Ikigai

Jonny Evans

Winner of the Cardiff University Martin Coyle Student Experience Award 2022

Ikigai.

New choices had to be made – this time, just for me. Rather than soaking up the Malbec and maudlin my life away like some sad, depressed old fart, miserably wallowing in the memories of a life that was over, it was time for something new. As the Japanese avow, a new ‘ikigai’ was required – a new purpose. I sold the house, quit the job, and was determined to enact the wistful hope that I might finally become a writer.

Moving to Cardiff has been a seismic change for me. Last year I was living in the Dorset house my former partner and I had shared for 15 years – he left in April – and was still working as a Deputy Headteacher. Throughout this time, I was achingly coming to terms with the reality of being, once again, a single queer man and grappling with the implications, alongside the dread, of aggressive localised prostate cancer.

When friends were told that I was off to Cardiff, the generally considered view was that Jonny had finally lost it. ‘You’re moving into student halls? But you don’t know anyone, Jonny! You’re off your head!’ Some of them understood but others couldn’t imagine how anyone in my circumstances might even consider such a drastic course. They didn’t understand. I could either sink into a morass of directionless, drink-fuelled depression or grab my courage to find some purpose and value in the time I have left. As an anglicised ‘Evans’, I’d always wistfully dreamt of living in Wales, exploring my father’s culture and learning the language. A new life beckoned.

Here I am.

Overcome and emotionally moved, I well remember having to slow down on the M4 as, passing the Croeso i Gymru sign, my eyes simply filled and spilled. Arriving at Taly North was an exciting, daunting eye-opener! Having been processed, I found my room, unloaded the car, and hauled all my worldly belongings - including my four remaining pot plants and a bottle of Champagne - up three flights of stairs to find myself sharing an LGBTQ+ flat with four other wide-eyed eighteen-year-olds. Bless them, they were all so young - so excited - yet utterly bemused to find a fifty-nine-year-old flatmate - old enough to be 'grandma' - sat in a pair of heels at the chipped kitchen table, spilling red wine over the playing cards and sagely demonstrating how to boil an egg. These poor souls were intimidated out of their minds at finding me there - there was never any unpleasantness - however, without exception they all retreated to the sanctuary of their rooms having initiated a WhatsApp group as the vehicle by which we might communicate.

Taly North didn’t last more than a week. The Residences Team suggested I might prefer a self-contained studio in Crwys Road that had become available. Horrified that my poor young flatmates might have had enough of me, yet excited by the prospect of a double bed, I was assured that there wasn’t a problem; nobody had complained. Reassured, I bid my bemused flatmates au revoir, packed my bags and set up home in Cathays.

Some experiences have been amazing. As a perennially working class failed comprehensive boy, being exposed to some of the most awe-inspiring literature on the planet has been truly mind-blowing. Transported to realms of thought and imagination beyond any experience, the neural pathways are re-wiring, my vocabulary exponentially expanding, and I have wryly accepted that everything written prior to Cardiff was rubbish! Poetry had always been a dark mystery to me, yet here was I, numbed and awed as the close reading of poetry opened vistas of meaning and truth previously hidden - God bless Sylvia Plath! The trauma of what must have been a breakdown brought on by ending of my marriage and fears about cancer, along with continually misplaced keys, lost vapes, missing wallets and, most embarrassingly, the elusive condom bag, has finally been dispelled as assessment grades have demonstrated that I really can do this.

This learning joy has, of course, been tempered by the downside; genuine human connections or real friends have proven elusive. Younger students regularly eye me wryly with incredulous disbelief in seminars wondering who I might be and what I’m doing there. Their bewilderment is matched only by the mild surprise and furrowed brows, along with the occasional nervous glances of some PhD seminar tutors, who find themselves teaching a garrulous former Deputy Headteacher in scuffed trainers, grubby jeans, the obligatory student hoodie – I’m never wearing a suit again - and a twinkle in the eye.

Hardest of all has been the isolation. Long days are often spent reading, thinking, and writing alone in my little flat, staring out at the universe that is Crwys Road as it bustles with joyous diversity, rumbles with endless traffic and cascades with soul-destroying refuse, wondering when I might next chat to another human being. Never before, would I have contemplated the possibility of myself at eight-thirty one morning outside the flat in a towering rage, in the pouring rain, still in my dressing gown, madly using a litter picker to clear away the insidious pile of KFC boxes, chicken bones, beer cans and a used condom left by some drunken gang of revellers. The sun came up for me, however, as a sweet Asian lady who’d been watching me, made my day as she sauntered over, asked gently what I was doing, then proceeded to shake me by the hand and thank me. I’d made a friend.

Any regrets?

On visiting Bournemouth for a weekend in November, I remember the acute joy of seeing old friends, the relief at knowing my way around and wondering whether Cardiff could ever truly be my home. That remains to be seen. Despite some difficult challenges, my continuing quest for a new life as a writer has been full of unexpected joys and new experiences. Only rarely have I seriously doubted that the search for my new ikigai was a mistake.