Wherever I lay my hat…

Just home from a week at er, home and feeling somewhat confused, but can’t help feeling that overall it’s a good thing.

I went home to Manchester for a week to catch up with family and to see my Uncle who had a bone marrow transplant on Wednesday (more about that to follow). It was lovely to catch up with my family & friends whom I love heaps & miss just as much, but for the first time since moving to Dublin almost a year ago, it didn’t feel like home.

Dublin really feels like home most of the time – my life is here now. Yet sometimes, at the same time, it also doesn’t quite feel like home. Every now & then I feel I remember that I’ve not been here a tremendous amount of time and some things still feel very new.

So, I’m left feeling a bit like the Littlest Hobo, not quite knowing where my “home” actually is. However, I can’t help feeling that it’s still just a transient state and while I’ll always love Manchester (it’s in my blood) this is all actually a sign that slowly but surely Dublin & Ireland as a whole are becoming my home. And I can’t help but feel that that’s a very good thing! 🙂

One response to “Wherever I lay my hat…

  1. Nick McGivney

    Living in between is a funny place to be, but most people live there. You’re part of Ireland’s largest ethnic minority. But culchies are Dublin’s biggest group of outsiders. There’s a palpable difference between the Northside and the Southside. Two dozen different skin colours are trying to reside alongside one another in the city these days. Very few people are ‘at home’. And look back a bit and you’ll see that we all came from east Africa. Huh?
    I guess that the lure of the familiar will always be the biggest magnet. I was born in Manchester, but my formative years were spent on a farm in Cavan. I can’t walk past the statue of Patrick Kavanagh on Grand Canal at Baggot St without his poems flowing through my head. He died the year I was born, but was a rural poet from neighbouring Monaghan, and everything he said resonates in me. And I can’t go back there either, because it’s not 1976 anymore and time has a habit of not allowing repeats. Getting a bit philosophical now, but I guess what I mean is that here, and now, and you, is mostly what the reality is. That Manchester, like that Cavan, lives on inside, but won’t mean the same, or not exactly, to anyone else but you. But it’s kinda nice to have it all to yourself too. I think they call it nostalgia. Or is it neuralgia? I’m never sure…

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