Dear Dublin…the return.

Dear Dublin,

 

It has been too long. I said I would be back, do you remember? Well, I meant it. I am returning to your busy, mean streets for a while. This new city makes me long for the trad-music in Temple Bar that I once hated and the donuts from the O’Connell kiosk, of which I ate far too many during exam periods and the memories of the heartbreak that I cherish now.

Your back alleys and dingy side-streets are tainted with broken love, loud laughter and bold curiosity. I can’t forget any of it. I shut my eyes and suddenly I am on Grafton Street at two thirty am, in a summer dress, my eyes wild and hopeful, staring into the mischievous face of my best friend, believing that anything really is possible. Where will tonight lead? Neither of us want to know. The anticipation of what might be, is enough for us. Tonight, we live. Tonight, we dance like we are the only two people in this whole damn city. We thrive on the lack of any real direction because in this moment all that matters is us. I miss that audacious delusion. I miss you. Because you, Dublin, are painted with the faces of my brothers and sisters that fought for the things they believed in. You are haunted by the faces of the rebels. You are woven from the faces of the renegades who dared to be different, the souls who insisted on being authentic and not just liked. You are composed of the men and women who took the right road, not the easy one. You are the embodiment of authenticity.

You see, the things that chased me away from your unhinged heart are now the things that make me crave your noise, your scent, your energy. The shattered promises, the shared secrets, the laughter between old friends, the tears, the memory of that first kiss, I crave them all.

That little café I avoided for the last year is the first place I will drink my coffee. Instead of grieving what I have lost, I will celebrate the fading memory of intertwined hands and how it feels to wear your heart on your sleeve.

I will lose myself in the street music along with the hopeless romantics dancing alone to the sound of hope.

I will decipher the numerous languages being spoken around me while I cycle like my life depends on it down Leeson’s street because although you are forgiving, your bus drivers are not.

I will indulge myself in the atmosphere of Café en Seine on a Thursday night in a pair of over-priced shoes and a dress that isn’t weather appropriate.

I will write crappy poetry in St Stephens green while a man I barely know tells me his unfiltered life-story.

I will pour my heart out to the handsome barista in a confusing, hipster café over a beverage I can’t pronounce.

I will, once again, look into my best friend’s defiant eyes and suggest a stroll in our drunken states, so we can, for just five minutes, soak it all up.

You are steeped in history and heartache.

I’ll see you on the flip side, I have a suitcase to pack.

 

Yours always,

 

Christina.

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Thursday Thoughts.

It’s strange to think about how quickly this blog has evolved. It has gone through a series of different stages in its short life already. It has evolved and morphed into something we hadn’t originally anticipated. Initially we just thought we had an interesting story to tell, mostly from a clinical-disease perspective but that seems so far from what the blog is now. It is now simply a tale of two women. There is nothing technical about it. It is a fragile yet hearty tale of what a mother and daughter have been through; good, bad, disease, no disease, love, loss, sadness, joy, all of it. We are merely two women making our way in the world. We both have hopes, dreams and wishes for ourselves. Sometimes the disease that inspired this blog eclipses everything else in our lives and it feels like no light will ever shine through that heavy, black cloud. Other times the over-whelming disease is totally forgotten, cast-aside, completely irrelevant because the sun is shining so intensely and luminously on us that there isn’t room for any clouds or darkness. That is a pretty accurate depiction of how the disease translates into our lives too.

I guess you could almost say this blog has become a virtual diary for us both. I had such fixed ideas for what this blog would look like. How long the posts would be. The style of writing we would use. The kinds of things we would talk about. That isn’t very realistic though, is it? That isn’t what a blog is, at least not for us. A blog should reflect who we are and where we are in our lives now. I hope now, that is what the blog has become. I also hope that the honesty and the authenticity translates and doesn’t just come off like endless mumbling, ranting posts about far-out, random topics that nobody can relate to. I like to think this blog reaches out to everyone. Everyone and anyone who is on a journey. It doesn’t really matter what your journey is or how long it is. It doesn’t matter that your journey is nothing like ours because we all have something in common, we are all people. We all long to find what we are looking for and talk about what that might be. We all have hearts and souls. We all hurt and we all laugh. We can all respect the vast and foolish journeys we are each experiencing. As long as we are all human we will always have something in common.

-Christina.

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