After a first year full of changes, challenges and struggles, I'm starting this second year feeling confident. I know the country, I know people on the ground and I speak better English. Will this year be the payoff after all the hard graft? We'll see.

October 2017, just after the farm I recharged for 2 weeks in France. It was lovely to see again all the friends and family I'd left on the other side of the world for a year. Two weeks of pure relaxation being pampered without a thought for tomorrow.

Even though I wanted to go back to Australia, the re-departure is hard. After this first year I know the friends I'll make will only be temporary. Once you find someone you really hit it off with, either you or they will move on somewhere else.

To kick off my second year I go back to familiar ground: I take a hostel in Coogee for a few weeks (I lived there for 7 months the first year). Nostalgia; I still remember my first steps in this unknown city exactly a year ago, my enormous load of luggage and 26 hours of travel on my back, hunting for my hostel. This year I don't even need to look at the map to find the right transport, I feel right at home.

To have a bit more peace I booked a 4-person room, but on arrival they redirect me to a 6-person one. I go back to reception to claim my right (especially since I'd paid more) and they put me back in the correct room. Just as well I did, otherwise I'd have missed out on meeting some amazing people!

Without spending all my savings, I go out with the people from my room, I have a few drinks, I make the most of it. It's nothing like the first year when everything was hard, largely because of my level of English.

Once we've got over the jet lag, it's down to business. I'd been told there's plenty of work in construction. Since I'd already done hospitality the year before, I fancy a change. Even without having found work yet, I'm confident. I gently start getting back to the standard of living I had in France. I buy good bread, organic stuff and treats like beer and chocolate.

I find a demolition gig for a while. A floor in a building that has to be completely stripped of its fittings and non-load-bearing walls.

Right on my first day of work I move into a flat in Bondi Beach. I fancied trying something other than Coogee, changing places so as not to coast on what I already knew. It's a flatshare of three. People who seem nice, a nice interior and the beach a 10-minute walk away! Surf sessions here I come, leaving the flat with my board under my arm!

In barely 3 weeks after coming back from France, I have a job, a flat and everything's running smoothly. Am I reaching the level of those people who succeed at everything on the first try without a hitch? Mmmmhhhh, not at all.

The demolition was an interesting experience. It's always instructive to see how things go in completely different environments from the ones you're used to (and to whack tables with a big sledgehammer). Mind you, I had no illusions about the mindset of the people working there, big brutes as you'd imagine. I tried to be kind and considerate but no, you have to flaunt your manliness and show who's the strongest. I did my work as well as the others (if not better) without ever slacking, but no. On top of that, with my gay air I could tell I wasn't very welcome (when I tell them I've done a solo skydive twice, done kung fu and boxing, they look at me as if to say liar, but hey, prejudice and all that). Anyway, I made a fair bit of cash but I was glad the gig was ending so I could take a break.

Construction is fine for getting a bit of money to eat and sleep, but it's not a viable long-term solution. After thinking about what I wanted to do with my life (which happens a lot when you're on a working holiday visa), I set off again to find a web designer job (the first year I'd done quite a few interviews but they hadn't panned out, notably because of my non-permanent visa). With better English and better knowledge of the country, I head off again in pursuit of the Holy Grail. So, alongside the construction, I spam recruiters and do interviews.

With one company we really click: first interview, second interview, it keeps building, I'm on the shortlist. Interesting job, nice people, an eye-watering salary (compared to what I have right now) and on top of that they offer permanent residency in Australia! The Holy Grail, I'm telling you. The manager tells me they're torn between me and another person. Either way, they'll give an answer before Christmas. The recruiter was supposed to call me back at the start of the week but no news. On the Wednesday I decide to call him even though I hate doing it (but motivation, bonus points, all that). That day, I remember I'd been working moving delivery boxes at a dealership with Rolls Royces and loads of other super-expensive cars. I call from the bus stop, it's bucketing down and the roar of the road is deafening. And then comes the disappointment… the company still hasn't made a decision and is pushing it back to after the holidays. Funny point: given the importance of the situation, the noise around me, and to make sure I understood everything, for the first time the recruiter speaks to me in French. Sure, all isn't lost, but it doesn't let me plan ahead or move on to something else. After almost two months since the first interview it's starting to drag. Phone appointment on Monday 8 January for news.

The Christmas holidays arrive. I have a bit of money put aside but I wouldn't complain about having a bit more to hold on until my future web design job. I don't fancy taking a hospitality job just for 2 weeks, and on top of that it's probably the busiest days (it's summer and almost everyone's on holiday). I send loads of messages to my construction manager to find out if he has other gigs but it's dead quiet. I tell myself making the most of it before getting back to the daily grind won't be too bad. I get up, I eat, I watch videos on YouTube, I go to the beach, I eat and I go back to bed. I had video projects in the back of my mind but no motivation to start anything new; I can't project myself without knowing the verdict on my future hiring or not. It's total slacking.

