Forgotten Moments

I’m back in the village I grew up in and I never thought of it as small as it actually is. I ran into someone I went to school with for seven years, and haven’t seen for another seven years. It amazed me that he grew up just as much as I did. In fact, I didn’t even recognise him… I recognised his dog! We had awkward eye contact, then he acknowledged he knew me. It took me a second to realise that this was someone I had memories with in my childhood, and I thought of him as a stranger to me now. We reminisced a bit and he told me a story he remembered of me at his eight birthday, which I completely forgot about. It got me thinking of moments and memories.

There’s some moments which are remarkably special. There’s others that even thinking of you want to crawl into a hole even thinking about. Either way you cannot change them, even if you wanted to. However, I sometimes wonder if I’m remembered in other peoples moments. Something that changed their world, that I had the honour to be apart of. But times change and people drift and I wonder do I get written out of the memory or am I apart of the memory? Just another fact to the story. I’m awful at letting go of people who I’ve connected with, but I know…well I’ve learned it doesn’t always work that way for other people. Sometimes I think about what I could do to fix all these relationships, but that’s just as painful as living through it all again.

If I was able to forget a moment in someones eight birthday, what memories have I been holding on to where the other person included has completely forgot? So I began to think of moments and the relationships I have with the people I shared these moments with.

I was there when my friend heard his first niece was born.
We saw each other once last year.

I was there when my friend got her first dog.
We like each others instagram photos.

I was there when my friend got the college she had worked hard for.
We drifted apart and neither of us tried to fix it.

I was there when my friends dad got a job offer after months of trying.
We haven’t spoken in four years.

I was there when my friend was asked to step in for a lead role on stage.
We pretend like we’re as close as we once were when we see each other on nights out.

I was there when my friends brother arrived home drunk for the first time.
We talk about it as if it’s our only memory together.

I was there when my friends dad walked out.
We exchange awkward glances when I’m home at holidays.

I was there when my friend got bad news about her granny.
We text each other a vague happy birthday to each other each year.

I was there when my friend failed her most important exam.
We act like it never happened.

I was there when my friend broke down about his parents.
We avoid each other on nights out.

I was there.
I was there for these important moments that touched my heart and I hardly speak to the people whose life I experienced for a brief moment. It makes me incredibly sad that absolutely nothing is stopping me from reaching out to these people, except for the fact I know they won’t reach back.

So I wonder.
I wonder if I’m a apart of these moments. Or if I’m purposely unwritten in the memory. I wonder if I’m a fact to the story. I wonder if I’m blocked out. I wonder if these memories are even thought of like I think about them. I wonder if they meant nothing. I wonder if I meant nothing.
I wonder.

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Sailing away

This post is the last thing I’ll write in my home before I move for summer. Between yesterday and today, my three housemates have packed up their things and left and yes. . . .there was a lot of tears. I’m to follow tomorrow, after a whole day of strenuous packing. Who knew my whole college life “only” fitted into eight bin bags, two suitcases and three backpacks. It’s a sad goodbye this time, because we’ll never live together again, because of the structure of our courses. Erasumus, placement, project and final year all don’t really cross paths too much. But it’s more of a bitter sweet goodbye. I’m incredibly happy to see not only my housemates, but the majority of my friends follow their passions and increase their work drive. However, here I am. And here I’m going to be when September comes.

I’m not sad that I didn’t opt for another year, that was 100% my decision and I know it.
I’m not sad that my friends are leaving because I know I’ll keep in touch with every single one of them with group chats, Skype calls and journeys to each other.
I’m not sad that I’m leaving my home with so many good memories because I’ll always have them, and there’s no point sticking around on my own.
I’m not sad I’m moving back with my parents this summer as I have a really good relationship with them and don’t feel trapped because I have so many incredible friends and family to catch up with and keep me entertained.

No, I’m not sad.
I’m scared.
I’m scared because I have to do it all over again.

The friendships I’ve formed and solidified over the past two years are not going to be here when I return. I’m being dropped into a year group who have come back from abroad, along with some from my original year who I never knew. I have to make friends again, just like those terrifying few months at the beginning of first year. I had brilliant friends at home, but it was hard finding some who even slightly lived up to them. But I did it, and I have to do it all over again which is incredibly hard. I won’t have my comfort blanket of people whose habits I’ve gotten used to on nights out and days in. I’ll have all these relationships within typing distance, but I’m on my own again. I know I do have friends left here, but they’re on entirely different schedules to me so I don’t know exactly how much I’ll see of them. There’s only a handful in my subjects that I’d chat to, with an even lesser amount of people who I love to spend time with, or rather who would want to spend time with me.

