Is same-sex marriage the inevitable next step in 21st century Ireland?

Two years ago my secondary school English teacher suggested I enter a writing competition with the headline above as the essay title. For some reason, though I had plenty to say on the topic, I decided against writing the essay. I guess in some subconscious way I was waiting for the right time to voice my opinion. With the same-sex marriage referendum just around the corner, I believe that time is now.

In just over three months’ time, this small nation will cast a vote which will have massive consequences regardless of the outcome. Should the majority of people vote yes, the constitution will be amended and same-sex marriage will be made legal in Ireland. Should the majority of people vote no, no changes will be made and same-sex marriage will remain illegal. Right now, the main question being asked is how do we know whether to vote yes or no?

First and foremost, a yes vote would be historical. We would literally be making history. Just over twenty years ago homosexuality was illegal in Ireland, punishable by imprisonment. Fast forward a few years and here we are, the power to change the lives of thousands of Irish citizens in our hands.

From my understanding of marriage it is the eternal binding together of two people, made possible only by love. Who are we to decide which couples can love and which cannot? That would be utterly pretentious of us, would it not? Unfortunately, an extremely powerful and persuasive body in Ireland does its best to convince us that we can in fact make that decision on behalf of others.

The Catholic Church in Ireland teaches that marriage is a commitment made by a man and a woman to love and cherish one another “til death do us part.” However, when you consider the large number of divorces filed each year in this country, it hardly seems fair to say that the Church make clear, unbiased judgements when it comes to the union of marriage.

Since the 12^th century when marriage became a practised custom in Ireland, the Catholic Church has ruled that only two people of the opposite sex can wed. These teachings cannot be blamed on the Church of today. Today’s bishops of Ireland are simply going by teachings that have been handed down century after century, from a time when homosexuality was unheard of.

The reason, I believe, the Church has always taught that marriage is between a man and a woman is because homosexuals of the 12^th century did not even realise they were homosexual. In fact, the term “homosexual” wasn’t coined until the mid-19^th century. Back then, it was all to do with “unnatural practises.” Readings in the Bible comment on how sexual relations between two women or two men are “unnatural” and should be punished. However, is it natural for a man to watch porn every day, despite the fact that he lies next to his wife every night? No it’s not, but we accept it because it is part of 21^st century culture.

In that very same way, we should accept that homosexuality exists and it is an undeniable part of today’s culture. By that I don’t mean homosexuality is a construct of our culture; more so that it is no longer a vice than ought to be supressed or hidden. I’m sure many of us don’t approve of our neighbour’s binge-drinking habits or of our grandmother’s three-legged cat that hisses every time we pass it. But just because we don’t approve doesn’t give us the right to take away the bottle or run over the cat. In that very same way, just because we don’t approve of same-sex couples doesn’t give us the right to take away their right to marriage.

 I could have used this time to inform you of all the legalities and intricacies same-sex couples face concerning custody of children, ownership of property, etc. But I felt at this stage you would have heard enough of that on Vincent Brown, and the likes. Instead I wanted to take you back to when it all began. Are we going to let an outdated scripture dictate the lives of thousands of Irish citizens? Love is the foundation of every marriage, not sexuality. Who knows how long we will have to wait for another opportunity like this if the referendum is not passed. Are we willing to put peoples’ lives on hold any longer than they already have been?

So when I’m asked if I believe the legalisation of same-sex marriage is the inevitable next step in 21^st century Ireland, my answer always has been and always will be yes. Would I encourage you to vote yes in the upcoming referendum? Of course I would. As the Bible teaches - true love waits. And it cannot be denied that the thousands of homosexual couples of Ireland have waited long enough for their love to be recognised. Let’s bring that wait to an end this May.

Where I find my inspiration

The past few hours I’ve been wandering around my house in my pyjamas, longing to write but not knowing what to write about. It seems I’ve exhausted almost every aspect of myself on this blog already. As the frustration built and built within me, I realised there is one topic I am yet to write about. Ironic as it is, that topic is where I find my inspiration when writing.

