To my Galway family

I love these two...but they're a little camera-shy.

To my dear Galway family:

Oh, gosh...I'm crying already :P

Business first: I'm leaving for Shannon around 6 pm tonight with M and R, and will hang out there until my first flight (to Manchester) leaves at 7 am tomorrow. I'll have two hours there and then it's 8 more to JFK...so if all goes well, I'll be in New York by 1:40 pm on Sunday (6:40 pm Galway time).

Now that that's out of the way...look, you all know by now that I like to write. And usually, I can find words. But in this case, words really aren't enough. Still, let me try...

What happens afterwards?

I'm 21 years old, and yet have been told that I sometimes read like a 35-year-old mother of two.  But there are days when I feel more like I'm 21-going-on-3: like today, for instance.  Today feels like a prime day to throw a toddler-sized tantrum because my heart hurts and that's not okay.

Don't get me wrong; I've traveled a long way since the end of October.  Getting out of bed used to be a chore.  But I've finished my exams and am now using these final days to reflect and process as much of the past four months as I can.

And by this time next week, I'll be home!  Yes.  This is a thrilling prospect indeed.

In fact, I'm halfway packed.

Distraction...or avoidance?

The periods of distraction are growing longer and longer.  This weekend, in fact, was one long loverly distraction.  Here are some specifics:

I baked a walnut-cinnamon apple crumble,

began to journal in this gift from one of my friends here,

and, on Sunday morning, sang (yes, sang!) soul-settling Christmas music with a family I will miss dearly.  (I wish I had a photo of us to post here for you - that, I suppose, will come in time.  But trust me - if I ever return to Galway, it will be to visit this family.)

An end-of-the-day toast

Here's to that second glass of wine...because a little more Merlot couldn't hurt, right?  (Right.)

Here's to an evening chock-full of the most mundane (read: satisfying) accomplishments - laundry, dishes, and laying out tomorrow's clothes.

Here's to using peppermint tea to ease a heart that now panics on a daily basis.  (I'm thinking that can't be good...)
Here's to a normal-ish weekend spent watching "The Lorax", horsing around with a puppy named Joey who likes to park himself on my feet, and helping to teach a Christmas song in junior church.

Here's Joey!  Isn't he a pretty puppy?

Come back

The River Corrib, on my way to campus.

I got out of bed this morning because I promised K I would go to school for one day.  I washed my hair, too, and it feels light and clean but is falling out in clumps.  Something told me it wouldn't be responsible of me to bike to class, so I walked and stopped a few times along the way because my calves were cramping.  It was a long walk and I vaguely remember a classmate passing me at one point.  She offered a few quick remarks - the ones people give because they don't know what else to say.  I know you meant well, friend, but you said, "time heals" and the rage bubbled up like kettle steam.  You're lucky that I was using all of my energy to focus on the walking.

It felt surreal to be in class; everyone was making the usual lewd jokes and carrying on intelligent discussions about a book I stopped reading on Sunday.  But 11 am finally came along, whereupon my professor walked my dazed little body to his colleague's office.  A kind woman named M made me tea and - thank goodness - did not say that "time heals", but that "time helps you get used to it".  She said she was proud of me for finally leaving the house (thank you for understanding how much effort it took), and then she asked about the funeral.

I missed it, M - it was Tuesday afternoon.  Cremation.  How do you do that, I wonder - reduce a whole person and a whole life to ashes in a jar?  

Cork, Part II: Jack, I'm coming!

There's really no eloquent or profound way to put this - at least, not as far as I can figure out - so I'll just say it.

I love "Titanic".

They said, "God Himself could not sink this ship."  With those dimensions and a nickname like "Queen of the Ocean", I wouldn't have disagreed.

"Titanic", friends, is the gem of Hollywood, the love story that trumps all others, the story that never fails to bring me to tears.  Every.  Single.  Time.

Dublin, Part II: poetry in a pint

At 4:30 pm on Friday, I woke up with an imprint of my scarf on my cheek and the following graffiti on the wall outside my bus window:

It doesn't get any clearer than that, I thought groggily.  The excitement in the air was nearly tangible as the group trooped off the bus; as you might imagine, the Guinness Brewery visit is one of the most popular excursions on this entire term abroad.

Moving to the rhythm

Time to go home!

When I rolled over in bed this morning, groping around on my nightstand so I could hit "snooze" on my cell phone alarm, this was the first thought that crossed my mind.  And then I realized - again - that until December, I’m here.  For the next fifteen weeks, I’m here, and so much that is important to me…is not.  In the grand scheme of things, four months isn't a very long time; that's certainly true.  But, you see: Rishi isn’t here.  My friends aren’t here (except for Teresa, of course, but there are other people, obviously.)  
My church isn’t here.  Union isn’t here.  My guitar isn’t here.

When can you come over again?

9:30 am: It's a quiet Saturday morning...and although the sky is decidedly overcast, the light in this warm living room is so soft that I don't mind.  This is the first day so far that I haven't had to be at campus in the morning for an orientation event, so I'm taking the chance to settle into the day.  Teresa and I are going to check out downtown Galway today...there's a farmer's market in Eyre Square (which is a transportation hub of sorts, analogous to Times Square) on the weekends, close to a church I'd like to scope out.  Oh, and speaking of churches, here are some photos of Galway Cathedral, a simply awe-inspiring church just off-campus:

This is what you see as soon as you walk through the doors.  It's a magnificent structure, really.