Embracing the Inevitable

Embracing the inevitable is part of growing up isn’t it? Letting go of those last dregs of idealism and finally accepting the fact that it may not work out exactly how you invisaged. Well I think I’m finaly at that stage, although I would have liked to have gotten there a little more naturally.

I was recently let go from the job I have been in since September. And that sucks but not for the reasons you might think. This job didn’t pay well and it wasn’t something I wanted to make a career from, but it was based in my hometowm which allowed me to spend time with friends and family, get back invovled in scouts and also lulled me into a false sense of security.

Anyone that knows me in even the most basic of terms, will tell you that I am a homebird through and through, and there was probably a risk of me getting too comfortable at home and not pursuing my goals had I been in this job much longer. But now I no longer have that security, and it’s time to grow a little and start chasing that dream, which is one of the most terrifying things I will ever have to do.

I have no idea what I’m getting into and I have no idea what’s ahead but I know it will involve leaving my safe little bubble and facing that big bag world of new things. But it will be an adventure and also something I can hopefully learn from.

So now I’m off to spend the rest of my Saturday night looking for more jobs to apply for, believing in luck and myself, and repeating my latest mantra ‘You won’t know if you don’t try’.

Wish me luck!

Sinéad x

 

 

 

FYP Complete!!!

After months and months of work, I’ve finally completed my FYP and I’m just so relieved that it’s over and I’m kinda proud of it too. Maybe it’s not the best but I poured my heart and soul into it and that’s good enough for me.

The Acknowledgements page for my FYP was a little more formal than I would have liked so I decided to write a re-draft:

There are so many people that have helped me with writing my FYP and with the stress of writing an FYP that I’m not really sure where to start but I’ll give it a go.

To the authors who wrote the fabulous books that inspired me to write my FYP, thank you for writing pieces that were so diverse, inter-textual, though provoking and absorbing. I hope I didn’t completely misinterpret your work.

Thank you to my two flat mates, Ciara and Louise, who drove me to college every morning, listened to me complain and worry over and over again about this project, and who were always willing to go on ice creams run if there was a need.

Thank you to my siblings, Aoife, Edel, Orla, and Jim, who always managed to cheer me up when I got a bit too stressed, even if they didn’t know they were doing it, who were always willing to listen to me rant and rave about allegories and critical resources while trying not to appear too freaked out, and who could always pull me back to reality.

Thank you to all my friends in UL who have helped me more than they probably know. Thank you for ensuring me that I wasn’t the only one stressing or struggling, for your friendship, for always having the answers that supervisors just wouldn’t/couldn’t provide, for the brief distractions, for the laughs, and for just being there in that boat with me. These past years have been made all the better because of you lovely people.

Thank you to all my friends from home who have listened to me complain and fret over this project for months, who have always been supportive and encouraging of me, who refused to let me become a hermit pouring over books for months on end, who understood when I had to focus on work, and who always gave me a reason to laugh and smile. And since ye took issue with not being named individually in the original: Aoife, Shauna, Becka, Cian, Fraughney, Shane R, Cormac, Steven, Lynn, and Richard. I love all of you weirdos.

A special thank you to my Best Friend, Aoife Breen, for knowing me so well that she predicted my stress levels for this project and has been preparing me for it as best she could since last July. Thank you for always believing in me even when I didn’t believe in my self, for putting up with my emotional breakdowns and my inability to text back, for listening patiently when I had a problem or a dramatic moment and always offering advice, for going along with my weird ‘I’ve had an epiphany’ moments which were usually bullshit, and for just being my best friend. You’ve no idea how much you’ve helped me and I love you for it.

And finally to my parents, Ann and Damien, for being so supportive and understanding even when they weren’t  exactly sure what I was worried about, and who thought the days of school stress and emotional breakdowns ended with the Leaving Cert. Thank you for encouraging me to keep going, for always being willing to make cups of tea, and for ensuring me that I was capable of more than I thought. Thank you for giving me the chance to prove myself and for believing in me. You have made all this so much easier and that means so much to me.

And now I’m going to relax, watch some movies, eat some popcorn and not wake up in a cold sweat worrying about references and allegories.

Sinéad x

Dream Jobs

Ever since I was aware that at some point in the future I’d have to get a job or a career or something, I’ve been through many many phases where I’ve wanted to be many things.

First there was the vet phase. I love animals, always have and always will. But then someone pointed out to me that being a vet was about more than just hugging puppies and kittens, and that I might have to operate on them or put them down. I decided then that being a vet just wasn’t going to work.

Next came the mechanic phase. My dad’s a mechanic and I’ve grown up around cars and the business so it’s something I’ve always known even if to this day I still don’t know a damn thing about them. But I still thought being a mechanic could be cool, and tried to fix a (not broken) tap to showcase my possible skills. But then came the day my dad brought a car into the yard that was smashed almost beyond recognition and covered in blood. That’s where the dream of ‘Moroney and Daughters’ ended and the fear of driving began.

After that came the librarian stage. I loved books, I liked the library, there was no blood or sick animals what could go wrong?! I was told I could amount to more than that. Somebody, I can’t remember who, told me that being a librarian wasn’t something I would love or enjoy, and it was something that I was ‘above’. To this day I’ve never received any evidence that I am in fact ‘better’ than that.

In between all that there were the dreams of being a world famous pop star or actress who would be adored in the furthest away places, the dreams of being a beautiful and graceful gymnast, and of course the dream of being a princess or one of Harry Potters companions.

The fact is all my life, people have been asking me what I wanted to do when I grew up and I always had ideas. But now I’m almost grown up, I’m almost finished college and the problem is no longer that I don’t know what I want to be, it’s how can I be what I want to be.