It’s difficult to say exactly what leads me to a blank Microsoft Word document with a mug of tea in hand, but I’ve come up with a few ideas.

First and foremost, the bulk of my inspiration comes from real-life events. Things that have happened to me in the past, issues I am currently working through, or even issues I have watched others go through. I write about my experiences, my emotions, and my opinions. It may sound self-centred and somewhat egotistic, but that’s my style. I don’t just write for the benefit of others’ reading habits and entertainment, I write as a form of expression and release. To be honest, I’d say the person that benefits most from my blog posts is myself!

Another area I draw inspiration from is music. I listen to a wide array of artists and bands, ranging from the likes of You Me At Six and Paramore to Taylor Swift and Ed Sheeran. Not a day goes by without my iPod being played, whether it be Kelly Clarkson in the shower, or Alesso whilst getting ready to hit the town. Music helps me open my mind to stories and experiences I love to remember or long to forget. Either way, it triggers something inside of me and I feel the creativity pouring out.

Oftentimes, people are the greatest source of inspiration. I am inspired by different people every single day, and they don’t realise it most of the time. Observing is a skill and just happens to be something I am very good at. I like to watch people going about their normal routines, or listen to their opinions on anything and everything. You can never tell when someone is going to say one word or one sentence that will spark inspiration inside of you.

One thing that really drives me to succeed in writing is seeing others doing well in their areas of interest. For example, seeing others in my course getting work published or sharing links to their own blogs makes me want a reason to share a link to mine. I don’t mean it in a competitive way obviously, it just works as a source of motivation. For me, that’s a great thing. I can only see it as a positive that we motivate each other to write more often.

Having said that, getting work published is not my main concern. In fact, I have never once tried to get any work published. I write because I enjoy it, and I love making something beautiful from words. Many of you may be wondering how a basic blog post can be beautiful, but I guess that’s something I can’t really explain to you. It’s like when an artist paints a picture or a poet writes a poem. A finished blog post is, to me, lyrical and expressive. Some people express themselves through music; I express myself through writing.

I’m sure there’s one source of inspiration you are waiting for me to state, but guess what? I don’t read. Shock, horror I know. A journalist in the making that doesn’t read. Is that even possible? Of course it is. Back to inspiration, though. I can imagine how much more I would have to write about and how much more open my mind would be if I read any sort of writings, but I don’t. I’ve never been interested in reading and I’m not sure I ever will be. I like to read other blogs and some feature articles in magazines, but that’s literally it. The last book I read was “The Fault In Our Stars,” and that was about two years ago. I can’t even read a newspaper without getting bored. Not your average journalism student but hey, c’est la vie.

What inspires and motivates me most to keep this blog going is my love of writing. From serious to light-hearted, poetry to personal essays, I am in love with the English language. It is the reason I’m in the course I’m in. I’ve never been interested in reporting facts and writing without an opinion – that bores me to death. I write what I write not because I feel it’s relevant and current in society, but because it’s relevant and current to me. And that’s the way I will write for the entirety of my career. If you read otherwise, I’m most likely a POW in a Nazi newspaper and you should really come help me out.

13 things I won't do next semester

1.  Pay more than €3 for a taxi home 

Taxi drivers can be really decent human beings, from time to time. Other times, they’re utter assholes. They prey on the intoxicated, already devilishly poor students that they find stumbling down Ellen Street, in search of any means of getting home. The reason taxi drivers target these students is because they view them as an easy profit. Any young person, if adequately inebriated, will fork out anything between €5- €10 each in order to get themselves home. Boom, a nice jackpot there for the lucky taxi driver. 