There was a friend from France who was touring Australia in a van with her girlfriend. After several failed attempts to meet up, they come back to Sydney for New Year's, perfect! I invite them to the party I was going to (with my old hostel mates); the more the merrier! The year before I hadn't been able to enjoy the fireworks because I was working. Spending midnight next to the Sydney Opera House and the Harbour Bridge must be magical; the images from previous years are dreamy. Start the evening at my mates' place and the fireworks-viewing mission is engaged. All the best spots to enjoy the show are taken by midday. We didn't want to hang around for hours and on top of that it's forbidden to drink in the parks, shameful! After several discussions about where to go, we manage to sneak into a park with a flawless view of the Harbour Bridge, and just 200m away! Flawless, just an hour to wait.

Midnight, it kicks off! It's pretty, everyone's happy, good moment. A few minutes later all the smoke from the rockets drifts our way, we can't see much anymore and barely 12 minutes after the start it's already over. I leave a bit disappointed, a bit of an overrated firework display. Meanwhile my parents were watching the livestream and found it magnificent. Photoshop! I won't even describe the crowds to get the train back and return to my mates', but a good evening all the same (and yes, I rewatched the livestream, it's magnificent, you just have to be in the right spot without smoke).

The slacking continues, it's pleasant, I tell myself I'm pretty lucky to be where I am. I even treat myself to the luxury of seeing my first contemporary ballet (Tree of Codes by Wayne McGregor, Olafur Eliasson and Jamie xx). I don't get all the meanings but it's very beautiful and the hour-long show flies by.

8 January… still no call. Well, it's the first day back after the holidays, I'll give it a day's grace. The next day still nothing, I call the recruiter. He's one of the best recruiters I've dealt with but hey, my "maybe future company" is messing about. They still haven't made a decision and right now the bosses are in London. Next week they'll definitely decide for sure! The recruiter tells me to call him back if I still have no news from him by the following Tuesday. The job wasn't the Christmas present; will it be the birthday present?

Let's hope so, because in a week my account will show $0. I send messages every day to my construction manager but no work. You understand, it's still sort of the holidays, fair enough.

A friend of my flatmate's was crashing on the couch for the week. Really nice, we go surfing together now and then. He tells me about a festival the following week that looks really cool, Elrow. He's going with friends and invites me to join the gang if I want. Music I love, a wild atmosphere, but at over $100 a ticket, in these times it'll be tricky. I tell him I'll see next week; I'll know whether I'm going to be rich or not.

On Sunday some people are at the flat in pre-party mode (well done to the youngsters who aren't working on Monday). There's beer flowing, laughter, and they ask if I'm coming out with them. I tell them I'd love to, they're going to a nice club, but financially it's not going to be possible. They insist, I really want to go but I resist. Everyone heads off to party and I find myself all alone in the flat. Sadness. I put on a bit of music, drink a Ricard and cook something. Better now.

Monday, my birthday, fuck the world, I don't know whether fortune is around the corner but I really want to go to this festival. I take a bit of the money I have left from France and I buy the ticket; after all, I worked 6 years for this. I carry on my morning sending applications to anything and everything, you never know. People wake up slowly.

The day goes on and nobody knew it was my birthday. Do I tell them? Meh, no, it'd make me the guy who wants to be wished happy birthday. The evening starts to show its face and each flatmate had invited some friends over for a few quiet drinks, crazy that it falls on exactly this day. We end up about ten people in the flat but still nobody knew it was my birthday. With the booze gently rising, I eventually let it slip. In a calm tone I told one person that I was even older today. Naturally word got around and everyone wished me happy birthday. My flatmates improvise a cake out of a slab of chocolate with an indoor candle on top and a bit of jam to eat with the chocolate. Even though I don't like being the centre of attention, I have to admit it was cool. A completely improvised evening, lots of people at the same time and a few beers at a bar to finish.

The next day still no news about the job, I call again. Bad news or good news? Is it the rich life for me or do we keep struggling? Part of me wasn't too keen on getting back to the daily grind, but the benefits were unambiguous, no more struggling. After a very cordial chat the verdict drops: I'm not getting the job. The worst part is, I wasn't the worse choice, it's just that they're not hiring web designers anymore after all… Make me wait a month-plus to tell me that, thaaanks! The recruiter was as gutted as I was and apologizes. Such is life.

