Resolute

Yes - believe it or not, it is that time of year again.

Christmas isn't long again, and already we are being bombarded with messages of detoxing, resolution making and self improvement for the new year. .

This Christmas, I've been particularly reflective. Last Christmas (refrain from singing Wham, I beg of you), my life was very different. Very different indeed. It's been hard for me to discern whether my life is different now because of luck, fate or simply my bad actions.

Like most other people, I've lost a lot this year. On the more insignificant end of the spectrum, I'm now single. On the other end, I lost my wonderful grandmother. It was one of the hardest things I've ever gone through, and it affects me more daily than I could have ever imagined. She had an incredible impact on my life, as well as everyone else's. Her presence was sorely missed at our dinner table this Christmas.

I've been through two jobs this year. I'm aware that people are in much tighter situations than me when it comes to my finances (shout out to my parents, my own personal bailout fund), I find it extremely difficult not having a safety blanket. I went from living relatively cheaply working a well paid job, to scraping by in Dublin. I don't like the fact that my parents are under pressure when it comes to housing and feeding me during college, especially when they have a stack of other bills on top of that.

It's a pity that amongst all this loss, I couldn't manage to lose a few stone.

Despite this, it's obviously that I've gained more this year. I've mentioned my Leaving Cert in previous posts, so I'll resist from going on about now. I've also written about getting into college, of which the experience has been a dream. I've gained an incredible new set of friends from all across the country,  who laugh at my jokes and make me feel like the world isn't as heavy on my back. I was short-listed in this year's Hot Press Write Touch competition, in which I was featured in the magazine, as well as my piece being published on their website. I've gained invaluable PR experience, and earned a press internship at 9 Crow Street as a result. I have had a fabulous Christmas, and I look forward to going to Birmingham in March with my gorgeous mother to see one of my favourite bands in the entire world.

It's not all about gain and loss, mind. What about what we still have? Often, that's what's overlooked. I still have my family here in Cobh, my school friends, my childhood friends and a roof over my head.

Some people haven't been as lucky or worked as hard as I have this year. Sometimes, I forget that. It's easy to lose perspective.

This year, I decided to do the Christmas Day swim with my sister to raise money for the hospital where my nan stayed in her final weeks It was extremely important that I did this. My sister and I considered dropping out as struggled to open the frozen doors of my dad's car. But we couldn't. We wouldn't let ourselves.

The swim was easily the most painful experience of my entire life. The steam rose as an assembly of clothed bodies descended into the waters of Cuskinny. My body felt like it had been set alight; my internal organs like they were being weighed down. I managed to stay in the water for half an hour thought, and I was proud of myself.

This year has allowed me to grow as a person in so many ways. I've made poor decisions, but I can safely say, I've learned from them all. Last new year's, I did something pretty horrific and cruel. I took this decision out on people who didn't deserve it. But now is not the time for self-loathing. Now is not the time for wishing things were different, or that I'd tried harder or that I was a better person. It's time to move forward - without regret and without anger.

Things have happened. Things will always happen. No matter how many resolutions you make, you stick to or otherwise. Now is the time to realise that  are great - you deserve your life, and this year is yours.

Your gains. Your losses. Your happiness.

Finding balance

"Hold still", the doctor said. "This won't be painful at all. I'll just be pumping water in to your ear".

A machine gurgled and hummed behind me as I held a dish up to my ear. I had been dreading this for the past day. The words 'ear syringing' had me conjuring images of oversized hypodermic needles being shoved in to each ear, before they slowly drained me of my life.

In reality, it was similar to a wet willy crossed with a very small tropical storm.

I was suffering - two infected ears, resulting in an infected throat. The last few weeks had been intense. As previously mentioned, I started college at the end of September, considerably later than my fellow classmates. Life before college involved ... Well, not preparing for college, that's for sure. I was diving head first in to a course I had wanted since I was a nipper, and a city I'd hoped to live in for as long as I can remember. So incredibly idyllic ... What could possibly go wrong?

College has been incredibly difficult so far. I completely underestimated just how monumental a change it is. I was going from a quiet country home with just my parents, to sharing an apartment with four strangers in the city. My first night had involved making awkward small talk in the hopes of convincing my house mates that I was a decent person - you could have smelled the desperation off me. By half 10, I was in bed watching kids TV shows on Netflix, wondering whether I was cut out for three years of this. I was uncomfortable and anxious and my fears were mounting.