This semester however, I will point blank refuse any taxi driver that is not willing to take me home for €3, provided there are four of us in the taxi. He should be thrilled by the prospects of €12 for a short, less-than-ten minute drive out to the university. If not, I’ll simply walk two metres down the road to the next taxi. By the time you’ve shut the door on nine taxis, the tenth taxi driver definitely won’t say no.

2.  Go out wearing heels 

Not that I ever did that during the first semester. I’m just restating the fact that I refuse to wear heels in Limerick. Towards the end of the first semester I honestly tried my best to wear a pair out one night. I got as far as the house twenty metres from mine and couldn’t endure the pain any longer.

I don’t know how I used to do it in Killarney. Every night without fail I would wear heels on a night out. Now I can barely look at the damn things without a blister forming on my heel. I guess when it boils down to it, going out in Killarney is all very pretentious compared to Limerick. It’s all about who you’ll see out, what they’ll see you wearing, who they’ll see you with, etc. In Limerick, it’s all about that bass, ‘bout that bass, no trouble… Okay no it’s not, but it really is all about the dancing and the drinking. How it ought to be, in my opinion.

3.  Buy chicken from Lidl 

Since coming to college and realising that Lidl is a far shorter walk than Aldi, Lidl has become my bae. Chocolate, ice cream, drink, cookies; you name it, Lidl has it. And for way less than the likes of Tesco or Super Valu, my once preferred choice of supermarkets.

With the development of this newfound love for the German super-company, I made the decision to trust it with my main source of nutrition in the whole college week – chicken breasts. Chicken curry, chicken stir-fry… I expected my list of chicken-based meals to be longer, but that’s it. But yeah, I like my chicken. So you can only imagine my disgust when I realised the chicken I had bought (with five days left before the use-by date, btw) was entirely gone off. Now imagine my horror at the thought that I am chickenless for the entire week. That’s a good three dinners out of five gone out the window. Chicken balls.

4.  Miss more than 10 hours of college a week 

Probably something I shouldn’t have to put on this list. Nevertheless, we all know there are times in the week when you have zero motivation to make that ten-minute trek to a lecture you know will be online the next day. Especially when it’s raining. And getting dark. And the housemate asks who wants tea. And you really would love a cup of tea.

Maybe then it’s okay to miss an hour here and there, but certainly no more than that. Last semester was pretty reckless and although there were only a few weeks where I missed a significant amount of hours, I’m going to redeem myself this semester.

Last semester, I devised the idea of a drink jar. For every hour of college that is missed, a euro must be placed in the drink jar. At the end of the semester, the money is spent on, well, drink. Unfortunately, I contributed a large sum of money to the drink jar. That won’t be happening this time around, though. My housemates laughed when I told them I plan on going to every college hour of semester two. Well, I’m determined to prove them wrong. For my pocket’s sake, at least.

5.  Say hi to the village manager 

Quite simply, he’s a bit of a bollocks. Many an evening I have walked past him, made eye contact in an attempt to say hello, and he has glided past me as if I wasn’t even there. I don’t know if he suffers from massive blind spots in both of his eyes, or if he’s just a miserable fucker. Either way, I won’t be caught almost wasting my breath on him again.

6.  Go to the library 

You would think, what with all the time I missed of college last semester that this would be on my list of things I WILL do this semester. But no, it is not. I don’t know about you, but I hate the library. It’s always full no matter what time of the day you go there, and there’s always a bloody queue greeting you when you get through security. Because yes, that’s what it feels like to me when I walk through the library doors. I feel like I should be whipping out my passport as a second form of ID in case my student card fails me.

On top of that, I haven’t a fucking clue where anything is in there. For those of you that need to find a book but haven’t been into the library yet, don’t bother. Seriously, don’t. It’s too big. You’ll spend longer trying to find your way back out of the library than it would take to order the book online and have it delivered by standard mail from China.

7.  Order pizza twice a week 

Or even once a week for that matter. The amount of fivers I have handed over to the men in little cars is ridiculous. Not only that, it’s so unhealthy. There’s a reason those pizza deals are five euro, and it’s not because they’re made with only the finest ingredients.

