Autumn sunlight cut across my desk as I bit my lip, trying to figure out how to make the past fifteen months brief but valuable.
So much of the past year had been like wading through fog.
Grief had flattened the months into long, shapeless periods of time only given meaning by university, and freelancing. I’d learned how to turn survival into habit, and eventually that had given me a kind of purpose. A reason to wake up.
Experience
Freelance Journalist & Features Writer
June 2020 - Present
Writing and contributing to a range of digital and print publications.
Specialising in long form features and artist profiles exploring contemporary music and culture.
Skilled in research, interviewing, and editorial collaboration across international teams.
Managing an independent portfolio alongside full-time study in BA Journalism.
The sun was high in the sky, and still holding on to the memory of summer despite it now being officially Autumn. For a moment, I took the opportunity to look out the window, enjoying the view of the verdant hills in the distance. Sheep grazed a few fields away, dotting the landscape like earth-bound clouds.
“Ky,”
Becka’s voice cut through my reverie and I turned back to my new monitor, plugged into my laptop on my desk – the little vanity table long since having been replaced by a larger, IKEA desk.
“Did I lose you for a second there?” She smirked, and I gave my head a little shake.
“Just enjoying the view.”
“Will you miss it?”
I made a noncommittal noise, using the brief break to swallow the lump in my throat.
“I think you always miss home.”
“What about your folks? How are they dealing with it?”
I sighed.
“Mum keeps making jokes about kicking me out because I’m ‘too big to hide under her skirts’,” I rolled my eyes, making air quotes with my fingers, “but Dad is a little sad, I think.”
He’d taken to following me around the house like a puppy. He said it was a joke, in anticipation of my ‘second escape attempt’, but I kind of thought he was serious.