I had always liked school. My mam told me that, even as a young child, it was just in me to study and to work. I never needed much encouragement. I thrived on doing well and succeeding - praise was the icing on the academic cake. I wanted to make my teachers and my family proud, (even now, I still feel like my intelligence is my only redeeming quality). Before college, I had never failed an exam. Starting college, I failed my first three or four assignments. Concentrating in certain modules was impossible. I would leave the lecture hall dazed and confused as to what I had just sat through. When I eventually started passing them, I only just passed. I felt like the rug had been pulled from under me. I wondered whether my old school would take me back, and keep me as a permanent fixture in the school.

Why was I complaining? I had made it to college! I had gotten my first choice! My parents had paid x amount of money to get me there and house me! I felt like grabbing myself by the scruff of the neck and giving myself a good shake. I had my mam on the phone constantly telling me that if I was finding it too hard, or wasn't enjoying the course, that I should tell her sooner rather than later.

But that wasn't it. I liked my course. It was hard, but I still can't imagine myself doing anything else other than journalism.

And another thing - why was I being such a moody sod to my friends about staying in contact, seeing as I was struggling myself to return calls and reply to text messages to myself? Why was I so surprised when they were busy themselves? Their lives didn't revolve around me, as much I wanted to believe that they did. To top it all off, I was constantly getting thick with my mam on the phone, as she tried to extract information from me about how college was going and how I was. Drawing blood from a stone doesn't even cover it, let me tell you.

It was during my reading week (essentially a week off), that things came to a head. Before and during my exams, I experienced very mild anxiety. I would get incredibly sad and anxious for no real reason, and this would be brought on by stress. I couldn't control my breathing, and it felt like I had the weight of the world on my shoulders. Because I was doing little else but sleeping, watching TV and staying inside, my anxiety started to affect me again. I felt hopeless, alone and began agonising over things. I felt like I was swamped with work, when the reality of the situation I had finished all my assignments. I was painfully lonely, as my friends attended school or college.

When my mam found out (through Twitter, I might add - I am a horrible child), she was worried. But to be honest, she was my saving grace. I had found no solace in anything else. And then I spoke to her, and it felt like coming up for air. I didn't feel stupid talking about it. She brought me out, took me shopping and talked and talked and talked so I wouldn't have to. All my concern seemed to dissipate, my self loathing eased.

College has opened my mind to a lot of things. You can't assume any thing about any one. You don't know where they've come from or their walk of life. You will face challenges and struggles - some explainable, some not at all - but everything can be overcome. My mam's favourite expression is, "there's no such thing as a big problem; just a serious of little problems".

I lost my balance for a bit. But I think I've got it back. Being to able to spend time with my friends at home has been hugely important, and reaffirmed that I must have done something right to have them as comrades. My room mates have turned out to be fantastic people, and there's even talk of living together next year. The people on my course are like-minded and seek the same things as I do.

It's satisfying to know that I'm back on track. I'm terrified of what's ahead. I still think about whether or not I'm cut out for this; whether or not I'll be good enough. But every one falls down at some stage - be sure that you're the person that gets back up again.

"Wow!" the doctor exclaimed., "would you believe, that was my fastest ear syringe ever! Sometimes you can be hours at it trying to get the stuff out".

"I'm honoured", I smirked.

Read more from me at studenthandbookblog.wordpress.com

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Definitely maybe

"Everything happens for a reason".

That's my typical response when something goes wrong in my life, or someone else's. "One door closes, another one opens ... " I'm some woman for clichés, especially when they're the last things you need to hear. Up until quite recently, I believed it all.

But what about the doors that don't close? What about the ones we leave ajar? 

I feel like nothing's certain any more. Recently, I've been second guessing myself on decisions I made months ago; on thoughts I believed I couldn't be more set on. Now, I feel like someone's yanked the rug from under me. 

I've always been level-headed. I've always relied on logic, and have never been spontaneous. I'm cautious - perhaps overly so - and indecisive. I'm not brave. I'm scared of my own shadow, and even more so of the unknown.