I know what you’re thinking. “But it’s so convenient and it’s relatively cheap and it means no cooking for the night, woooooo.” Oh believe me, I love seeing that anonymous number appearing on my screen as much as the next person but cutbacks must be made this semester.

I know what you’re thinking. “Boo, you whore.”

8.  Leave my bedroom door unlocked overnight 

Somehow I survived the whole of the first semester without having my room raided and destroyed. The other not so lucky housemates had toothpaste on their mirrors, chairs stuck out their windows, clothes thrown everywhere and even a fortress made out of their whole room. How I escaped the wrath of the “lads” is pretty obvious – I put the fear of God into them. I know damn well they’d be too afraid to even breathe in my room for fear of me noticing.

I hope to maintain this fear factor right through to May, so as to safeguard my personal belongings and most importantly, my food. Having said that, I will still take precaution and lock my door at night. You know, just in case.

9.  Stay up until 6am on a Sunday night 

Ah, Sundays. The day of rest. The day we all arrive back in Limerick for the week. The night we all go to bed before 12am because we all have 9am starts the following morning…

WRONG. Even though literally nothing exciting ever happens on a Sunday night (unless we order Chinese. That’s pretty exciting), I somehow still end up awake at all hours of the night. It actually bothers me. Why do we do that to ourselves?! I don’t even… Anyway. Let’s hope for better sleep this semester.

10.  Have a midday shower 

You know that thing in the hot press that allows you to put the hot water/ heating on earlier or for longer? Yeah, ours doesn’t work. Maybe it’s this way for every house in Kilmurry, but in our house the hot water takes about three hours to heat up from the time it’s actually switched on. So every time I leave the hot water on for an extra two hours in the mornings to accommodate my afternoon showers, I still end up having a lukewarm shower. And we all know how miserable one feels after a lukewarm shower. It spoils your mood for the rest of the day. That 5pm lecture looks even more depressing than it did before your lukewarm shower. Then it starts raining. Then your housemate offers you tea…

11.  Rejoin badminton 

Remember that feeling of anticipation and excitement at the start of the semester, as you signed up for different, exotic sports you had never tried before? That was me when I joined badminton. No, let me rephrase. When I wasted a fucking tenner to play a sport I don’t even like for about three weeks.

This semester I will be wiser. I will tread with caution at the Clubs & Societies registration day. In fact, I might just stay at home and eat. Yeah, I think I’ll do that.

12.  Arrive late to a lecture 

From what I’ve seen of students that arrive late into a full lecture hall, they immediately regret it. They are usually greeted with a sarcastic remark from the lecturer, followed by sniggers from the hundreds of people staring at them.

I can understand why someone who is two minutes late to a lecture the whole way down in Kemmy would go in, but those people that stroll in twenty minutes late with a blank expression on their face? They bewilder me. My face winces just watching them open the door (that always creaks when you're late, might I add) and try to creep in unnoticed. Oh no my friend, we all see you. We will continue to see you as you search for a seat amid the rows of staring faces. And we will laugh when the lecturer picks on you and makes fun of your hair or your flowery shirt. You pussyshit.

13.  Get a bus at 5pm 

Oh merciful Lord. For those of you craters that are forced to get a bus from the Stables at 5pm every day, you will know what I’m talking about. All’s well and good until the screen shows “304 Ballycummin – 2 mins.” Then people start getting anxious. The crowd swells around the outside of the bus shelter, each person trying to estimate where the front door of the bus will stop. When the red light of the bus comes into sight, all hell breaks loose. If you’re with someone, grab their hand or you’ll lose them in the crowd. It’s like a stampede of elephants racing to get to the watering hole first. Getting that 5pm bus is a safety hazard.

