivated at the time, it worked, as they all turned out to be true. And why did I feel that I deserved the right to be hired, just for being a graduate? It’s not just something that happens by itself, and competition is fierce. It really is a reality that looking for a job is a job in itself; and you do have to give it your all.

    Moment of Pride
    Making Mum and Dad proud (I also didn’t trip up on stage that day so that’s an achievement I’d like to be recognised)

    So I gradually got over it like an adult (by eating every Cornetto in the freezer and pretending I was too busy to go to the pub – it was a sad time)  and tried to find what it was that made me   •·.·´¯`·.·•SPECIAL•·.·´¯`·.·• 

    **VOM**

    Looking back at my degree I tried to identify skills which could be applicable to the job positions I was coming across, and it was then that the market started to give me a bit more of a chance. Once this discovery was made (took me long enough) I went to work in finding… well, work and I gradually got the hang of the whole employment malarky. Turns out being on my four year course had taught me a lot more things, and provided me with a lot more skills than language acquisition (and that by the way is a lot harder than dos cervezahs por favah) – turns out theres a few things that are very applicable to an array of sectors. TURNS OUT I GOT A FEW TRICKS UP MY SLEEVE.

    Those sneaky language lovin lot in Park Building.

    Here’s to all the crazy teachers who restored our faith in life after every horrific speaking exam, and family and friends who kept us going for four years, along with the dream, and yes, why not the reality, that the world can be our oyster if we really want it to be.