In 2022, after years of prodding by my cousin, Tona Symonds, I decided to apply to the MFA programme at Manchester Metropolitan University. I was accepted and offered the choice of doing the course remotely or relocating to Manchester. After obtaining a scholarship from the Bermuda Arts Council, I chose the latter option.
I had no clue that I was tendering my resignation when I informed my job of my plan. I had seen a number of non-Bermudian staff relocate to their home countries and continue to work for the IT company that had employed me for thirty-six years. I should have anticipated the unceremonious termination I received after less than two months of working remotely for the company in an independent contractor capacity. The protracted period of time my boss, the CFO, took to meet with me after my announcement, his mention of the company having consulted their lawyers, the problematic treatment of Bermudians and people of colour within the organisation were all ominous signs of what I should have expected. My years of tenure, proficiency at my job as Procurement & Logistics Manager, the retention of the aforementioned foreign staff and my arrogance all contributed to my ignorant sense of security.
My friends had warned me. I was infuriated by the sacking but the anger was soon replaced by a profound sense of having been set free from an institution that never valued me and had a different set of expectations for those who looked like me. I was happier than I had been in decades. I was poor but I was emancipated and, after I conquered the initial discomfort and challenges of living in a new country for the first time in my life, I was immersed in the culture of what I loved. I was breathing, reading, writing and interpreting the meanings behind words.
