All the times i wanted to write about Dublin and here i go, leaving Dublin and commencing to write about something else.
I guess that’s what happened to all of us who stayed here for a certain period of time anda t the same time vaguely nurtured some kind of literary sense. I guess the cold somewhat paralises the fingers and freezes the ink of the pen. You find endless excuses to something yo don’t do just because you don’t feel like.
Indeed, there is more to think and to feel than there is to write when in Dublin. At least for me there was.
I might say that for the purpose any place would do, but honestly i don’t think so. This city strangely kept me here for all this time and now that i’m leaving I don’t miss it, and the reason why is because i will actually never leave it completely.
When everybody started leaving the place, a friend told me that the only person which she truly believed that would come back to Dublin was me. I asked her why and she stated because you were the only one of us who actually saw the city as your own. You were the only one who actually lived this.
Yeah, i guess most of the times i loved this city, since the first day at malrbourough street (the murder corner?) until the last day in middle gardiner street, hearing the street voices from nackers, druggies and drunkers.
I started and finished my stay in Dublin in two of the probably worst places of the city and still i love it as it is.
I lived in Rathmines with all the family houses and shopping centers and yummy mummies and the south city posh teenagers and grand canal portobello at the doorstep and i loved it. I loved biking down camden street early in the morning grabbing a coffee at simon’s place, checking out the bargains in George market árcade and walking in st stephen’s green rushlessly.
I lived in Inchicore next to a social housing block and to a celtic graveyard, almost got sacked by 8 year-olds asking me for cigarettes, got the luas everyday and sometimes the driver waited for me while the ticket took to long to come out – this never happened to me anywhere in the world. I cycled to and from work through st james’ street and cursed on the 120 km/hr wind which made me cry and think the whole world was against me. But in the end, i loved it too.
I lived and loved near the Liffey, looking out my 2 metre bedroom window and seeing the city waking up and going to sleep.
I was robbed, assaulted, bullied and cheated. But i was also nourished, loved, admired and carefully treated by mostly everyone, stranger or close friend.
I have met extraordinary people, who made me believe in extraordinary things.
And i am leaving.
Probably if i’d stayed longer I wouldn’t feel this way. But i’ve seen both the brightest and the darkest side of this place and still, i love it.
Dublin, we’re even. Thanks a million.
dublin airport, december first two thousand and nine
1 comment:
... merry christmas.. :)
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