My hostel mates couldn't make it the previous day to grab a drink for my birthday. We decide to do it the next day (they knew, thanks Facebook). We meet up in central Sydney and go to a restaurant. It was self-service, I go to order. When I come back there was a banner like you see in films reading Happy Birthday. I think it's the first time I've had this kind of banner for my birthday, a matter of custom I suppose (I think it's pretty common among Anglo-Saxons). Even though I appreciate the gesture I'm not too comfortable with it, especially in the middle of the restaurant. We finish the dishes and along comes… the cake with the candles and the whole shebang. Same again, still not very comfortable but it's pleasant. We finish up with a few beers and enjoy the evening, it was cool.

The emotional yoyo gets back in the game. No cool future job on the horizon, nor a less-cool one in the meantime. My construction manager sometimes sends messages at 5-6am for a job that same day. Did someone say stopgap mode? But hey, it's the only chance I have to get cash quickly. The thing is too, if you're asleep (which generally happens at that hour) and you reply too late, someone will have taken your spot. As if doing construction again didn't already motivate me much (I really want to get back to something interesting and creative), if I have to go into slave++ mode it motivates me even less. But hey, no choice.

The week goes by and it's time to party at Elrow with the mates. Pre-party at some friends-of-friends' place. About twenty people getting ready to give it everything on the dance floor. We get there and it's packed, almost everyone's in costume, made up, colours galore, huge atmosphere, it was cool! So on Sunday I sleep most of the day.

I throw myself back into spamming recruiters; I get contacted via my site's contact form, they like my experience but the conversation stops every time I say my visa isn't permanent. Is it really the visa or is it that I'm rubbish? You've got to wonder. I sign up with other construction agencies. We get to the end of January, I see loads of backpackers heading to the sites but my manager doesn't give me work. Doesn't that smell a bit like blacklisting? I do my job well and I just want some cash, dammit. I manage to grab 1 or 2 days here and there by replying that very morning. Anyway, it keeps me from drowning.

To save money I drastically cut my food budget. It had worked for me the first year to buy my car; I only have 2 meals a day plus little cakes/fruit when I get a bit peckish. After 3 weeks it starts to get too hard. I don't buy super-expensive stuff but I optimize as much as possible to have 3 meals a day.

The friend from France heads back home to mum and dad. The day before, we have a great time at the beach, chatting and surfing. The annoying thing about good moments is that the days after are even harder when reality reappears.

What am I going to do with all these negative emotions and all these rejections? Let's channel them by creating something. The video I had in the back of my mind will be perfect for that. I get myself motivated to take drone footage of Bondi Beach at sunrise and sunset. I'd started doing motion design, let's go further by incorporating a full animated sequence.

I spend ten or so days working on it. Sometimes I start at 9am and at midnight I'm still at it (with a beach break though). All my worries are set aside, I enjoy what I'm doing. It doesn't pay for the pistachios but it's already something.

I ask some friends for their opinion on a few points, I improve the video and I publish it. Everyone congratulates me on my work, people really like it. Happy smiley.

At some point you have to go back to reality (again). I was glad not to be called during my week working on the video but now I need money (always). What's certain is that if I keep going in this direction it's a guaranteed return to France. A change of strategy is in order. Companies don't want to hire me because of my visa, so I focus on freelance jobs. I read up on the procedures to follow, I sign up for meetups, I subscribe to Facebook groups and I start listening to this very good podcast about digital nomads. I struggle to connect with people at meetups, I'm more comfortable sending messages (even though I know it's not the best solution). So as soon as a posting goes up on a Facebook group or wherever, I spam.

Part of me manages to stay the course with this proactive attitude, but as time passes and the situation stays just as unpleasant, the other part of me, uneasy, grows day by day.

I'd thought for a moment about finding a cheaper flatshare, but inevitably far from the sea. In hindsight it was a good decision not to move. I managed to find a moment of relaxation at the beach every day, a little swim, a podcast and things feel better. The surf wasn't good at that time, I was struggling, the beach was breaking too steeply, too many people, basically I wasn't getting any joy out of it. Surfing wasn't the right solution but swimming in the waves was.

By replying to a message early one morning I manage to grab a few-days gig in construction. Money! It was a gay bar/restaurant (haha, the construction people working for a gay bar/restaurant), they were scrambling on the works and wanted to open for Mardi Gras (Gay Pride) three weeks later. Well, same deal, big brutes yelling all the time (love) but 10 hours of work a day refills the wallet.

On 11 February my parents arrive in Australia for a little tour. They land in Adelaide, go to Melbourne and the big red rock among other places, to arrive in Sydney two weeks later. They get a local SIM and we call each other. I try to find out how their trip from France went, whether they're doing well, but the first conversation is mainly about how complicated it was to activate the SIM card. Far removed from my current concerns.