For a few years now, the dream has involved media and writing in some way; I wanted to be a journalist, a radio presenter, the first female presenter of The Late Late show (RTÉ), a writer, or a publisher. So I worked my ass off to get into what I thought would be the perfect course for me, worked harder through my PLC when I missed out on that course and I’ve been working hard since 2012 when I finally got that course. So you’d think by now I’d have the whole thing sussed. Well you’d be very wrong.

I don’t know why or how but this year has stunted me, I can’t focus, I can’t write and I can’t dream. Hell I’m writing this instead of doing the 2 essays, a presentation, a group project and tutorial questions I have due over the next few weeks or reading the books I need to read. And please let’s not even mention my thesis which is still sitting blank in the ‘Documents’ section of my laptop and staying hopeful. It’s almost like I don’t know how to function except in educational institutions, which might have something to do with the fact I’ve spent the last 18 years of my life in some form of educational institution. I worked hard to get through those institutions but I never stopped for a second and tried to develop other skills. I learned, remembered and perfected the skills I needed to get me the grades I wanted and I assumed that those skills would lead to a job when I inevitably leave my final institution.But you know what they say about assumptions.

And everyday I feel my dream of writing slipping further and further away and I don’t know how to stop it because I don’t have the time. I have to devote all my time to getting the grades so I can leave college and get a good degree which should get me a good job. But I have no confidence in my writing which at the end of the day is what I want to spend the rest of my life doing. And I’ve no time to work on it. And I’ve been crying since September but thankfully my eyeliner is still intact.

This has been another Final Year Breakdown.

Sinéad x

Stop asking me how I’m doing.

My older sister is emigrating and this weekend she had a going away party. Naturally enough a lot of our relatives and family friends that I haven’t seen in a while were there, this was completely expected. What wasn’t expected was how much I would be hounded by said relatives and friends.

‘So how’s final year treating you?’ became the conversation starter of the night to which I would give the same automated response ‘Aw well, it’s tough but I’m hoping I’ll make it through’. What I really wanted to say was “It’s only week 4 and already I feel like I’m drowning in work, I haven’t even started writing for my thesis and one nut job of a professor actually wants us to read Ulysses. Not to mention the fact that I have no idea if I’ll even be able to get a job once I leave OR if I even have an inkling of what I actually want to work as”. Pretty sure that would have put a downer on things. Because when people ask you how you’re doing they only want to hear the good. So I ordered another vodka and white and smiled big for the whole room to see how perfectly ‘okay’ I am.

I’m taking four classes along with my thesis work which I have to do independently while consulting my supervisor, and which I am also so out of my limit with. Two of those classes are English Literature and require me to read a 300-400 page book a week PER CLASS and to have 2-4 pages worth of answers to questions based on the book. The other two are media based classes, one of which (thank the good glorious God above if He’s up there) is easy going enough but the other also requires, imagine this, MORE READING!! At least three 30 page articles a week to discuss and base our lectures on so if I don’t read the articles, I don’t understand the lectures. Are you sensing the hysteria yet because I feel like I’m vomiting it on to my keypad as a I type!?

And if ALL that isn’t enough, I have to decide on my future which is kind of hard since all I’ve ever know is educational institutions, poor receptionist skills, and how to clean sheets and towels. And all I’m seeing on my newsfeed and social media is people my age, people I grew up with, who I’ve watched succeed over and over again, who are now struggling to find jobs and to feel secure financially and personally. People who were promised the world and all it’s possibilities and instead have been left to…well left to nothing. It doesn’t exactly make you feel optimistic does it? No it makes me feel angry. So very, very angry.

Yes, yes I know ‘Oh the poor millennials with their new technology, slightly more equal society, and their dreams and hopes. What an awful world it is’ well now we’re living in a world created by our somewhat greedy predecessors who didn’t give a damn who came after them or how they would cope and survive.

My sister is emigrating. My sister who has been there for the past 23 years is moving to the other side of the world for 2 years or possibly forever because her own country, her own home, can’t make room for her.

And it’s all just coming to a point where I want to crawl under my duvet, pop in my earphones, listen to some McFly and reminisce about being 16 and relatively care free.

And it’s Week 5 now. And please stop asking me how I’m doing.

I’ve never introduced myself.

Some of you may or may not have noticed that I’ve never actually introduced myself. I’ve never given my name or my age or my exact location, although from my posts you can safely assume that I’m Irish. This lack of identity is completely intentional.

I like the feeling of anonymity and the sense of mystery that can be combined with creative things like art. It’s like when you see an amazing graffiti mural as you’re going about your daily life, it’s cool to look at but you don’t know who created it because you’ve never had the opportunity to look for a tag on it. But it’s nice to wonder who that person is and what their story is, but there’s never a great desire to find out because it’s more fun to construct their story, to make it an adventure. Or maybe that’s just the writer in me.

I like the fact that you don’t know me by name. You can put whatever spin on my story that you want. I could be sitting beside you in a cafe, a library, on the train, writing out the draft for this post in my little notebook and you’d never know.

Have you ever heard the stories of those crazily creative people that leave little notes, quotes and sketches in library books? They don’t usually write on the back of them ‘Oh by the way my name’s Mary Wilmot, google me‘, they just wanted to share something that could possibly brighten someones day.

Obviously I’m aware that anonymity and mystery can’t last forever, I watched enough Scooby Doo as a kid to know that eventually it’s all revealed. So if one day you do find out who I am, or you know me in person and have already deduced my identity (clever you), let’s just try to keep it between us for a little longer.

The world needs a little more mystery.

Happy Herbivore. 

x