Ireland, after 7 months (answers, in no particular order)

Ireland, after 7 moths (answers, in no particular order)

August, September, October, November, December, January, February…
Seven months to fit into postcards, seven months to fit into long distance
calls before I realize that words can only fill certain empty spaces,
Like postcards, or awkward silences.
The generic answers are the ones that flow the easiest
‘It’s been lovely, Ireland is beautiful and people are really nice’…
‘Yes I drink Guinness at pubs and my apartment is only fifteen minutes away from campus’
‘Of course you can come and visit’

And so on…

But to tell you the truth, genuine or honest answers are more like this:
Spontaneous day trips to the beach on a Saturday
Jumping on the Dart with a camera and some snacks
Just to disappear for a little while, just to
breathe in and out
The immensity,
And of course the cosy Sunday afternoon that follows
The rain, the mandatory coffee and indulging on a good book.

Easily started conversations with strangers on the street
And the inevitable questions:
“excuse me?”, “could you repeat please?”
Some Irish accents are just too much,
Even after seven months.

Those coffee conversations at Clement & Pekoe
There are people passing by and sirens somewhere uptown
somewhere uptown
The friendships
The jokes
The simple times.

I don’t know how many ways there are to die in this city
But I’m almost sure many of them involve riding a bike
Bad taxi drivers and double-decker buses that don’t see you, despite your
Neon jacket and intermittent lights.

Being stopped for directions by confused tourists,
And for once,
proudly knowing
What to say.

The way my feet take me home almost automatically
after a long day
without needing to check the GPS on my phone.

Or simply having a place that feels
like home after a long day.

There have been more airports in the past 6 months
Than ever before, I feel like I’m always missing
Someone on a different time zone, on a different

My skin has paled, so I guess I look less foreign
But Ireland still feels awfully temporary
March, April, May, and then what?





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