Søren Kierkegaard

It is only in love that the unequal can be made equal.

:: Jet Lag ::

It's like a punch in the face.
Everyday.
For a week.

The end.

Musings from the Emerald Isle

After a very stressful week of having essentially no internet connection*, I find myself happily situated in my old friend Ro's tech-friendly home. 

(Thank You, Lord, for internet. I had no idea how web-dependent I'd become.  I feel almost as if food and water had been restored to me after a long fast.)  

I am in Ireland.  

The country of my mom's family origin.  

The obsession of my youth.  

A long-held dream is being fulfilled in this trip. You only have to look at my bookshelves to understand how deeply I've longed to see this place; with titles like McCullough's Wars of the Irish Kings or the more well-known Irisih Fairy and Folk Tales from the incomprable Yeats, the Rachel-brain of my early adulthood was fed on the history and lore of Ireland. I lived my Irish ancestory for about three years.

Though I've become more pragmatic in my 30s than I was a decade ago, I still allowed myself to go there emotionally on the ferry over from Holyhead. I just thought...just felt...what was it like for my ancestors 150 years ago?  The boldness of leaving your homeland for a country across the sea was no small thing back in those days.  Did they leave because of English oppression?  Did they leave because of one of the potato famines?  Did they leave to be near friends and family who had already left because of famine or oppression?  I imagined some great-great-grandmother finding her sea-legs on the deck of a wooden vessel, gettting salt-whipped from the ocean as she leaned over the side of the boat railing to look at the wake left by this monstrous ship carrying her away from her homeland.  Was she poor?  Was she more excited than sad? More scared than excited?  I tried to enter into her emotion, succeeding only for brief half-seconds -- those snatches of time inbetween the snapping of photos and the curling of excited toes.  I was on the Irish Sea, after all. I couldn't allow myself too much nostalgia or I'd miss my own 21st century experiences.

Aside from reincarnating my great-great-grandmother's journey (albeit, on a different body of water), I very much wanted to throw myself into the sea -- to give myself up to the waves and mingle with the history of my people.  (In the end I didn't take the plunge; perhaps what stopped me was not wanting to ruin my smart phone, but we'll never really know.)  I also allowed myself to believe in mermaids during my three hour tour, because surely if they exist anywhere it'll be off the coast of Ireland?

After safely landing and waiting ages for my luggage (and supressing the very great urge to scream "I'M IN IRELAND!!!!!  WOOOHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"), I finally made it outside to Ronan.  How very dear to see him!  He was one of my dorm mates in France, which is how I know him, and until yesterday I hadn't seen him in nearly a decade.  When we were "at Uni" he used to come into my room at all hours of the night to argue philosophy -- hours in which I sorely wanted to sleep but hadn't the heart to kick him out. I love his house, I love his wife, I love his dogs, and I am loving being here.  Tonight we're running off to go see a more picturesque part of Ireland.  Photographic evidence of this journey will be forthcoming upon my return to my native land, but for now, I wish you all well and hope your week is turning out as fabulously as mine.

*My friends in England turn their internet off and unplug it! during the day.  They only turn it on for about 20 minutes to read and return emails right before they go to bed.  It's...killing...me...

Priority #1 for the next two weeks:

Image from SimonFree.com

That bit about never forgetting...

Yesterday I rolled out of bed, threw clothes on, spent 8 hours standing in front of a saw wondering the whole time if we'd bombed Syria, had lunch in the car, rolled home, showered, threw clothes on, went to school, got home an hour past my bedtime, and, finally, went to bed. 

The one time I wasn't "doing" but was simply "being" was when I decided to have dinner at my favorite little Vietnamese bistro by school.   I was noshing on my vermicelli with tuong ot toi when all of a sudden "Shotgun Tom" Kellyyyyyyyy's voice came over the radio and said, "September 11th.  Twelve years.  We will never forget."

Um...in the words of Tonto: "Whaddya mean we, white man?"  (I'm a bad patriot.)

I want to see beautiful things.

I'm bored with city life. I want to smell the Redwoods or dip my feet in a mountain stream or be able to see the stars. I need a serious camping trip. Like, the backpack your food in and sleep in the open air type of camping trip.

Never gets old...