Dear April // Dear BirthMonth

Dear April,

It’s been a while since I went a while without blogging frequently. But the short explanation is that….well April… you’ve been pretty hectic.

20 years ago, I was born in this month and it always fills me with feelings of yellow and nostalgia. This time last year I had a college birthday that I wish I could forget about, but this year was different. This year was all things nice. I went for a pre birthday lunch with my parents the day before my birthday because they know how much I love my lead up. Honestly, it felt like I was at a meal with two of my best friends because we laughed our way through the fancy place we were at and people spotted for the rest of the time. My dad had brought me shopping and I met my mum during her work hours and I felt so content.

My actual birthday was anything but calm and quiet, but I loved every second. My godfather came to visit me in the morning, and my heart was overwhelmed with emotion. I was born on a date that means a lot to my aunt and her husband (my godfather), and every year they never fail to make me loved. This was quickly followed to my best friends house where we spent an hour genuinely laughing the whole time. Unfortunately I couldn’t stay too long, but her sister and her really made my birthday feel like my birthday and I appreciate them so much through my tears of laughter. When I returned home, I had a visit by my old childminder and her niece who I grew up with. I got the famous biscuit cake that I get every year and had such a lovely time with them. I napped for a bit, and then my dad cooked me one of my favourite dinners. My cousin, who I adore, came over and we went to see ‘Hairspray’ that one of my friends was Tracey in. I had such an amazing night with my cousin (who had NEVER seen Hairspray before!) and it was such an incredible way to end my celebrations.

I’m sorry I’m rambling April. So much more happened with you. I booked my whole Europe trip, I finished college, I went out with my class for the first time and had an amazing night, I started exams, I spent loads of time with my family and I started packing to move from my University forever.

Like always April, you never fail to impress me. As your golden rays turn into sweet pink May I count my blessings. I have so much planned for May and I’m so excited for it to finally be here. However, April, there is a catch. I’ve been thinking about my blog a lot lately, and my image online as it is growing. I don’t know how much I’ll update this blog from now on, but I will always try to do my monthly letters. (If you caught ‘this’ from that earlier sentence, it may be a hint at a new plan that I’ve been working on.)

April I enjoyed every moment of you. I can’t wait to see you next year. But I welcome May with open arms. I welcome the next chapter of my life.

All my love and affection and adoration,

Eimear x

P.S. This time next month I’ll be travelling from Amsterdam to Berlin!

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Someone

Anger was never a quality that defined me. My brain would go through the emotions so quickly that the anger I experienced was converted to frustration, panic, or sadness before anyone could see me erupt.

Honestly, I could never understand anger. It never made sense to me how someone could lose control of sanity and just feel intense hate. I was once told I could never be a good writer because I cannot get angry. However, I noticed the pattern of writers mistaking anger for passion, and I could never thank anger for inspiring my thoughts and words.

When I was younger I did not throw tantrums. I sulked a lot when I did not get my way, but it was never violent or destructive. My parents always made the effort to talk to me and explain why or how I was denied something. I was not quick tempered, nor did I act out. Like any other child, I slammed doors and deemed life as unfair. But even I knew that I was reacting to get a reaction. Not because I was actually angry.

Recently, I noticed myself thinking angry thoughts. Originally, I tried to shake it off for frustration or just overwhelming emotion. But I felt horrible inside, and I could not figure out how I was feeling when I thought about Someone. It took me a long time to accept that it was anger. This is what rage makes a person feel like. Someone does not even know that I think about them this way because it has never crossed their mind. Someone I adored my whole life makes me so angry when I think about them and that makes me so upset because I cannot change it. I cannot stop being angry at them.

I could never confront Someone because Someone has never tried to hurt me in any way. Someone has let me down without realising it, but my high hopes were constantly crushed growing up. Their carelessness caused me lot of heartbreak. Someone makes me angry because they do not realise the damage they have caused to those I love and loved most. Someone makes me angry because I cannot control my emotions around them. I am so conflicted in myself to take a step back from them in my life or to leap into their arms. At the end of the day I have to forgive Someone because they aren’t just a someone.

Someone has shattered me my whole life but my cold shoulder to them is ignored because it is not evident. Short answers and general disinterest has been taken for teenage angst despite it clearly not being my usual behaviour. It does not surprise me that Someone does not see that.

I need to forgive myself for experiencing what I am feeling because I know I cannot control it. I need to forgive Someone, but they are never going to realise they need to apologise.

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Nostalgic gears

“Short stories are tiny windows into other worlds and other minds and other dreams. They are journeys you can make to the far side of the universe and still be back in time for dinner.”
Neil Gaiman

A long time ago I stopped writing short stories
I never consciously made the decision to stop
Rather, I preferred to write about deep complex characters with long back stories that I knew absolutely everything about
But as I began to write my first short story in probably 4 years my chest swelled up with nostalgic happiness
I used to get an idea and write down as much as I could so I could remember and write and move on to my next project
I had too many notebooks to keep track of and far too many characters and plot holes to maintain
But I was so happy
Each character and each plot hole was filled with so much imagination because of the freedom I had to write about absolutely anything
I like my long stories, my poetry, and my blog posts
But I really love opening the part of my brain that produces short stories
It’s the first time in a long time that the gears in my head are turning as much as they used to and I cannot believe I’ve missed it so much

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Grave Expectations

I hate cleaning my room
Not for the dust that gathers or the socks I forgot to pick up
But for the grave yard I discover

Filled with items from hobbies that I quit faster than I blinked

Guitars and other instruments I grew bored of
Sport medals from games I hated
Dance photos and drama tickets before stage fright kicked in
Art supplies that I never properly used

Started collections of dream catchers and snow globes
All started in a moment of passion
Only to fizzle out to something I used to do

But there was always my book shelf to remain constant
Even if it wasn’t constant with the same books

The only dust to gather was at the top

Since I can remember I always loved reading
It’s a reminder that something that can change so often can still capture my attention so despite all the things I used to do is in not a comparison to the books I used to own that each took me on their own adventure only to drop me back to the shelf

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The First August

This is the first August in five years that I’m not going to spend in Continental Europe

The first August I’m not packing my bags
The first August I’m not getting my camera ready
The first August I’m not excited to see everyone
The first August I’m not flying to the sun
The first August I’m not going to feel the warm air hit
The first August I’m not arriving in a new place
The first August I’m not reading by the pool
The first August I’m not discovering new cuisine
The first August I’m not drinking by the campfire
The first August I’m not having midnight barbecues
The first August I’m not begging for anyone to pose for pictures
The first August I’m not arguing over who does the washing up
The first August I’m not sending postcards
The first August I’m not sharing stories
The first August I’m not laughing until I can’t breathe
The first August I’m not coming back with new stories

The first August I’m not with him

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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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