But I know I’ve done it before. I have my incredible friends from first year. I have made friends from my first week in first year with people I still keep in touch with, but that was in an atmosphere where first years wanted to meet new friends and had the time to do it. I’m stepping into my final year with serious students who already have their friends.

Not to mention it takes a while for me to open up. That’s a huge flaw on my behalf, which I acknowledge. It doesn’t stop me from freezing up from embarrassing stories, or the terror I feel if anyone mentions this blog or why I do certain things or why I don’t like hugs or watching movies. My progress of this has ceased and I have to start that again. My one step forward took two steps back and now I don’t know where I even stand.

So yes. I’m happy for my friends moving away, I’m happy for my friends who are staying, I’m happy for my future and I’m happy for summer to begin and I know once September begins I’ll have the fresh excitement of the endless possibilities of meeting new friends and catching up with the beloved ones I already knew and stayed in my house and experienced me.
For now I’m sad and scared and I don’t feel like cheering myself up today. But I will leave these doors with happy tears instead of sad from memories of birthdays, not birthdays, craft sessions, pre drinks, pancakes, and absolutely everything and everyone who ever stepped foot in the house has given me good memories, even if they didn’t live here (all the time).
I’m okay being sad, because I know the incredible people I shared this year with are reading this, and to answer your message you’ll more than likely send me;
“Thank you for your concern, but of course this is just a blog post.”
Despite my real answer wanting to be;
“Thank you for always supporting me, and these words don’t do my heart justice for just how amazing this year has been with each and every one of you. I’m not scared of losing you, because of the simple reason that you’re even reading my blog post and I feel comfortable with that.”

Here is me and all my emotions,
Love from EimzPink of The High Seas.

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My Dream Job

To be asked my dream job is my most dreaded question. It creates a churning in my stomach which feels like I shouldn’t be able to stand straight.
But I can.
Which means I have to answer.
My honest truth is that I don’t have an answer. I’ve never had an answer.
I mentioned in a previous post how a teacher asked me my dream job when I was about seven and I had no answer and her reaction was spiteful that I didn’t automatically want to be a teacher. This feeling has stayed with me any time I ever hear that question. I’m expected to have an answer, but I don’t. People aren’t okay with this. I don’t know why. Anytime I’ve ever said I don’t know what I want to be, people take it as an invitation to tell me what to do. My problem is I don’t want to settle for just one thing because I haven’t found one thing I’d like to settle with. This also apparently isn’t an accepted answer either.

Despite the fact I don’t have an accepted answer, I’ve decided to face my fears and go through my time line of aspirations.

I decided I wanted to be a dolphin trainer. I loved anything aquatic or marine like growing up. My bed room was designed like the ocean because I loved it so much. However, as I grew up I learned the words “Marine Biologist” and fell in love even more with the science of nature. Buuuut I took too many science classes and my love for the ocean faded and drifted and turned into almost hatred in regards to class tests and definitions and competition to be the best. My opinion on the sea changed when I was a bit older for a number of reasons, which I may talk about at some point. I now preferred looking at it and having total control over anything it did to me. So I didn’t pursue science to become any type of “-ologist”. I don’t know if I regret that or not.

I’ve thought about being a social worker. I had the privilege of growing up in a loving household and I liked the idea of being able to give that to someone who deserved it. I probably had a clouded vision of what a social worker was by tv shows like Tracey Beaker and Charmed. It seemed like an important job that got action done. However, when I looked into it it was much different. I talked to someone who did the course and they seemed exhausted over what they weren’t told. I talked to people who worked with social workers who told me they did more bad than good because of the “rules” they had to follow and could not make any exceptions to. It seemed grim and lengthy and not the type of rewarding I wanted from a job. I don’t think I regret not pursing this.

I’ve thought about being a career guidance teacher. Ironic, trust me I know. I liked the idea of figuring someone out and matching them to the lifestyle they desired. Yes, ironic I still know. I never had good guidance teachers in school, so I knew the different tactics I would use to the ones I was given. To teach actually never appealed to me and I have a whole post on that. So I don’t regret not following this career as I was kinda only using it as a cop out for being indecisive.

I’ve thought about being a lawyer, similar to most of my potential jobs I liked the idea of being important and in charge. Lawyers are smart and critical and cutting and tactful. I was told by a barrister that my personality would suit a lawyer, and surprisingly he wasn’t referring to legally blonde. I never looked too much into this career rather than just chatting to the few people I knew in law. There wasn’t much option for them after. That scared me.

