The second I saw that technical assessment I knew I was gonna fail. I sighed while reading the email and the document with all those fucking unrealistic requirements for a test that was supposed to take only 4-5 hours. “Fucking bastards,” I thought and got to work on it anyway. I didn’t have a choice. If I wanted to stay in Denmark, I needed a work visa. And to get that motherfucking visa, I desperately needed a job. But, guess what? I was right from the beginning. I failed that damn test as I always knew I would. Just another fucking rejection email in my endless list of other rejection emails I have got over the last five and a half months. As my job seeking visa quickly runs out and the only option left is giving up.
So I give up.
I have decided to leave Denmark. Which is ironic, considering that is not that much of a choice as it is what Denmark and the gods have been pushing me to do ever since I came here. I was just too distracted with fucking around, alcohol and comfort to notice it. To admitting that, well, they don’t want me here. Never have, never will. Now it’s more obvious. No job nor the chance to get one. No love nor lover. No sun. No fun.
Winter depression has hit me hard. Though it’s not that the root cause of the angst and sadness I feel. It’s knowing that this European decade is coming to an end. That in around three months from now, I will be boarding a plane to never coming back. And that in the course of 2025 I will slowly settle down back into “Chilean reality,” yet it probably won’t feel like it’s actually real. But what is it that I have here now, anyway? Besides this everyday gray and cold and pointless sending CVs around and LinkedIn obsessive perusing. Beyond constantly being shut down and rejected by companies that aren’t even willing to pay a decent wage nor to sponsor my visa. Everything’s gone to shit.
So I’m gone.
Not quite looking forward to going back. My mom has been recently diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease and, although it’s very early stages, I am very afraid of her impending decline. Yet, in a way, it feels like the last nail in the coffin. The last drop that have helped me make up my mind about fucking off. At least I’ll be there to enjoy her company, while she’s still the mother I knew. So it’s bittersweet. And, again, quite scary.
I hope it all goes well. It seems (and feels) right, but it hurts. I will miss my flat and my friends here. And biking and hygge and all that good stuff. And it also saddens me that I will never have that face to face with my ex that I secretly always wanted to have. Like a proper closure and goodbye. I guess we cannot always have it our way.