Lá 22: Dia Duit agus Lá Fhéile Pádraig Shona

Dia duit gach duine. Rinne mé rabhadh duit go lá amháin ba mhaith liom a phost i nGaeilge. Inniu an lá sin. Tá brón ormmá tá an t-aistriúchán mícheart, tá mé lag i mBéarla a aistriúisteach sa Ghaeilge. Tá áthas orm inniu mar go raibh mé in ann Gaeilge a labhairt le mo chairde agus coworkers.

Uimh Ní bheidh mé ag aistriú seo i mBéarla ar do shon. Tá sé i bhfad ró-obair. Is féidir liom gealltanas nach mbeidh mo phost ar fad a dhéanamh sa Ghaeilge, mar sin roimh muid ar ais ag labhairt Béarla beidh mé a fhágann tú leis an Beannúna hÉireann:

“May you have the hindsight to know where you’ve been, the foresight to know where you’re going, and the insight to know when you’ve gone too far”

Okay maybe I will translate for you. Roughly what I said was Hi everyone and Happy Saint Patrick’s day, and that I don’t really want to translate all of this..A few other things are in there but that isn’t important. By the way, did you know that St. Patty’s day isn’t all that big of a deal in Ireland. I always get a kick out of that….*sigh*

I miss Ireland so much on this day. I miss the eas (pronounced ass), and the hookers and the pubs….And for those who don’t know what a hooker is, it is a special type of Irish racing boat….HA,….bet you didn’t see that one coming now did ya ^_^.  Eas btw is waterfall.

I wish I could say that I could speak everything that I wrote above. I can pronounce about half of it without looking like a fool. Go raibh maith agat for being patient with the random moments of Gaelic. I love the language, the culture, the people…the land……Erin Go Bragh.

It was the first place that I first experienced peace. I know many don’t think that is a big deal…or that happiness is more important. I was happy in Ireland, don’t get me wrong. But it was the peace that drew me deeper into the land. I’m actually going to start crying, I miss it so much. I close my eyes and I’m standing on a large boulder in the middle of a peat field in Galway County, or I’m wading through the Atlantic, watching the ocean stretch endlessly in front of me. I feel the gentle breeze that carries the sounds of distant dogs, laughter, and music. My fingers languidly brushing over 5000 year old stones as I stand on top of a fort, and for once my gripping fear of heights is overpowered by the endless vision of green, purple, and blue. The smell of the salt air in the cool morning as a mist of rain gently fell on our skin. The gentle smile of the local bartender as I slide into my seat and request a Guinness before telling the old, weathered Sailor next to me about why I chose to come to Ireland.

I laughed, I cried, I danced, I sang, and I let go. I left myself back in Ireland in hopes one day I would return to the one place I truly felt connected to life.

I finally understand love…I understood it the minute I timidly stepped off my plane, gripping my backpack tightly as I stepped into the foreign country. I understood it when the green fields blurred outside the bus window as I drove further into the heart of the ancient land. I understood it, and let it grow in my chest, as my days turned into night, and each time I opened my eyes I was still there. Walking down the street with the woman who snuck into my heart within the first week with her passion and wild-eyed innocence, I re-learned what it meant to be alive as we were greeted, and escorted, by neighborhood dogs and Connemara ponies that always raced the buses when they drove by. I felt my heart beating as I took in the warm, dancing eyes of locals that greeted us like old friends, and the gentle touch of my bean an tí, the woman whose house in which I was staying, gently brushing my forehead to see if I was feeling well enough to eat the one day I was sick.

I never wanted to leave. My heart broke as I stepped back onto the plane back to New York, and I couldn’t bring myself to look out my window until the last possible moment, trying to commit everything to memory as I stared through tears that fell silently down my face. It was home. I felt warm, and I said goodbye to the land that pulled me back from a ledge I had walked along for far too long.

I miss my classmates, and singing. I miss late-night conversations with the dutch girl who stole my breath, and the light laughter of an African drum circle run by a stereotypical Irishman. I miss it all….

Back here, it is harsh and painful. Memories plague my dreams, of mistakes, of failures. Each road is littered with a piece of myself that was torn off and flung away. Late nights blur the days, and alcohol blurs the nights, and I feel the ghost touches of the Dutch girl who taught me how to smile with my eyes, laugh with my stomach, love with a touch, and to sing to the moon. I miss the American kids that brought enough familiarity without the grief…the Polish girl who roomed with me, and confided secrets with me and fears. To the Romanian girl who has made me a long distance aunt and my cigar smoking New York Republican who showed me how to share a meal with a person I disagreed with.

I love you all…I miss you all.

We speak of summers, of moments, that change our lives. It’s a movie to us, an unreality because it never seems like that magic can truly exist. But it did….it did…for one month I wasn’t broken. Scarred yes, but I wasn’t broken…and all I want is to go home.

oíche mhaith mo ghrá. oíche mhaith mo chroí. Aisling agamde do aoibh gháire. Aisling agam de do dteagmháil. Oíche mhaith, oíche mhaith.

Slainte

Ceist an lae:

Where is your heart?

 I left mine here

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