Finally, after squeezing every last person onto a bus that should only hold about fifty, you sit there uncomfortably for forty-five minutes before you reach the city centre. I kid you not. I’ve taken that bus at least four times and timed it each time. So after all the chaos and mayhem of getting onto that 5pm bus, you probably would’ve gotten into the city faster on the 5:15pm bus. Oh, the irony.

The Year of Memories

It’s been almost two and a half years since I set up this blog, and every year since then I have written a post on New Year’s Eve. This year is no exception. In fact, 2014 may be the year I have the most to say about. I’ve seen so many other posts and pictures on various social media platforms of people raving about how 2014 has been such an amazing year for them. I am no different to these others because my year has also been spectacular. For this year’s post I’m going to take you through each month of my 2014, and hopefully you’ll understand why I am so sorry to see it come to an end tonight.

January

2014 couldn’t have gotten off to a greater start than my girlfriend’s 18^th birthday. Her present from me was flights to Paris in July for our two-year anniversary. I know what you’re thinking – fucking sap. I don’t care though, it was one of, if not the best present I’ve ever gifted someone with. And before you ask, no she did not cry (which I was mildly disappointed about). We then celebrated her birthday with her best friends at her house that night. I don’t think I’ve had a better time with her friends than that night. They really are great people that I’m fortunate and grateful to know.

February

So February was indeed the month of my Leaving Cert pres. This may justify why the only pictures I have from that month are of the weekend Caoimhe’s friends and I spent in Dublin once the exams had finished. To briefly mention those exams, I thought they had gone okay so it’s safe to say I was celebrating in Dublin. I remember walking down one of the streets in the capital with Caoimhe and saying to her that I hadn’t felt this free since we started 5^th year.

We shopped, we fine-dined, we drank, we partied, and one of us (who shall remain anonymous) got kicked out of a gay nightclub. A wonderful weekend was had by all.

March

I’m beginning to realise that I made quite a few trips to Dublin this year, two of which took place in March. The first trip I made was with my Killarney crew. We had bought Kevin (my bestie) a ticket to an Ireland match in the Aviva as part of his 18^th birthday present, so we were hardly going to let him venture there solo. The match was enjoyable even though Ireland did not emerge as victors. However, it was the night out that truly made the trip worthwhile. It was so enjoyable that I don’t believe there are any pictures of it to be found.

My second trip to Dublin was with Caoimhe. We went to see one of our favourite bands, All Time Low, cause havoc in the Olympia Theatre. The absolute nutters that we are, we sat outside the Olympia from 11am that morning, just to be as near to the front barrier as we could be. Hence the Starbucks takeaway cups in our hands. The wait was worth it because the concert was phenomenal. All Time Low interact with the crowd in a way I’ve never witnessed with other bands. To top it all off, we came away with two guitar picks, the setlist and the beanie hat Jack had been wearing. #Winning.

April

Ah, April. My month of birth. It being my 18^th year, of course I had an 18^th party. To be fair, I really did have everyone I love at that party. My family, Caoimhe, my Killarney friends, my Listowel friends; everyone that mattered to me was there. My incredible group of friends (The Lissivigeeners, refer here for full description - http://hustler007.blogspot.ie/2013/12/wrapping-up-2013-with-splash-of.html ) bought me a ticket to Disneyland Paris, as they knew we were going in July. Caoimhe also took the liberty of sorting out the hotel arrangements in Paris, so I had very little expenses left to pay. What unreal presents, eh!

Another major occurrence for me in April was the Young Artist Development Awards showcase. Now this may sound very professional and fancy, but really it was just a little concert in front of the whole school. However, the part of it that was “major” for me was the fact that not only were myself and two other girls from my music class performing in front of almost 500 people, a few judges and Voice of Ireland winner Pat Byrne, we were performing a song I had written. By that I mean that I wrote the lyrics, and the other two girls came up with the melody and music for it. But still, having my lyrics sang in front of that many people was overwhelming. Even more so was the reception we received. Many, many students approached me in the aftermath telling me how much they loved the song and how powerful it was. Though we didn’t make it through to the YADA final, that showcase meant a great deal to me, and stands out as one of my greatest accomplishments this year.

