It’s been a while since I’ve posted something positive on this blog and today I’m here to change this! On the 23rd of May 2015, I was happy.

1. I woke up to clear blue skies and got to eat breakfast outside with a healthy breakfast, green tea and a book!

2. Ireland voted YES to marriage equality! And I was a part of it all because my vote counted!

3. I spent the day with one of my favourite people and we had chinese food take away! (It didn’t look like this, but I took no photos. Thanks google images.)

4. Sweden won the Eurovision!

5. I was productive in writing today, and reached a new milestone in followers!
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I am a very proud and happy person today!
I never really believed before that it was the small things in life that complete your happiness. But I guess something as exciting as eating breakfast outside can start off a tremendously happy day. After stress all through out the year, I can finally take in a deep breath, breath, and not lie when I say I’m 100% happy.

Piggy in the Middle

I know I should be biased
But treat everyone as fair
I know I should be on their side
But their view I just don’t share

Two wrongs can’t make a right
And there’s definitely more than two
But who am I to tell them that
There’s not much I can do

I’m proud, I swear I am
Even if I can’t say it out loud
Hell, I’d shout it to the heavens
If I was ever allowed

I just can’t see their view
Or why they think they’re right
It seems so simple to me
But who’s controlling this fight?

I’ll never be able to express how I feel
Because all I feel is conflicted
I agree with them, but I don’t
Because these people are wrongly convicted

My opinion is not one many people share
Because most see black and white
I see why they’re wrong and why they’re not
I don’t think either side is right

Unwritten for one last time

A year doesn’t seem that long, but what is accomplished in a year is far more than you’d think.

When your graduation song comes on when you’re in the middle of doing ordinary things in your college bedroom, you think for a split second. Think of the first time the song was chosen, the people surrounding you who agreed on it, the people surrounding you who didn’t, the teachers who encouraged it, the teachers who thought the message wasn’t good enough, the harmonisers around you. The everyone. The everyone who contributed to something which seems so insignificant. But the truth it that my graduation song will always hold a place in my heart for so many reasons. Going to a girls school has a sense of unity to it. Unlike the mixed schools in my town, we were a sisterhood. All 137 of us. Sisters fight, quarrel, compete, and share moments together. Which is exactly what my school encouraged. A sisterhood. My year was the type of year who wanted to be close. Sure, there was differences. But like a sister, if anyone else attacked, we would be attack twice as much. A motto of our school was that “Loreto girls don’t get mad, they get even.”

So it’s so disheartening that the 137 will never be together again. Groups stay in touch, and I know I’ll always be messaging for a catch up which just seems like it will never happen.

But hearing my grad song brought me back to a year ago. Even though I wanted to be on the art committee, my teachers put me in the music group as I was absent and they thought they needed me. I went along with it, as usual, and helped the melody, harmonies and distributing the copies. There was so much conflict over who sang what and such a big fuss over nothing for our ‘performance’ we had to do in front of the teachers who watched us grow up. So in the end it worked out and everyone was happy and a few tears were shed as usual. And we thought that was the end. The graduation was over, and so the song was over.

However, the night of the debs came. At 6am with torn dresses, the smell of alcohol everywhere, the sweat radiating off each and every one of us, the graduation song comes on. All these factors and nostalgia together made each one of us get up for the last time to be together. Belting the awful harmonies, groups who were never that close embraced each other for one last final performance.

To be right there in that moment was something astounding. The unity of 5 years was clear.

Almost a year later and I haven’t seen half of them. It doesn’t mean I can’t message any one of them for a chat. But it means a time of our lives was over. Innocent kids to moody teenagers who eventually turned into adults, and that song was our crossing point.

Dear You

Dear You,

I don’t know if you’re well or not because we’ve gotten into the habit of ignoring each others social medias. I was looking through mine to a year ago, only a year, and thinking about how much has changed. It happened just over a year ago. Around the orals, which were already horrible enough. A toxic relationship wasn’t needed. Yet, there it was. Not that it ever mattered to you if something didn’t suit me.

The thing we never got was closure. There was no final farewell. There was passive aggressive messages and others caught up in the middle. I never wanted them to pick sides. Just another difference between us.

There was so many things I never got to say, and so many things you said that I’ve heard from others. You could never handle confrontation. Yet you loved the drama. Warning bells about you should have rang in my head a long time ago.

It stung when you had your first family reunion without me being your plus one. After five years I bet you had to answer some awkward questions too. But I saw photos. And it did sting. Especially since I wasn’t meant to care.

I haven’t been meaning to care for a while. But here you are. A year later and still the full attention.

So much has changed and so much I’ve wanted to share with you. But every time a thought came into my head it was always you who I wanted to tell. Because that’s who it has been for the past five years.

I’ve tried to reach out to you so many times. To forgive and forget the nonsense that you have brainwashed yourself into thinking what was going on. A year later and I’m still reaching when I really shouldn’t be.

Last time I met you you were drunk. The next day your leg was broken. The next week you made their lives hell. The month after you had dropped out of school. And blamed me for each one.

Yet here I am. Three hours away thinking about the good times because we all know nostalgias a bitch. When looking back you only remember the good times because they cloud the bad ones. So I think about us in that field rather than that day in town, or the day in your attic rather than the day in my tent. And so on.

