Remember when I said I wasn't missing home? Well scrap that. And about that sore throat I referenced in my last post, well, it turns out that it's most probably tonsillitis. What wonderful news to hear three days before lectures start, right? So now I'm just one week into living in the big bad world of independence, and am faced with sorting out doctor's appointments and medication, frantically, on the last day before the weekend, in order to try to survive next week's lectures, which I've been looking forward to for months. Right now, I want to run home to mummy, let her work it all out, and mammy me by bringing me soup, and tea, and stroking my probably feverish head (what college student actually has a thermometer?).
But alas I sit in my empty apartment with no salt, no honey and no cuddles. My housemates are all either gone home for the weekend or out partying arís (mar is ghnáth), which means I'm admittedly a little on the lonely side (bad health does that to you), but at least I'm enjoying the most peace and quiet I've had in over a week. Main concern though: I really didn't buy enough ice-pops to quell my darn tonsils' tantrum.
In less self-pity wallowing news, I've now attended both of my course meetings, and I'm more than psyched to get down to it. The lecturers have explained explicitly that while yes, us art students may have a ridiculously low amount of lectures per week (nine, not even kidding), we are expected to put in a 40 hour week, what with reading, studying, writing etc. I've already gone on the search of English books - and I care not if you think it's a waste of money, the library only has a limited amount of copies, and do not want to feel under pressure to hand them back in, nor do I want to settle for retaining less information just to save a few bucks by getting a digital copy. Third year students are a fantastic resource, with many unwanted second-hand textbooks that they are willing to part with for a very reasonable price, but some books you just have to go all out and spend that large wad of money to attain them, sadly.
Agus mo chúrsa Ghaeilge? Buel, bhí an course meeting ar fad as Ghaeilge (just as I feared), ach thuig mé gach rud a dhúirt an léachtóir (pleasant surprise). But yes, tá sé fíor - tá gach duine (almost) atá ag déanamh an cúrsa sin after coming out of an Irish secondary school, has many Gaeltacht experiences under their belt, or at the very least has gone to a Gaelscoil primary school. But I could keep up thankfully, bhíomar ag caint as Ghaeilge ar feadh cúpla nóiméad tar éis the course meeting, and it was such a refreshing, but strange experience, to have that opportunity, and to feel safe enough to break in and out of Irish as I please gan bhreithiúnas (without judgement), with people who crave that opportunity too. I've been very concerned that I'd be completely out of my league, or that it would be just like the Irish oral practice we did in school, but now I've realised that mo chuid Ghaeilge isn't too rusty after all, and that the Irish Leaving Cert oral preparation was so restrictive and confined, not to mention leadránach and intimidating.
Until next time (probably not too far away if I keep this frequency up), I wish you (and me) dea-sláinte.
Thursday 24 September 2015
Wednesday 23 September 2015
Can We Skip Freshers' Week Yet?
College is strange. But what's stranger is this modulating point between holidays and actual lectures. As a Trinity student (yes I got in - no I won't develop a D4 accent, don't worry), I'm obviously a bit of a nerd. I mean it's practically a prerequisite. So I'm in an awful state over here dying for lectures, essays, tutorials, studying - you name it, to take over my life. My waiting continues to complicate things further, whilst I spend my time living in Trinity Hall, the home of nearly all the non-Dublinese Trinity freshers, who are throwing their heart, soul (and livers) into clubbing, and 'prinking' (predrinking). To sum it up: it's loud, and nobody sleeps. Not even this little nerd - who tried to club, I swear, but after two nights, realised it had made her physically ill, and pretty miserable - can curl up in bed and read her latest Hardy book without having to reread each sentence at the very least ten times to combat nearby chattering/screaming.
Yes, I do have a roommate. I'll admit I liked the idea. Y'know, you see it all the time in American college movies, people rooming with one another, bonding, having not-so-secret signals to indicate that the other is 'getting lucky' (that tie though, sooo discrete lads). I wanted a roommate, so I got a roommate. What confounds me is what exactly I must have said in my application that inspired Halls to throw me and Roommate into each others lives. Roommate is lovely, I don't deny that. She's bubbly, kind, not too messy (so I don't have a nervous breakdown), not too tidy (so I don't feel like a slob) and we don't clash at all. But as far as people go, we couldn't be more unlike one another. Even on first glance you can tell we'd been put together by an outside source. She's tall, blonde, and beautiful in the celeb-hot style way - while I would probably fit better in the short, brunette, cute in the looks-like-she-is-still-in-primary-school category. Even our heritage stands on different sides of a fence. I've been raised in such a patriotic, Irish family, that I cannot possible allow myself to study English in uni without studying Irish as well - while Roommate is as Bheal Feirste. Not to mention hobbies: clubbing vs reading, socialising vs writing, I think Trinity's computer got lazy. But Roommate and I are good, we get on, it's just really not what I had expected.