May

Graduation. That is all anyone cared about in May. Yes, we may have been a mere month away from the most important exams of our lives, but all the Leaving Cert class of 2014 was concerned about was the food arrangements, the songs to be sung at the mass, what dresses each of us would be wearing, and where the hell the night would take us once we were let loose.

The night, as expected, was special. The mass was special, the songs that we chose to sing were special, the interlude from Ms. Healy on the flute was special, and the tears it brought to my eyes were special. For me, the mass was the highlight. It was the last time I would ever stand side by side with an inspirational woman, playing songs on guitar that we both loved to play. I’ll never forget the wink she gave me when we finished playing my favourite song. I felt like I had swallowed my heart.

Also, May brought about my last day of school. It was emotional, exciting, nostalgic, and in many ways a very triumphant day for me. I had finally done it. I lasted the six years that many thought I wouldn’t. By that very last day, I was clear on so many things. I knew the reasons I shed a few tears that day, and I knew who I was shedding them for (and who I most certainly was not shedding them for). The best part of that day was the teachers vs students dance-off. The reason that was the best part is because it gave me the picture below. What a way to sum up my feelings leaving that school.

June

Surprisingly, there’s not much to say about June. I spent the vast majority of it sitting in the confines of my school, taking the most anticipated exams of my life. When those exams came to an end, I really didn’t do much. I relaxed, I went out a few times, and I just lapped up the feeling of complete freedom. So yeah, it was a pretty boring month which is why I have zero pictures to show.

July

Christ, if I was to go through every aspect of July we would all be here a very long time. In fact, it wouldn’t be New Year’s Eve anymore.  To sum it up, I went to Paris with my girlfriend and when we landed back on home turf, we went straight to an Arctic Monkeys concert. Fucking epic. Since there is way too much to say about July, I’m going to let the pictures do the talking.

August

The month of the dreaded Leaving Cert results. Oh, how I was anxious. When the day finally came, I went into a sort of shutdown mode. I showed no emotion as I walked into the room with my vice-principal. It was only when she handed me the certificate that I broke. As I scanned the sheet of paper through bleary eyes in search of my English grade (the one that mattered for my course requirement), I fell to the floor when I realised all the grades showed the same letter. The vice-principal got the shock of her life, I’d say. I asked her to tell me my English grade, just in case I had hallucinated my results. When she said A1, I said fuck off. I immediately apologised, of course. I continued to weep and sob until she told me my points. I then said “Are you shitting me?” and as before, I apologised again straight away.

That, my friends, was a moment I would pay anything to relive again.

August also saw the best Muckross staff night out EVER. For the first time in my four summers working there, all of the summer staff got along really well. There were no bitchy cliques (as there had been in the past) which made the night out so great. I became friends with people I never thought I would, and I strengthened my relationships with people I already adored. Success? Hell, yes.

September, October, November

The reason I am putting these three months together is because they have sped by so fast that I can’t even pick them apart. The facts of each month haven’t changed, though.

I moved to Limerick at the beginning of September, excited yet nervous of what would be awaiting me. I met my housemates, liked them, met their friends that lived nearby, liked them too, had a few nights out, liked them, and so on. You see the pattern that formed, right? I liked everything about college in September. It wasn’t until midway through October that I fell head over heels in love with college.

As I grew closer to my housemates and their friends week by week, my perspective began to change. I no longer felt like their housemate, nor did I feel they were mine. I felt like I was living with friends. Friends that I wish I had known all my life. Friends that showed me why my “friends” of the past are exactly that.

I love my life in college. I had the best four months of my life this semester. The closest friends I have right now are friends that I have made since moving to UL. That, for me, says more than enough about the position I’m in right now.

“Perhaps I should just leave it at how amazing it is that someone who was, four months ago, a stranger to me, can now mean so much to me.”

