Sunday, 23 February 2014

Your apocalypse was fab for a girl who couldn't choose between the shower or the bath.

Ten years old, wide-eyed in the back of the tiny white car driving through the night all the way from Galway to Kerry. The next morning; scouring the beaches and cliff faces for chunks of coruscating quartz left there after storms the night before. A week in the belligerent rain, thrashing through unwieldy clouds, threatening to throw the little caravan off the edge of the receding cliff and into the grey waves below. Maddening weather for the middle of July, but nothing unusual for the west of Ireland-anyone who voluntarily moves here must be insane. It was the romanticism of it that must have dragged my mother here from London twenty-five years ago; to the edge of a country, a continent, the whole wild Atlantic ocean; tales of pirate queens and Tristans and Isoldes.

I, however, never chose to be here and as much as I love the wilderness of the ocean and how it crashes unapologetically against the huge granite rocks, I am more than ready to leave, nothing here feels like home anymore, and I don't think it ever did. Is it people in general or just the people here? I stayed out till 4 am last night, in a forgotten town, grey and dead, came home and cried into dawn wondering why I have never felt, possibly could never feel, any shred of affection or connection to almost anyone here, where are the artists, the writers, the thinkers? The world is opening itself, the future is leaving, spinning, it's here, it's been here for years, and I need to grasp it, tell it to slow down or else take me with it. I'm going, I'm going, I'm going and I couldn't stop now if I tried.











9 comments:

  1. I have felt this way. My mother moved my brother and me to Wales, by the sea, when I was very young. I had come from London and did not ever really adjust. In my teens I used to go out into the forest, down towards the beach, walking in the dark like a zombie, wondering why I was here and where I was supposed to be. I didn't feel at home anywhere, I wanted to go live in Paris (I was offered a job there once and nearly took it) or somewhere far far away. It was only when I met the man I am with now, about 5 months ago, that I feel I have a home and I know where I want to be. I cannot tell you what a relief it is. I think love creates a home in the end, a sense of belonging. Not always love for a person, but love for an idea or a way of life. I wandered and was lost before I met him. He has anchored me, when before I was thrown around by the waves, at the mercy of my own internal weather. Beautiful writing, as always xxx

    http://thepersephonecomplex.blogspot.co.uk/

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  2. That second picture is just perfect.

    I know how you are feeling. Lately it's amazing how tossed and turned I have felt. It's amazing that even if you love your home so much and feel the draw of those waves, sometimes they wash your home away and there's nothing for you to do but stand and let another ocean drop off of your eyelashes until another one creates itself.

    You are lovely and so is this.

    Em
    Tightrope to the Sun

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  3. I felt this way, heæl, exactly this way for many many years... until i left..... go! Go live!

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  4. this is so so so beautiful. <3 xxx


    thisisfrom-matilda.blogspot.co.uk

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  5. I get that feeling wherever I go and I always think that life has to be somewhere else and then it never is.

    /Avy

    http://mymotherfuckedmickjagger.blogspot.com

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  6. you need to go! leave! run! go find the thinkers and the shakers, go and find writers, the musicians and the artists. go and find the people who "know lots about lots"! life is too short to stay in the one place, especially if you hold no connection to there

    let it take you with it x

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    1. agreed. fully. and - dare i say - there is nothing more to add here!go, Maija, go!!!!

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  7. I know what it's like to escape from the end of the world; go for it xx


    dreaming is believing

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Thank you for your words.