Up in the clouds

The mammy walking through the grounds of St. Philip's Cathedral, Birmingham

I hadn't realised how independent I'd become since moving to Dublin, until I went travelling with my mam recently.

I had asked her to buy me tickets to Fall Out Boy, my favourite band growing up, (reserve your judgement for someone who gives a shit), when they announced a show in Ireland for March.

Naturally, she bought tickets for their show ... In Birmingham.

"Ah sure, we'll just go to Birmingham for the weekend. Be grand."

My mam's cock-up had turned into my first holiday abroad in six years. Result.

I was unbearably excited. I wore the ears off everything talking about the trip. We were due to fly over from at 6:45 am, the night after my school awards. I had frantically prepared an extensive itinerary - we would visit Cadbury World, Birmingham Aquarium, the Jewellery Quarter, Winterbourne House & Garden ...

"Go to bed now and make sure you're up in the morning." Callista 'Two Hours Early' Jones told me.

5.45am.

Five forty five. Am.

"FIONNUALA, YOU'RE GOING TO HAVE TO LEG IT!"

"Why?"

"BECAUSE'S IT'S QUARTER TO SIX!"

What ensued was possibly the shittest episode of 24 ever ... Teeth were brushed, blood pressures rose, clothes were thrown on as Frank 'I Don't Obey The Speed Limit It Obeys Me' Jones finally came in handy. Half an hour to get to the airport - the race was on.

We were subsequently hurled out of the car, scrambling up the escalator in departures. We joined the queue at our gate: at this stage, years had been put on to me, and I was pretty sure Callista was going to collapse. We began organising our liquids into clear plastic bags (because, naturally, we'd forgotten to do that), and I silently said prayers to whatever deity had decided to scupper our plans to let it go, just this once.

6.30am.

We plowed through baggage as an exasperated flight attendant called our names over the tannoy. Onwards to security. For whatever reason, my mam had decided to wear whatever metal objects she could find in the house. As I breezed through, she was held up for a full body pat down. There I was, surrounded by all the things I loved - tax free alcohol and cosmetics - what was I do to do?

"GO FIONNUALA! JUST TELL THEM I'M COMING!" My mam's voice carried through the duty free.

I turned and ran, hand luggage bobbing, straining for breath. Never before had I wished I'd used my DCU gym membership more than right at that moment. Breathlessly, I told the flight attendant about my situation and scurried on to the plane.

I was now on a plane, by myself, in the midst of the Malaysian airline crisis. Was this the end?

Queue Callista trundling up the aisle. Admittedly, she didn't speak for the majority of the journey, only to occasionally make delirious remarks about the reliability of her phone alarm.

"Next time make sure you set one as well." she told me as we landed.

We arrived at our hotel at quarter past 9, had a breakfast, and began tourist-ing. We headed straight to the Bullring shopping centre, where the credit cards were melted. Five hours later and 500 bags heavier, we trekked back, admiring St. Philip's Cathedral in the centre of town on the way.

Mid afternoon naps were followed by watching Ireland's glorious Six Nations' win in the comfort of our room, before dinner in All Bar One.

The following day saw a trip to The Jewellery Quarter in the sunshine, before more shopping. We watched the St. Patrick's Day parade - the biggest in Europe, would you believe - before heading back to the hotel before more naps.

That evening, I watched my favourite band for the last six years, Fall Out Boy, annihilate the stage. I suffered a punch to the face, and almost sweated my skin cells off, but it was well worth it.

And so, my 'wild' weekend away had come to an end, and the beds beckoned us before another nosebleed flight in the wee hours.

We set two alarms this time. And a wake-up call. Just in case.

Oh, and before I forget ...

Hi Jason and Maria!

For more on my trip to Birmingham, check out my Instagram and my Tumblr! Don't forget to follow me on Twitter either!

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.

Eighteen going on extinct

"I know my place/It's nowhere you should roam ... "


It finally happened. On the August 8 2013, I turned 18 years old. I could now legally do the things I'd been doing since I turned 16 - not to mention the fact that I could now buy scratch cards and enter all those RTÉ competitions I'd been missing out on.