December

What a wonderful December it has been. December 2014 has undoubtedly been one of the best Christmases of my life thus far. To begin with, I was presented with my scholarship certificate by the university, with one of my best friends alongside me receiving the very same award. Not only that, I got a massive surprise to see that my English teacher, Ms. Hennigan, had travelled up from Killarney to be there to receive the award with me. What a bloody honour it was having the woman that inspired me to choose that course in that university standing by my side. Words cannot describe how much that moment meant to me.

Then, of course, came the final hoorahs of the semester. With Christmas dinner had and the exams finally over, we danced our merry hearts away to “All I Want for Christmas Is You” in a Limerick nightclub. How utterly satisfying. Saying goodbye to the crew for Christmas was especially difficult, knowing that I wouldn’t be seeing them again for weeks.

Christmas in Killarney, however, has been extremely successful. In our family the rate of success was measured by the fact that for the first time in 20 years of marriage, my mom did not ask my dad for a receipt for the presents he got her. See? Successful Christmas in the Dawson household.

…

2014 really has been a special year in many ways. I’ve made memories I will always remember, I’ve shared experiences I will never forget, I’ve said goodbye to people that changed my life, and I’ve met people that I know are going to bring me a ridiculous amount of joy and happiness in the new year.

So that’s it from me this year. I apologise for the lack of blogposts (Leaving Cert and all), but I will be sure to increase my blogging output in 2015. Until then, have a wonderful New Year and be ready for 2015 – I already know it’s going to be spectacular.

Refreshment, anyone?

In just under two weeks I will be sitting my first end of semester exam. My first taste of a real college exam. Where have the past thirteen weeks gone?

Originally I had planned to write a post at Christmas entitled “What I’ve Learned So Far,” or something along those lines. A few nights ago however, my housemate suggested the title above instead. I knew exactly what she meant. Rather than simply listing off all of the things I’ve learned thus far, I’m going to write about how things have changed for me, personally since my big move to Limerick.

…

Bitch. That was my first impression of her. The “her” I am referring to is one of my housemates. The first of the females in my house that I was to meet. Her room is opposite mine and for the first few weeks, I wished it wasn’t. I was so sure that we wouldn’t get along and that I’d end up hating her within weeks. What a promising start, eh?

Well, I couldn’t have been more horribly wrong. This girl who I initially despised is the best and closest friend I have now. It just goes to show how wrong we can be about people when we judge based on first impressions. Having said that, she also thought I was a bitch, so I don’t feel that bad.

My judgement is usually spot on when it comes to sussing people out, but I can hold my hands high and admit I made a balls of this one. The connection that has formed between us is crazy. I’ve only ever had one other friendship that can compare to this one, and that friendship lasted 11 years. I’ve never even compared any friendship to the 11-year one so to even make that comparison says so much. I still can’t really believe how lucky I got to be put into a house with this girl. Out of the thousands of people I could be living across from, I’m living across from her. Hashtag winning.

Seriously though, if you lived with us you’d understand why I’m so dumbstruck by it all. It couldn’t be any more obvious that we get along like a house on fucking fire. It’s like we have the same mind, just split in two and in different bodies. We have identical sense of humours, meaning we spend most of our time laughing rather than studying. I’m smiling now because I can remember the first time I knew our personalities clicked. We were watching Forrest Gump at the part towards the end of the movie when Lt. Dan introduces his fiancée, Susan. I don’t know exactly what we said to each other, all I know is we laughed hysterically and uncontrollably for the rest of the movie. Not only are our sense of humours in sync, we literally say what each other are thinking ALL OF THE TIME. It’s no wonder we find it impossible to close our bedroom doors at night – we never, ever run out of things to talk about or laugh at. I truly mean it when I say I couldn’t have gotten any luckier if I tried.