I’ve thought about being a writer. But I know that will never be more than a thought. I don’t want to write as my career involving deadlines and word counts without freedom or full control. I’ve never let myself think too deeply about this one.

I’ve thought about being a Cryptographer. Solving codes and queries using algorithms and intelligence was one aspect of information technology that actually stood out to me. But it’s a long way to get there. Tedious and draining and something I won’t be qualified to do. There’s no demand and no support for this job that you have to be top ranking to even be considered a job. I liked the idea of hacking and working undercover for the government more than I liked the idea of studying for something as hard as this.

I’ve thought about being a Tour Guide, an Illustrator, an editor, an Analyst, a developer, a dietitian, a nutritionist, something with Irish, something that makes people happy, something that has good time off, something that lets me travel and absolute countless occupations while even deciding should I go to third level education or not. And I still don’t have an answer.

To to save both you and the stress, if you ever ask me what I want to be…. please don’t.

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I’ve always been fascinated with dreams.

My mother remembers me each morning after I woke up with a dream the night before. My words would run as fast off my tongue with small gasps for breath and no punctuation even crossing my mind. I had to get absolutely everything out so I wouldn’t forget it. Ever.

As I got older, I was able to write these dreams down in a journal. This journal has been lost and found frequently constantly throughout my life. The hand writing ranges from “bed head sleepy morning” scribbles to somewhat legible words. It was one of the few times I could ever write without having to edit, or thinking while  writing. My stories would write themselves.

When I got even older, I lost the habit of a pen and paper and replaced it with the notes app on my phone. Even though the letters are easy to read, I still only write buzz words that I can remember.One buzz word would wake my mind up to remember what I dreamt of and I can still practically recall each dream like it actually happened. I downloaded a dream journal app. It was quite useless but very entertaining and let my mind explore the dream world.

However, instead of listening to this app, I always had the conclusion of my own dreams in my head. It was the “things I didn’t think about thinking about” …. if that makes any sense. A sudden trail of thought or a quick word in passing that never got time to process before vanishing away again and resulted in being merged together to try and find logic in it all. I had a “eureka” moment when I thought this through. I had cracked my dream code. However, when I thought about thinking about the things I don’t think about….I didn’t have many dreams.

I still love my dream world. I can’t remember the last time I had a nightmare or feared going to sleep. When I was younger I sometimes wished for bad things to happen in my dreams. Just so I could deal with it without actually having to deal with it. Experience without consequences. Possibly the same reason why I love writing. The possibilities are endless.
My dreams have always been strong. Never hazy or incomplete – unless I’ve been woken up. If I’m ever in a bad mood in the morning, it’s because I had a really good dream and can’t remember it. I never lose control of my emotions, but this is one thing that would frustrate me relentlessly. But then suddenly something small would trigger throughout the day and I need to grab the nearest thing I can save my thoughts with.

I’ve never had the same dream twice and I’ve only lucid ‘dream-ed’ twice before and I only ever not dream when I’m overtired. The first lucid dream was when I was on some sort of preoccupied task and I saw a celebrity and had to stop my running to awe at. I felt like I had stumbled on set of a movie and everyone had to restart their jobs. It was a weird feeling.

The only reoccurring theme in my dreams is that I’m almost always on a mission of some sort. There always seems to be a “mansion” too, but I’m pretty sure the cause of this one is simple. I’m lazy and save most of my dreams on my phone- since I’ve never labeled the file it labeled itself by its first sentence. My first dream I recorded digitally was “big mansion running” and so on. Therefore any morning I go to type a new dream, this is what I first see. So this is what I’m constantly exposed to and processing.

For my 19th birthday, my housemates got me a giant unicorn dream catcher. I have a small portable one given to me from a lovely friend, and I have a smaller one which was a present. I don’t know if I believe in dream catchers, but they’re pretty and if they make people calm and secure then I definitely believe they’re a success!

“You have to dream before your dreams can come true”
-A. P. J. Abdul Kalam

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Spectrum Spy

Red was never a violent colour to me
Filled with flashing banners or streamers
Rather passion and love and noise

Orange was always my sisters favourite colour
Due to her fiery hair
She never failed to wear it, even in her ‘rebel’ phase

Yellow fills my heart with joy
It reminds me of sun and my mother
All the things that brighten my day

Green stands for pride
For a county which will always be a part of me
Freshness and cleanliness

Blue is the colour of calm
Soothing seas with fluffy skies
Comfortable and always safe

Indigo was always the in between colour
Who no one really remembers
Which makes it kind of relatable

Violet bends most at the end of the spectrum
Shining through droplets of rain
The stuff I was fascinated with in Science class

I can see a rainbow
But you can see me

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The Stand – by Cathy Lee

The moon rises earlier each night
That’s a sight I can see and be certain of its reality.
Something unlike this.

