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

Twitter
Tumblr
Instagram

Hot Press Presents - The Write Touch with Alcatel One Touch - VOTE FOR ME!

http://www.hotpress.com/writetouch/collegefemale.html

Exciting news! I've been short-listed in this year's Hot Press - The Write Touch competition. I am going head-to-head with 40 other students, both second and third-level, for the chance to win an internship with Hot Press this summer! 

For those who aren't aware - Hot Press is Ireland's leading music publication, and it would be an absolute honour to intern there.

However, I won't make it there, unless people vote for me! It's based on half public vote, half panel vote. So, what I'm trying to say is ... I would seriously appreciate a vote! All you have to do is click the link at the beginning of this post and click my little icon (Fionnuala Jones) and I'm good to go!

Thank you in advance! Cross your fingers and toes and intestines for me.


Fionnuala

My Twitter
My Instagram
My Tumblr


Like The Student Handbook on Facebook, and follow us on Twitter

Like Hot Press on Facebook, and follow them on Twitter

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?

Twitter
Tumblr
Instagram

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).


Twitter (like blogs, just smaller)
Instagram (selfies and food pics galore)
Tumblr (I don't even know)

My life in pictures #3 - Year of the gig

Following the exams, my sister and I joked that the summer and the remainder of the year would be referred to as the 'year of the gig'. In July, I saw The Killers, Haim, Two Door Cinema Club and Frank Ocean, as well as Bell X1 in Cork. Here's some horrendously poor qualities of both gigs, which were fantastic (unlike the camera quality). Enjoy!

Bell X1 @ Live At The Marquee, Cork, July 4th

 

The Killers, Frank Ocean, Two Door Cinema Club, Haim @ Phoenix Park, Dublin, July 13th

L

I'm never good at something when I try it for the first time. It's just a rule.
This rule, (more commonly referred to as 'Fionnuala's Law'), also applies to me driving.

Yes, after years of fleecing my mother, father and siblings for lifts , I have finally started to learn how to drive.

(Let's not get ahead of ourselves now, I've had two lessons - still more Spongebob than Jensen Button, unfortunately).

It's difficult though, isn't it? Well, maybe not difficult ... Just not as easy as I had initially anticipated. The first lesson was a breeze  - ambling around country lanes, Christy Moore yodelling in my ears, cruisin' at 20 miles per hour.

All that being said, where I live can't exactly be described as a built-up area - Narnia's a stone's throw away from it, so when you're the only car on the road, it's bound to be easier, isn't it?

It's all well and good being able to drive when there's no traffic on the roads, but it's entirely practical, especially with college coming up.

So, naturally, lesson two involved driving on a main road. All of a sudden things got that tad bit trickier.With roundabouts, T-junctions and drivers with road rage thrown into the equation, I was a nervous wreck. As I grappled with the steering wheel, I imagined I resembled an octopus lathered in Vaseline attempting to juggle.

(Of course, while I was imagining this, I almost crashed the car - apparently, you have to pay attention while driving?)

Road positioning's another kettle of fish altogether. "Let the white line be your guide", my driving instructor repeated, like some sort of ominous shaman chant. I was half expecting him to whip out some crystal meth and dream-catchers, but apparently that's frowned upon while driving.

You'd think it'd be easy - the lines are there for you to follow on the road. Essentially, it's Painting By Numbers. In a moving vehicle. Which can injure people.

And is there anything more shameful than that moment when the car stalls? Well, imagine doing that three times. On a roundabout. See, the truth is, I actually stalled on purpose. I was simply just stopping, momentarily, in order to embrace the roundabout and all its circular complexities. Nothing wrong with that, is there?

Lesson three will involve lots of steering and positioning practice, and we'll be heading in to town. The downside of this is that, potentially, people I know will see me make a twat of myself. No pressure, eh?

So, if you see a little red learner car occasionally stalling to take in the scenery, don't angrily indicate or shake your fist because there is a strong possibility that I will cry. 

This is not a test

"Graduation?" My mam snorted incredulously. "You graduate from college, not secondary school!"

For me, however, I felt the only way to describe this incredibly melodramatic transition from student to mere mortal as a 'graduation'. As we all sat in the dining assembly crying our eyes out, (No? Just me? It's not news to ye that I'm a massive loser anyway), I found it difficult to envision life beyond the classrooms, the teachers, the students and the school that had, essentially, made me who I am. Afterwards, I joked about asking if I could stay on permanently, hidden away in a supply cupboard, content with my life as a good student.

My graduation marked the end of an incredibly challenging year for myself and my fellow Leaving Cert students. It also marked the beginning of the exams themselves. From January onwards, the stress of school, as well as other factors, built up enormously. As someone who is renowned for putting herself under a great deal of pressure when it comes to tests, the Leaving Cert just didn't seem like something I would, in the end, be physically able to do. Months of exam papers, predictions, rants, oral examinations, practicals and scouring for universities would all boil down to a week's worth of exams for me. "These are the exams that will define you and decide your future!" they told us.

I'm sorry, but that is bullshit.

As much as the SEC, your teachers and the Department of Education wants you to believe that the world is going to spontaneously stop the day you and 1 get our results - it won't. Life doesn't begin after the Leaving Cert. It never has, and it never will. In that week in August, if it turns out that I have indeed fail Maths, there is no doubt that I will be exceptionally disappointed. But I know that life will go on, and in my final hours it won't be remembered that I failed Maths in my Leaving Cert. Sure, if you can tell me all the characteristics of a desert biome, I'm thrilled for you. But the Leaving Cert doesn't measure human qualities - how funny, nice, selfless or determined you are.

I am now at a point in my life where I believe I am facing an even bigger test than the Leaving Cert itself. I am approximately half a month into my summer break, and I have found myself teetering in the middle of some kind of emotional see-saw. I'm not entirely sure what's going to happen over the next few weeks. Summer is always given such an air of importance among people my age - between its temporary nature, the good weather and the freedom, it is truly a unique time where anything is possible. For the most part, my life is now limitless - no restraints such as exams, study or school work to hold me back. What am I going to make of myself? What am I going to become?

Scary prospect, isn't it?

I'm not asking much of this summer. I want to enjoy myself, after what can only be defined as 6 months of torture. I want to spend as much time with my friends as possible, as I will going to college in Dublin and they will be facing into exams themselves. I want to drink copious amounts and inevitably puke on myself - again. I wish to attend every concert under the sun, and travel: the thoughts of spending my summer in this small (and equally small-minded) shithole feels me with dread. I will work, and, in turn, waste spend all my money on frivolous items. I am not a person who buys into the idea of having 'no regrets'. My whole life is basically a tidy collection of regrets big and small. I can only hope that I won't add too many more to my list this summer. I want to laugh loudly and not have to be sorry about it. I want this summer to teach me more about the world and myself than 5 years of education ever could.

This summer will be the ultimate learning curve. As a 17 year old with a seven year old mind with a fantastic memory, but lacking in 'street smarts', I need to learn my place, and ultimately, make better decisions, in order to succeed in college and beyond.

Not entirely sure how I'm supposed to study for that, mind ...


Twitter
Instagram
Tumblr