I’m ashamed of what you told your parents. I’m more ashamed they believed you.

So congratulations. You’re still the centre of attention. You’re still the drama attractor. You’re still the one with all the focus. You’re still the one with the loudest cry. You’re still the one who they all believe. You’re still the one they take pity on.

You’re still you.
And You has changed.

All my affection,

Chapter Cousin

Over this Easter break I’ve spent a lot of time with family. Due to a recent loss in the family, we were all gathered for most of the past week. When bad things happen, I have a habit of clinging to my cousins, and it really got me thinking about how weird my relationships are with them. Good weird. They are people who I would be closer to than my own sister, and I could say the exact same for her. My mother has a large family, which means a divide in older vs younger cousins. Growing up I never saw the “older generation cousins”, which meant I grew close to about 5 or 6ish around my own age. Three in particular, but I’d be close to them all. And as I got older, I got to know the “oldies”, and they’re just as insane as us.

As the six of us gathered around the table at one of the “oldies” restaurant, we all had a little reflection. Which is deep for a group who will always be considered “the kiddies table”. We could all write a book with our own memories, which all have a different take. (Which means a lot of whose-side-is-right!). There’s about six years of an age gap between the six of us. But the last eighteen years of growing up with them has been unbelievable.

I had always shared everything with them. I never hesitated to ask for advice off any of them, because unlike asking a friend I could never feel like I annoy them. And they definitely return the feeling! I’ve talked through everything from friends fights, parents divorces, leaving cert stress and fashion advice with them. And they’ve heard far more about my life that any relative should know.

But since our first family funeral, I truly realised how much I depend on them. They’ll know much more than this blog will ever dream of. We’re the youngest of a large family. This means we know there will unfortunately be plenty of more gatherings like the recent few. We all acknowledge this, and it’s the painful truth. And every single time, the first people I will go to will be them. There’s no painful explanation of what is happening, there’s only comfort. And there will always be comfort.

This post is a bit of a mess really, but it’s a tribute to them… I guess.
I always imagined the six of us as book characters. But as I grew up and as they grew up, that idea faded as there’s been a lot of trials and tribulations. But the more I reflect on it, I guess the book isn’t finished yet. Each play a different role, but I’m just so overwhelmed with gratefulness I have for them.

When I grow up


 When Im 18 I’ll be able to vote I can give blood
And I’ll give back to the world I’ll be able to get tattoos and piercings without anyone else’s consent
Drinking will not leave me with unwanted guilt I won’t be a hypocrite for doing these things already

When I’m 18 I’ll know how to drive a car
I’ll be able to book a holiday
I will know how to rent a house
I’d be able to use an oven
I can get to somewhere I want to go
I will take studies seriously, if I take them at all

When I’m 18 I’ll feel confident
I won’t be living a lie
I won’t be scared to be judged by my age
I won’t feel so insecure over not knowing enough
I won’t feel like I have to constantly prove myself I’ll feel like I’ll become my own person
I won’t be over sensitive

When I’m 18 I’ll walk with pride
I won’t dismiss my opinions
I will believe that my thoughts are valid I’ll be able to act my age
I’ll think of myself as a capable person
I won’t have any hesitations
Because when I’m 18, I’ll know.

Staying Afloat


I feel like I’m falling. Just deep down into a detrimental abyss as I try to keep the charade up of the life I’m living in. I shouldn’t be here. I’m not ready to be here and “here” is already half way through. I can’t use an stove, I’ve never ironed a day in my life and I can’t tell the different between a washing machine and an oven, despite never using either. I feel like I’m so false and pretending to be ok. When in reality I’m sinking pretty fast. Sure on the outside I’m happy and happy to go along with frivolous things but I could never trust myself to be myself. I’m scared. I get scared a lot. With every boost of confidence comes a “you’re still underage and you still don’t understand”. And I don’t understand. I don’t understand how people make it look so easy so quickly. We’re more finished than starting and that’s terrifying that I still am terrified. I don’t want to take the rubbish bins out on my own, I don’t know how to mop a floor and I don’t understand how to use a cheese grater. No one sits you down to explain these things and I just feel like I’ve been standing for too long. I feel like I shouldn’t be in control of my life. I don’t feel comfortable buying something or going somewhere unless someone tells me that’s ok because in my mind it’s not. I’m trying to stay afloat but in the process I’m a sinking ship. Everyone makes it look effortless. They walk with pride in their stride and a head held high. I’m scared of alcohol and the effect it has on people and I’m scared it might have that effect on me. Because it might. And no one is there to say no and no one is there to tell me to ring them at three am for a lift home to a safe house in my cosy room which I’m familiar with. I know I’m living a life that others dream for but it’s sad that it’s not my dream. But I don’t know my dream, which scares me more. It’s frightening to think that anything fun I do after here has to be done on paid holidays and after hours. When you don’t know what you want, people think that that is an invite for them to analyse and choose for you. I feel guilt when I reject their selection but I’m not going to dig a bigger hole. I’m scared of the possibilities, even though that’s what I should be exited for. I’m not passionate about the stage of my life I’m currently in. And that’s what scares me the most.

But then again, I could just be homesick.