Open doors bother me. What I don't know bothers me. I need certainty and clarity in my life and right now I don't have that. I need someone to come out from behind the door and tell me whether I made the right decision or not. 

But that's not going to happen: not now, not ever. It's just a matter of waiting to see how curious I get before I coax the monsters of my past out from open doors. I just want to know ...

... What if?

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Growing up won't bring us down

"His name's Tulani".

I corrected my nan on the name of one of her South African care-workers - she'd mistakenly referred to him as 'Carrigtwohill'.

"That's it!" She said, pointing and shaking her hand in his direction, as if she'd figured it out on her own. "I knew it had a T in it. I've gone terrible deaf Fionnuala girl".

My nan was now in hospital permanently - sound of mind, frail of heart and body, eyes as blue as a porcelain doll's. The same, however, could not be said about her fellow patients.

"Get out ... Get out ... Get out ... GET OUTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT!" A pleasant old 'dear' had greeted us as we entered. Away with the fairies. "She's probably better off", my mam remarked. "Madame Butterfly", my selectively deaf grandmother had called her.

As I sat on the stiff mattress of the hospital bed, I allowed myself to take in fully this new environment. Shelves filled with adult nappies, assistance bells at the bedside, jellies on the table, the able patients' knitwork lining the walls ... Is this what awaits me? Is this what we wait for with bated breath? Is this really what I wish for when I complain about my life and long to be older?

In that moment, I felt like I had been wishing my life away. About the way I look, the people I spend my time with and where I spend it ... Yeah, growing is hard. Really hard at times. My secrets had spread faster than glandular fever at a GAA disco. Stress inevitably got the better of me at one stage or another. I was rejected, and in return, I rejected people. My whole landscape of friends had changed radically, to the point where I know longer acknowledge people who I previously invested all of my time into. I had complained previously about 'those people', 'this town', 'that night' ... All for what? For me to get old old and go loopy?

I sat amongst my family, in what was, essentially, an adult crèche and came to my conclusion: if growing old is hard, imagine how bloody hard being old is. I was suddenly overcome with gratitude for crappy school, drunken mistakes and horrible people who deserve to have their ears pierced with rusty nails. I have what my nan doesn't - spontaneity and diversity. I made a decision then and there to prolong monotony for as long as possible. Lord knows I can't stop the ageing process but, so help me, I'm going to slow the bastard down before I become my own Madame Butterfly.

"Are you working tonight?" My nan asked.

"Yeah I am".

"Sure God help us!" she said, shaking her head.

God help us indeed.



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Version

One of these days, I'll write a list. A list that I already take with me everywhere I go - though not in the physical sense. It's a long list. Everyone has one of their own, I'm sure. They won't compare to mine though.

One of these days, I'll write a list of everything I wish I could change. It would take up reams and reams of paper: from my appearance, my traits, my words, my actions, my abilities. I'd look at it every day and ask myself:

What would it take to be the best version of myself?

To be honest, I have no idea. But I'd love to meet her. It would be like meeting someone famous. I would be gushing over her and hanging on her every word.

"How do you do it?" I'd ask her, "How can you be everything that I'm not?"

She'd have all the right words. She'd know exactly what to say at the exact time. She could comfort in you ways that I couldn't possibly manage.  She would never be afraid to speak, in fear of causing an argument or offending someone. She wouldn't run when she had no idea what to say. She would be open to everyone, and utterly transparent to you.

She would listen. And I mean, really listen. She'd remember everything about everyone to a tee. She'd concentrate on every single word that left your lips and made a point of never forgetting a detail. She would be conscientious and considerate.

She would be reasonable and fair. She'd know when she was wrong - and, more importantly, admit it. She would be gracious in defeat and realise that not everything's about her, or having it her way. She would understand the difference between selfless and selfish.

She would not be immature, nor would she allow herself to be controlled or hemmed in by her family, her peers, or anyone else. She would be her own person, while still effortlessly dividing her time between everyone. Everyone would love her.

She would be everything you want and more.

Everything that I am not.

"One of these days", I would tell her, "one of these days, I'll be just like you. I'll change myself for the better. The way I act. The way I behave. I can do it. It's easy. In fact, why have I waited until now to be the best version of myself and make everything better? I'll be a different. Just you wait".

And you know what her response would be?

She would laugh.

One of these days ...