On Monday 19 February I find an interesting posting for a web designer job. I send the guy a message, we chat about my experience and all that but nothing concrete. Four days later I follow up. I think I did the right thing, we talk salary and I ask a question. It'll go unanswered.

I manage to get a few days in construction but it's not enough to keep the bank account level.

On Monday 26 February my parents arrive in Sydney for the week. Good timing that I don't have work, I can welcome them at the airport and play guide the rest of the time. I take them to every corner of Sydney (even to the Mardi Gras parade, at 60 years old, first Gay Pride, yep), we do restaurants for lunch and dinner (I think I did more restaurants in a week than during my year and a half in Australia), basically we have a good time. Everyone enjoys the visits but despite it all, part of me is absent. Thinking ahead and about the end of the king's life.

On Sunday my parents fly off and head back to France. A hard departure.

Back to the daily routine. The registration on my car was expiring soon and I had to get a roadworthy inspection. I'd previously visited the Bondi garages to find a nice one. Out of the three I pick one, the guy seemed cool, so on Monday I bring in my car. An hour later I go back to the garage to find out whether it's going to cost me a fortune or not. The guy who seemed cool is still there but he's not the mechanic. The mechanic is a big brute who only speaks by yelling (everything I love) and announces a bill of over $1,500. The headlight units had to be replaced because the plastic is too yellow (sure, but the previous owners passed the inspection with these units), the windscreen (nothing to say about that, but he's having a field day on the price) and $40 for two wiper blades (LOL). I really picked my mechanic well. Not having that amount anyway, I refuse to do the repairs with them. And besides, I'd already removed the headlight units to change a bulb, so I can change them myself.

I try to find headlight units online but impossible to track down. I call Subaru to find out how much it costs… $600 brand new per unit… no way. I call a scrapyard, they tell me they can do me the pair for $300, cool, but that they don't have any at the moment, less cool. I try to negotiate with the mechanic not to change the headlight units but no, the big brute yelled. As long as he's alive there's no way to pass the inspection under these conditions. The registration expires in a week, this is going to be tricky.

Black Tuesday, a hard return to reality. A situation that's not improving, impossible to repair my car in time for not too much money, for the first time in a year and a half I'm thinking of going back to France. Despite it all I look at the hospitality postings and prepare my CV. If construction doesn't want me maybe hospitality will. I really don't fancy it, I'd so love something interesting and creative, but hey, no choice.

On Wednesday I hand out my CVs in bars and restaurants when, late morning, the guy who'd left my question hanging gets back in touch. He asks me for more information and examples of code I've written. Is it me or is this looking good? I rush home and prepare all that. A bit later in the day the technical director approves my work (well, in fact there are only two of them in the startup, basically the technical director is the one who handles the development). Cool, the salesperson sends me the info on the interfaces to produce so I can put together a quote. I have loads of questions to assess the work to be done and give an accurate price. We set up a phone appointment the next afternoon.

Thursday, the next day, I feel the wind turning in my favour. Even though nothing's signed, the goal of having an interesting job is getting closer and closer. Having never done a freelance gig I look at how it works, the contracts, quotes, all that. I could hand over pre-made documents but I don't like that. So I decide to make myself a nice document design with my logo and my colours (the most important thing in the world) to send quotes and contracts. In the afternoon, in scrappy startup mode, the guy pushes the appointment back an hour. We call but the guy is a salesperson and most of my questions are technical. So I write an email with all my questions for the technical director.

During the end of the week and the weekend, lots of back-and-forth and just as many questions. After a few misunderstandings cleared up, I send my quote on Sunday. I really struggled, my brain was well and truly fried (first quote ever, and in English), but it's sent. Nothing left but to cross my fingers.

On Monday I get a message from the salesperson. The quote is signed and my account lights up with the dollars paid for the first part of the project. Deliverance!

Will it go better afterwards? Always plenty of big struggles but with stress managed a bit better, I'd say #StruggleSpecialist.

There you have one of the most complicated stretches I've had to live through, I think. I knew full well that if I needed it, my parents could pay for a return ticket, that I still had a bit of money left in my French account, and that it's nothing compared to other people. But adding in the feeling of being rejected on all sides while doing the best you can, the emotional yoyo with a few good moments, it was very gruelling. After my first year I'd already put things in perspective and understood that my life in France was a luxury (though I didn't know it at the time). This second year laid it on again, just so I wouldn't forget.

The strong point I take away is that I understand better how humans work. With the time I had, I was able to study and listen to a lot of podcasts on the subject and draw a parallel with my own experience. And that is darned interesting!