The time ticks past and is somehow semi-permanent
As I sit waiting.
With the sense of regret and neglect hanging like the low moon of the early evening.

An evening was all that was planned, of duration time, all dated and set.
Something to represent the desire, of relaxation and little regret.

A fixation I wanted fixed.
A friendship formed, gradual and continuous
Something new started, sudden and ambitious.

I sit and wait some more and hope for the knock.
Look to the the door, the clock, the floor.

Out the window the moon rises, earlier each night.
At the sight, I know it’s time.

I turned out the lights.

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Hi Friends! So due to so many essays and assignments this week I fell a bit behind on my blogging. However, I decided to embrace the fact I live with writers and feature the lovely Cathy Lee this week.❤
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Inspired by the Red Door

I never lived in a cold house
The walls were always vibrant
The floor was never bare
The light were never the same

My mother wanted a silver kitchen
So she painted over the oak wood
On a weekend dad was working
My neighbours stood horrified at the door
My father stood with disbelief at first
But couldn’t help but laugh
And decided to change our kitchen

I always liked the wood
And fond yellow memories remind me of it
But I was old enough to remember the process of building a new kitchen
And celebrating my dads birthday in the dogs room
Instead of the room which was under construction

To match the walls came a bright red door
Did I say match?
Sorry, no
It matched nothing
It still matches nothing
It’s been eleven years

I remember at age six thinking she was insane
All my clothes had to match in colour scheme
I was never seen without a handbag to match my shoes
My nails also had a dash of the colour I was wearing
So why on earth would she want a red door?
But that was not the start nor the end of random objects

Also in the kitchen was a giant silver whale
Hung on the wall almost two meters wide
Never really questioned by anyone
The story of how my parents were so broke
But mum wanted the whale
Well… we all know how the red door happened
This isn’t much different

But my home isn’t just filled with things
It’s filled with memories

Pots of flowers my aunt grew on the window sill
Buddah powered by the sun that my sister bought
The postcard wall from cousins, friends, family
Fake bonsai tree
Crystal whisky set unused
Yellow sunshine quotes
Birthday cards
Always a radio

I never thought these items had much effect on me
Until I reflected on my own home
With bunting
Birthday Decorations
Postcards
Handmade crafts
And a radio

In my own house today
With three friends I adore
I still believe I’m inspired
By the quirky fire red door

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Welcome

Welcome to my body
It has freckles and scars and lumps and bumps
My hair is a bit frizzy and probably too long
I’ve have stretch marks since I can remember
And my ears are a bit wonky
But… It’s still my body

Welcome to my face
I like my nose
And the colour of my eyes
Even if I don’t like the shape of them
My hairline isn’t perfect
My forehead could be smaller
Freckles sprawl out next to my nose
With one in particular I don’t like
But…. It’s still my face

Welcome to my personality
I’m harsh I’m logical I’m stubborn
I’m kinda lazy and put things off
I like things to go my way
Because that’s the right way
But I like making people happy
Letting them know I appreciate them
Because I really do
And I won’t give up if I think there’s any chance of survival

Welcome to … me
I hope you can accept you
Just like I learned how to accept me

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Two Sugars Unsheltered, please

What if I told you it was all a lie?
My hair isn’t naturally brown
My nose wasn’t born this way
My body isn’t as bare as you think
But marked with a needle in a rebellious phase you never knew
What would you think?

If I could lie about my exterior
I could cover up my interior

What if I told you I don’t like my tea with no sugar?
Or too much milk
Maybe my favourite animal is a cat
Just like the one I grew up with
Before I met you

What if I told you I’ve always wanted children?
I just had to cover it up
So I could be protected
Because if I told you that
I’d have to tell you how I found out
I wouldn’t want to mention him again

How would you react?
If I told you I never liked the dark
Or spiders
Or heights
Would you think again about all those sleepless nights?
Words said with no walls up
At least on your behalf

I just want to see your reaction
To when I tell you
I created it all
Reinvented myself
Constructing a being based on surroundings
Which feel alien to me
Just for fun

Would you ask why?
Would you feel lied to?
Would you act betrayed?

But who knows?

I’ll never actually get the courage to tell you
I wouldn’t want to lose that power
Of exposing my whole self to you

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