Insomnia
I miss Ireland. I really do. Everything about it...the sights, the sounds, the smells, the tastes. I miss everything from tea and scones to my heels on the cobblestones to Irish boys to the cool, damp wind blowing across my cheeks. Beyond the sensory, what I think I miss is the feeling of sheer and utter happiness I felt while I was living there. I know that my life over there was ideal: I didn't have a job, classes were only semi-mandatory, fabulous European cities were only a short plane ride away, and I basically had nothing to do but play.
Still, this sense of loss I feel goes beyond missing a really fun extended vacation. When I was there, I felt like I was with a group of people whose humor, values, and even looks I identified with. It was a sense of belonging that has been replaced by listlessness. All through graduation, my friends and classmates have been crying their eyes out at the transition, and I have yet to really lose it. Sure, I've gotten a few lumps at the back of my throat; I'm not made of stone, but it's almost like I'm having an out of body experience. I feel so listless, like I'm missing something somewhere. I might even venture so far to say that I haven't felt anything really intensely save for a few little moments since I left Galway.
And maybe I am. I genuinely feel as if I left a part of myself in Galway. Not an arm or a leg, but something imperceptibly real and irreplaceable. A lot of kids go abroad for a semester, have a good time, and by the end are relieved and ready to go home. Not me. I wanted to stay and make a life for myself. I have a fantasy of going back and marrying an Irishman and staying there forever. Sure, I'd miss my family and friends, but I could always visit. Or we could live here and visit there...I hear Ryanair has plans in the works to open up transatlantic flights so maybe it wouldn't be so ridiculously expensive in the future...
So where does this leave me then? At the moment, I've got grad school, an internship, and work at Talbot's all lurking on the June horizon. "Ah, yeah, sure, she's got too much time on her hands, she'll forget all about Ireland once she gets back into the swing of things" is what I'm sure you're thinking at this point. But that's not even it...even when I was insanely busy or not even so busy this semester, I still thought about Galway constantly. I wrote about Galway, I listened to the music that they played while I was there, anything to be back there even for a few minutes. I've always felt a strong connection to my Irish heritage; certain songs give me chills and the poetry touches something deep in my conscience, something nearly physical.
I know this is something that goes beyond sheer daydreaming, too. I credit Ireland with saving me from the trap that so many of my friends seem to be falling into: the finding a husband and settling down trap. I definitely see where it's easy to do that; all our lives, we're told to finish school, get a job, get married, make babies, and work until we're too old to enjoy all the money we've earned. I've decided to take the European philosophy, which is to travel, go to school, travel some more, work a little, then maybe think about getting married later. I refuse to live a checklist life. I am going back to Ireland after grad school, and that's as far as my list goes.
Still, this sense of loss I feel goes beyond missing a really fun extended vacation. When I was there, I felt like I was with a group of people whose humor, values, and even looks I identified with. It was a sense of belonging that has been replaced by listlessness. All through graduation, my friends and classmates have been crying their eyes out at the transition, and I have yet to really lose it. Sure, I've gotten a few lumps at the back of my throat; I'm not made of stone, but it's almost like I'm having an out of body experience. I feel so listless, like I'm missing something somewhere. I might even venture so far to say that I haven't felt anything really intensely save for a few little moments since I left Galway.
And maybe I am. I genuinely feel as if I left a part of myself in Galway. Not an arm or a leg, but something imperceptibly real and irreplaceable. A lot of kids go abroad for a semester, have a good time, and by the end are relieved and ready to go home. Not me. I wanted to stay and make a life for myself. I have a fantasy of going back and marrying an Irishman and staying there forever. Sure, I'd miss my family and friends, but I could always visit. Or we could live here and visit there...I hear Ryanair has plans in the works to open up transatlantic flights so maybe it wouldn't be so ridiculously expensive in the future...
So where does this leave me then? At the moment, I've got grad school, an internship, and work at Talbot's all lurking on the June horizon. "Ah, yeah, sure, she's got too much time on her hands, she'll forget all about Ireland once she gets back into the swing of things" is what I'm sure you're thinking at this point. But that's not even it...even when I was insanely busy or not even so busy this semester, I still thought about Galway constantly. I wrote about Galway, I listened to the music that they played while I was there, anything to be back there even for a few minutes. I've always felt a strong connection to my Irish heritage; certain songs give me chills and the poetry touches something deep in my conscience, something nearly physical.
I know this is something that goes beyond sheer daydreaming, too. I credit Ireland with saving me from the trap that so many of my friends seem to be falling into: the finding a husband and settling down trap. I definitely see where it's easy to do that; all our lives, we're told to finish school, get a job, get married, make babies, and work until we're too old to enjoy all the money we've earned. I've decided to take the European philosophy, which is to travel, go to school, travel some more, work a little, then maybe think about getting married later. I refuse to live a checklist life. I am going back to Ireland after grad school, and that's as far as my list goes.