Losing Track of People?
I haven't contacted any of my Mount Charles buddies since we moved out. Not a one. It's just occurred to me that if I was ever going to, I would have done so by now.
I *loved* my time there, it's the international students street for QUB, as well as pretty much the best location in the city. Just in my house I had: Liz from Vancouver, Quoni from Hong Kong, Nicole from Munich, Yian We from Kuala Lumpur, Claudia from Naples, and, um, Ian, from Saintfield. Up and down the street there was *everyone*, Spanish, American, Kiwi, loads of Germans, you get the idea.
I kicked and fussed to get that place. From moving in in September, I was having the best time of my life, by Far.
Sitting out on the street with red wine, candles, and guitars, listening to the Spanish guys sing all night.
Always losing to the Germans at chess.
Making the Italians only speak Italiano around me, so I can hopefully pick up the most beautiful language in the world.
American girls know how to deal with one night stands.
Playing 'guess the nationality' sitting in the common room of number 28.
Having American Thanksgiving parties, Canadian Thanksgiving parties, Japanese Emperor's birthday, various Independence Days... you get the idea. Oh, and St Paddy's!
The bus trips that QUB put on to introduce everyone to NI, around the Giant's Causeway and the Mournes.
Being the local scenester, showing everyone the good gigs. Introducing the Estonians to Torgas Valley Reds. Realising Belfast has a music scene to be really proud of.
People loving my accent.
Noticing the exotic accents slowly get a touch of Galway. I don't know why they didn't get a touch Belfast, but I assure you they started sounded a wee bit southern.
Explaining the concept of the "pay as you go" phone.
None of them getting *any* jokes in the Empire comedy nights.
Creepily, overhearing everyone's conversations home, because the only working landline on the street was the payphone outside my bedroom door.
Tasting all the foods! Love the Italians. Love them.
And so on.
My best friend of all these was Liz. For the first two or three months, we would go out nearly every night. Really, maybe once a week we'd stay in for the evening. It was *fantastic* to see the city through totally fresh eyes.
Most of the people on the street stayed for the whole year, but some new people who moved in in January for the second semester spiced things up again, I could do it all again. Good times.
Then, I dunno. Maybe we'd seen everything Belfast and Ireland had to offer? Liz, Claudia, Kristian, and all of us were still friends of course, nothing *bad* happened at all, but also... not much of anything happened at all after a while. We'd only say hello when we passed in the street or on the stairs. I was still going out, but with Niall Harden, Mark, physics and skydive buddies. This happened very very gradually, but by the end of the year, I was packing up all my stuff, and my brother asked "So are you the last person in the house?" "Yup." It only occurred to me then that I hadn't even said goodbye to Liz. I didn't notice her leave. I was more surprised that I wasn't more fussed about that.
The moral of the story, I suppose, is that exotic exciting foreigners are just normal people who are from somewhere else. Which is a rubbish moral.
I *loved* my time there, it's the international students street for QUB, as well as pretty much the best location in the city. Just in my house I had: Liz from Vancouver, Quoni from Hong Kong, Nicole from Munich, Yian We from Kuala Lumpur, Claudia from Naples, and, um, Ian, from Saintfield. Up and down the street there was *everyone*, Spanish, American, Kiwi, loads of Germans, you get the idea.
I kicked and fussed to get that place. From moving in in September, I was having the best time of my life, by Far.
Sitting out on the street with red wine, candles, and guitars, listening to the Spanish guys sing all night.
Always losing to the Germans at chess.
Making the Italians only speak Italiano around me, so I can hopefully pick up the most beautiful language in the world.
American girls know how to deal with one night stands.
Playing 'guess the nationality' sitting in the common room of number 28.
Having American Thanksgiving parties, Canadian Thanksgiving parties, Japanese Emperor's birthday, various Independence Days... you get the idea. Oh, and St Paddy's!
The bus trips that QUB put on to introduce everyone to NI, around the Giant's Causeway and the Mournes.
Being the local scenester, showing everyone the good gigs. Introducing the Estonians to Torgas Valley Reds. Realising Belfast has a music scene to be really proud of.
People loving my accent.
Noticing the exotic accents slowly get a touch of Galway. I don't know why they didn't get a touch Belfast, but I assure you they started sounded a wee bit southern.
Explaining the concept of the "pay as you go" phone.
None of them getting *any* jokes in the Empire comedy nights.
Creepily, overhearing everyone's conversations home, because the only working landline on the street was the payphone outside my bedroom door.
Tasting all the foods! Love the Italians. Love them.
And so on.
My best friend of all these was Liz. For the first two or three months, we would go out nearly every night. Really, maybe once a week we'd stay in for the evening. It was *fantastic* to see the city through totally fresh eyes.
Most of the people on the street stayed for the whole year, but some new people who moved in in January for the second semester spiced things up again, I could do it all again. Good times.
Then, I dunno. Maybe we'd seen everything Belfast and Ireland had to offer? Liz, Claudia, Kristian, and all of us were still friends of course, nothing *bad* happened at all, but also... not much of anything happened at all after a while. We'd only say hello when we passed in the street or on the stairs. I was still going out, but with Niall Harden, Mark, physics and skydive buddies. This happened very very gradually, but by the end of the year, I was packing up all my stuff, and my brother asked "So are you the last person in the house?" "Yup." It only occurred to me then that I hadn't even said goodbye to Liz. I didn't notice her leave. I was more surprised that I wasn't more fussed about that.
The moral of the story, I suppose, is that exotic exciting foreigners are just normal people who are from somewhere else. Which is a rubbish moral.