This is not the end

Ever since I made this blog I have struggled with my online identity.

I have scheduled posts, wrote weekly posts, wrote daily posts, wrote monthly posts, and yet I was always able to write for me.
For some unknown reason, in the past few months, I’ve felt myself become so distant to my blog and, in turn, my persona of ‘EimzPink’.
I know I’m no celebrity, and my Hannah Montana inner feeling is nothing like my actual situation (lol). But I just can’t help feeling dissociated from this blog. I never knew what I wanted to achieve with it, and I actually achieved so much with it!

However, this was all behind my screen. It had power over me. Anyone who knew had power over me. My inner thoughts, feelings, situations, mindsets, everything that consumed me. It was just available for anyone to stumble across.

I distanced myself because of this. Scheduling posts instead of publishing right away just incase someone noticed my mood when I wasn’t ready to talk. My own comfort corner of the Internet stopped bringing me comfort. It brought me the exact opposite. It stopped being my safe space.
Passive aggressive poetry was used instead of my old format of “today was a bad day and this is why …”

I lost touch with a lot of bloggers who I wanted to engage with. My blog squad felt distant but I knew I belonged with them.

I never want to delete this blog. I have timeless personal memories of times caught by a burst of emotion I wanted to remember. Although I felt paranoid at the time, I don’t mind having my past public because those posts made me the writer that I am today. Yes, they’re so cringey. But I love my progress.
However, I think it’s time to put my ambiguity to rest. I don’t like the clouded version of myself. I don’t feel ashamed for what I think anymore. I’m not just a moody kid with a blog.

I’m not stopping this blog, just simply cutting back. I’ll write a monthly letter, and maybe some updates but I want to end the ‘EimzPink’ era.

My name is Eimear.
I’m a 20 year old almost University graduate.
I love to write.
I also love a lot of other things.



First female football player in the village
Had her hat pulled off
Revealing the long blonde hair
That she was comfortable with
Yanked it out of the hand
Putting it back on
Without missing a beat
Fresh out of school
Straight into a job
Helping people and scrubbing floors
Until she was told that’s all she’ll ever be
So she got up and quit
Booked a ticket to Australia
Without telling her father
Returned home to join the force
Meeting like minded people
Who wanted to help and have fun
Being told she was too manly for a man
Becoming an overachiever
Leaving the place with a future husband
Defying gender roles
Without denying her womanhood


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What I’ll miss

Late caffeinated induced nights
With a gloomy morning to follow
Reminding me that with every deadline met
Two more follow

Loud crowds of people who don’t care
The people who waste time
Who try to waste my time
Intimidating and infuriating

Long bus journeys
That are too high for my budget
But three nights on my own
Would never be worth it

Are all things I will never miss
But that I needed to experience
Coming hand in hand
With all things good

Like early morning walks to the beach
With short classes that encourage group work
Lab filled days with lunch orders
And rotated coffee loyalty cards passed around

Being able to walk everywhere
But also being able to walk home
And close off the world
Without having to report to anyone

Optimistic people
Encouragement from everyone

It’s what I’ll miss when I leave
For my last time


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Immortalised Memories

One of my favourite stories growing up was one that my aunt told me.
I come from a big family of twelve(ish) aunts and uncles and uncountable extended family members. My mum is ranked as the youngest girl, and I’m her youngest.
My aunt Mary is the oldest girl in the family, with two of my uncles before her. Despite the age gap my mum would consider her one of her siblings she’s most close to.
I never got to meet my grandparents, but my favourite story of Mary’s is one she told of them when she was born.
My granddad had just had his first pint after the birth of his first daughter. Chuffed at himself, he sipped away happily and content on his own.

One of the locals came in and said to my granddad:
“Ah Brendan, I just saw your two sons on the way here”
Without batting an eye, my granddad replied:
“Yes. But have you seen my daughter?”

The way my aunt tells it just almost transports me back in time. It’s a story that I genuinely would never get tired of hearing as it brings me a feeling of closeness to the grandparents I never had the privilege of meeting.


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Wish for you

It’s funny how
I have no expectations
But my heart still stops
Only to speed up again
When I get a glimpse of you
Sparking a moment of hope
That I know will never last
No matter how long
I really want to believe it
This control over me
Is painful
So I spend my life
Wishing it away
When I really want to wish for you


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Small Town

Hello to my small town
To the hills and the beach
That always made me feel home

The familiar smells bring me back
To spaghetti for dinner
And dinner for six

Days filled with swimming and poker
Using cookies for chips
And bluffing our way to win

With a marching band
Parading itself in the wide open community field
Rightfully taking pride in their hard work

I’ve grown up with people
Who grew up with my grandparents
Telling me stories about them

Hello to my small town
Where I discover more of myself
With each cherished visit


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“One Day at a Time” Review

Recently, I was in need for a light hearted TV series that I could just switch on for a bit without thinking too much about it. I’ve binged on old shows before and have watched so many reruns of shows that I really wanted to just be absorbed in a new world.

On Netflix, I came across “One Day at a Time” and I don’t think I’ve ever had as much feelings as I experienced in those 13 episodes.

One Day at a Time is a Netflix original inspired by an old show. It follows the life of a Cuban family in America, along with their apartment owner. (Trust me- that’s not as strange as it sounds). The main character is Penelope who has two children and a mother living under the same roof.

Throughout the show, Penelope is represented as such a multi dimensional character. I hated how much it surprised me that a woman could be so well written. She is a veteran turned nurse who overcomes many fears as well as surprising events in her life.

Without spoiling any plots, this show is filled with modern representations of feminism that captured by heart. In very subtle but effective ways, it pointed out equal pay, coming out as being gay to disapproving and approving people, immigration laws, misogynistic standards, make up as a necessity rather than a choice, double standards, and misrepresentation.

I honestly fell in love with this show because of how they handled each one of these topics. Without each episode being a lesson, the morals behind each event were serious topics addressed with an element of fun and joking without being forced. The cast and dialogue felt so natural to watch and be apart of. Without engaging myself in the show, I felt like it was my comfort to watch and be apart of the experience.
I honestly don’t think I could speak more highly of this show. Of course it has its flaws like any other sitcom, but I felt like One Day at a Time took elements from the typical sitcom layout but really made it their own original story that was inspiring and fun to watch. It’s been a while since I felt like I could recommend a show to someone, and I wholeheartedly recommend this.

Oh… and I cried a lot at the end.


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