A Story About Rediscovering Myself In Ireland

I. I vomited in the hotel bathroom; I drank the pot of tea too quickly; plus there was the jet lag; plus I was impatiently waiting for my period.

I walked slowly through Dublin with family who were functioning better than me on no sleep and a time zone change. I felt far and strangely sad. I wondered what he was doing in New York time.

My dad and I spotted a busker on the cobblestone street. He sang something I didn’t know, and then he sang, “Hallelujah.” He just wanted to sing for everyone passing by. He just wanted to impart what he was feeling and share his vulnerability.

II. I was in transition again, going on a train to the countryside. I saw a young man approach a young woman near our platform. They hugged without saying a word. They kissed. They still didn’t speak. I thought to myself that irrational anxiety doesn’t matter. This is what matters.

III. The tour bus let us off by the bay. Mountains appeared like shadows in the distance. Rocks lined the perimeter. I love being near water. I like how the water moves so easily.

IV. We were let off on top of a big mountain. We were driving around the Ring of Kerry Peninsula. We saw glimpses of Irish landscape and coast. On top of the mountain, I looked out at the deep green and specks of blue. I’d like to work on certain anxieties, but in that instant, I was grateful for the view. I was proud of myself for growing in the ways I have.

V. Musicians were out to play on the last night in Galway—music was everywhere in Ireland, bringing people together. On the last night, my dad and I stumbled across a busking trio. An older man was playing a folk song and two young girls were singing along. A little girl danced in the middle of the circle. I smiled because I know that I used to dance like that, too.