Everyone else in my apartment could also be placed on one of two poles. The three of us English lit scholars take up the quieter pole, while Roommate and the two others operate on a much more demonstrative level, which frankly exhausts me just to watch them - no idea how they do it. People talk a lot about Hall not feeling like home. Some think we have to adjust, others think it'll never be home. I'm of two-minds. While I have no routine as of yet (meal-wise, arising-wise, exercise-wise, or even reading-wise) here, which doesn't exactly provide a feelings of being adjusted and settled-in, I don't miss 'home'. I'm drained, from the extreme amount of socialising that goes hand in hand with freshers, and hand in hand with sharing an apartment, not to mention my throat is sore, from two nights of clubbing. So I'm not exactly comfortable. But I went back to Cavan today, for a couple of hours, had lunch with my mom, and chatted, and I felt even more out of place there than here. It's like I'm taking up residence in a town called Purgatory. Not fully immersed in college life, but so done with life at home.
Coming back to Dublin afterwards led me straight to my first ever Dublin city sunset. I have a terrible habit of missing the sunset by a few minutes, or getting too impatient to wait for it to start, so I needed this. It reminded me that home is much larger than we seem to classify it as generally. Sometimes all it takes is a peek out at a blushing horizon to bring you back to earth.
Yes, I do have a roommate. I'll admit I liked the idea. Y'know, you see it all the time in American college movies, people rooming with one another, bonding, having not-so-secret signals to indicate that the other is 'getting lucky' (that tie though, sooo discrete lads). I wanted a roommate, so I got a roommate. What confounds me is what exactly I must have said in my application that inspired Halls to throw me and Roommate into each others lives. Roommate is lovely, I don't deny that. She's bubbly, kind, not too messy (so I don't have a nervous breakdown), not too tidy (so I don't feel like a slob) and we don't clash at all. But as far as people go, we couldn't be more unlike one another. Even on first glance you can tell we'd been put together by an outside source. She's tall, blonde, and beautiful in the celeb-hot style way - while I would probably fit better in the short, brunette, cute in the looks-like-she-is-still-in-primary-school category. Even our heritage stands on different sides of a fence. I've been raised in such a patriotic, Irish family, that I cannot possible allow myself to study English in uni without studying Irish as well - while Roommate is as Bheal Feirste. Not to mention hobbies: clubbing vs reading, socialising vs writing, I think Trinity's computer got lazy. But Roommate and I are good, we get on, it's just really not what I had expected.
Everyone else in my apartment could also be placed on one of two poles. The three of us English lit scholars take up the quieter pole, while Roommate and the two others operate on a much more demonstrative level, which frankly exhausts me just to watch them - no idea how they do it. People talk a lot about Hall not feeling like home. Some think we have to adjust, others think it'll never be home. I'm of two-minds. While I have no routine as of yet (meal-wise, arising-wise, exercise-wise, or even reading-wise) here, which doesn't exactly provide a feelings of being adjusted and settled-in, I don't miss 'home'. I'm drained, from the extreme amount of socialising that goes hand in hand with freshers, and hand in hand with sharing an apartment, not to mention my throat is sore, from two nights of clubbing. So I'm not exactly comfortable. But I went back to Cavan today, for a couple of hours, had lunch with my mom, and chatted, and I felt even more out of place there than here. It's like I'm taking up residence in a town called Purgatory. Not fully immersed in college life, but so done with life at home.
Coming back to Dublin afterwards led me straight to my first ever Dublin city sunset. I have a terrible habit of missing the sunset by a few minutes, or getting too impatient to wait for it to start, so I needed this. It reminded me that home is much larger than we seem to classify it as generally. Sometimes all it takes is a peek out at a blushing horizon to bring you back to earth.
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