In three days, I’m moving out of Birmingham indefinitely.

When I moved here, I was scared. But it was something I wanted. I was ready to be somewhere new, to lose myself in somewhere totally foreign, to surround myself with a totally new crowd… Now I’m leaving, I’m terrified.

I don’t want to go. I’ve cried, I’ve made jokes, I’ve panicked, I’ve made plans… I’ve been through more conflicting emotions in the past fortnight than I would’ve thought I was capable of.

When I was waiting to find out my A-Level results, to find out if I’d made it into the university of my choice, my dad told me that no matter what, everything would work out. He said that despite what I might think at that moment, the course I was on would become a secondary matter. I would value university for the experience, for being somewhere else. And he was right.

Over the past three years, I’ve become a music journalist. Granted, an amateur one. But it’s more than just a hobby. I write about bands on a near daily basis, I’ve helped put on gigs, and you know what? I’m good at it. I co-run a website, and it’s one of the best things I’ve ever done.

I’ve met some of the best people I’ve ever known. They’ve changed my life in more ways than I can begin to be thankful for. I’ve been through the highest, and the lowest, and it’s all been worthwhile when I’ve had this crowd around me.

If you’re reading this: I adore you. You’ve probably seen me at my best and my worst, and I’ve probably seen you at yours. It’s been truly spectacular, and I wouldn’t trade a moment of it for anything.

I say “I love you” a lot. I say how much I really mean “I love you” a fair amount too. I send out mass messages saying all of that on a semi-regular basis (and will probably say it again before the week is out). It might be twee, overstated, or cliche, but I guess what I’m trying to say is, I mean it.

I’ve never felt more a part of anything than I have this crowd and this city. Somewhere along the way, it’s become everything that matters. And now I’m leaving, it’s terrifying. I keep making jokes about being back within a week, but it’s tearing me apart. I feel like I’m about to lose touch with everyone and everything I’ve come to hold dear – which I know is ridiculous, but who ever said I was logical?

I can’t look back on my time here as anything but positive. I can’t look back on it too much at all at the moment in case I break down in floods of tears, which is another testament to how much this has all come to mean.

But I still have three days left.

Stay classy, Birmingham. And stay in touch.


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