I was compelled to consider the significance of it all. I'm not aware of any country that takes turning 18 quite as seriously as Ireland. Mammoth preparation had gone into organising my party, to the point where I was considering who to invite a year in advance. Honestly, My Super Sweet 16 had nothing on me.

"What if nobody comes?" I considered this terrifying scenario. Surrounded solely by my family and a miserable cake, social suicide beckoning ...

"I'll laugh", my best friend Valerie, reassuring as ever.

So, after that little inconvenience that was the Leaving Cert was put to bed, Operation 18 was put into full effect. I created the Facebook event with precision and great detail - I sold the party with an hilarious description, referring to light up runners and the frivolity of youth. After that, I invited pretty much anyone I'd ever spoken to, and their neighbours.

"My parents are going to murder me", I grimaced as the number of people attending continued to rack up.

Being a career woman, I was able to purchase a stupidly expensive playsuit (and matching lipstick) to wear to the party, to ensure that I looked the most dashing. I was determined to look so darn good that I wouldn't have to untag myself from any pictures of the night - no mean feat, I can assure you.

"18 EURO FOR A LIPSTICK?!" My mam yelped.

"I told you not to look at the receipt for your own good!"

The days went on, the numbers continued to pile up, as did the number of people declining. Excitement was building, as was my immense nervous terror. I had full-blown nightmares of hoards of my drunken, messy friends terrorising Ballymore one naggin at a time. I would wake up in a cold sweat at the thought of vomit in my house, my parents reaction, broken limbs ... Amongst other things.

The big night arrived. I frantically set the house up, (and by that I mean Mama and Papa put up the gazebo and decorations for me while I got my hair done and pretended I was Kim Kardashian for two hours). Party time arrived, and the same nervous terror began eating away at me once again, fearing that no one would turn up, and, on the other hand, that everyone would.

By half 8, the majority of my friends were wasted before anyone else had arrived. By half 10, one of my friends had passed out in her own puke, and another had face-planted in the garden and took a battering to the knee. By 12, the music had stopped, and my parents were frantically urging my guests - who now resembled Bambi wearing rollerskates on ice - to 'come inside and stop drinking'. Meanwhile, I ran around like a headless chicken playing 'hostess-with-the-most-ess', telling everyone for the seventh time that there was food on the way and drink in the fridge. By 2 o'clock, everyone had left, I was tucked up in bed after a solid one Jaegerbomb, while my parents were left to clean up the mess. The joys of adulthood, eh?

"The guards weren't called and I didn't have to call a doctor", my mam remarked following the party, "so all and all, it was very successful".

Being an adult is strange. Telling people how old you are is stranger still. As someone who relies a lot on other people, to now be, pretty much, solely responsible for myself is sickening. Independence? Overrated - give me my blankie and my mammy any day of the week.

I don't think it had really hit home until the last two weeks. Last Wednesday, I received my Leaving Cert results, and achieved enough points to do Journalism in Dublin City University - my dream course and career path. Yesterday, I accepted my place. On September 23, I will be moving to Dublin, away from my family and friends, (my second family), to start an entirely new and terrifying life. I will have to cook, clean and learn to live for myself, (and possibly how to use a washing machine).

I have never been more scared or more excited in my entire life. Despite the fact that I'm still very young, I feel I have already made enough mistakes for a lifetime, and I am more than happy to leave them behind. However, leaving my friends as they face exams themselves, and my family, will probably be a bigger challenge than the Leaving Cert itself.

Without a doubt though, this is something I absolutely must do, and something that I have wanted since I was 12 years old. It gives me great satisfaction to know how proud everyone is of me already, so the least I can do is stick this out and hopefully, carve a bright new path for myself.

So I have to ask myself again - has turning 18 affected who I am? Yes and no. My teenage years are slipping by, and I feel caught between wanting to make the most of my youth and finally growing up and getting my shit together. This is my fresh new start that I've longed for as I've wished away my summer nights and drank away all my perspective..

All I know is, I'm about to change the world: the world's not going to change me.

(Well, maybe after I watch some Pokémon or something).


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