My luck didn’t run out there, though. I have also been blessed with an incredible new group of friends. Between my house, house 38 and a few stragglers we found along the way, the banter is always in plentiful supply. A day hasn’t gone by where we haven’t had the usual visitors, or made the tedious twenty-metre trip to 38 ourselves.

When I was moving to Limerick the one thing I absolutely did not want was housemates that knew each other. You can imagine how horrified I was on the realisation that three of my housemates went to secondary school together, and another was from the same county as those three. I immediately assumed I would be isolated from their group because I was the outsider from Kerry. Of course there was the sixth housemate whom I had been banking on but by the end of week one he had bonded so well with the others that I began to think he, too, was in fact from Clare.

Yet again I was wrong about the whole thing. They are honestly the nicest, most genuine group of people I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting, not to mind living with. I know that invitations to visit them in Clare over Christmas are sincere and not only that, my desire to visit them is also sincere. These are people I truly believe (and hope) I will be friends with for the rest of my life. Fuck it, sure I’ve already asked one of them to be my maid of honour! Not everyone that lands into college in first year gets on with their housemates as well as I do, and I will never take that for granted.

Meeting so many new people has had a massive impact on the person I am now compared to the person I was four months ago. That may sound ridiculous because of how short of a space four months is, but it’s the absolute truth. I feel so fresh and renewed, but most of all I feel untainted. I came here with a blank sheet of paper. No marks from my past followed me here. College has really allowed me to fully close (and lock) the door I had spent six years walking through. I was finally able to ditch the oxygen tank I had been relying on in secondary school and learn to breathe fresh air. What a difference it has made.

Even just living away from home has done so much for me, personally. I know 110% I was not ready to leave home last year, so thank Jesus for that extra year in school. This year, however, was the right time for the change to happen. Everything has fallen into place so perfectly. In fact, I honestly couldn’t have even scripted this; it’s better than any storyline I could write. The transition from living in Killarney to living in Limerick has happened so naturally that it’s almost as if I’ve been waiting my whole life for this. For the life I’m currently living. The best life I’ve ever known. 

And that is something worth writing about.

Being Bisexual

According to Merriam-Webster, the definition of bisexuality is being “sexually attracted to both men and women.” A straightforward definition it would seem. Unfortunately the reason I am writing this bloody post is because so many people don’t understand my sexuality. I am frequently asked questions like “Are you sure?” and “Maybe you should think about it again?” Sound lads, but remember back when I was the tender age of fourteen and I bravely came out? Yeah? I HAD ALREADY THOUGHT ABOUT IT AND I WAS SURE. But thank you for your ongoing concern.

The problem that has led me to writing this post is not a personal one. Having said that, this is a personal blog so yes of course I will be referring to myself throughout (as I always do). The real problem here is the misconception of bisexuality alongside homosexuality and heterosexuality. Basically, everyone knows the difference between gay and straight, but how many people stop to think about the alternative? Do we honestly even appreciate that bisexuality does exist? If we don’t we’re simply fooling ourselves. Of course it exists. It’s not like Santa Claus where it exists for a few years and then poof, gone. And it is certainly not “just going through a phase.”

As the definition above does not state, bisexuality isn’t a case of being attracted to both men and women equally. So for those of you that think “Oh, she likes girls more so she’s a lesbian,” go get a fucking dictionary. As bisexual activist Robyn Ochs put it, “bisexuality is the potential to be attracted – romantically and/or sexually – to people of more than one sex and/or gender, not necessarily at the same time, not necessarily in the same way, and not necessarily to the same degree."

With that said, I am very much aware of how curiosity leads to people tossing the label around like an old hat. I have encountered many individuals who have said to me “Olivia, I think I’m bi.” Turns out most of them were either experimenting or thought it was cool to be bisexual. A lot of people who identify as bisexual do end up coming out as gay/straight in the future, and I’m certainly not denying that. Many people also identify as bisexual because they think bisexuality doesn’t get as much stick as homosexuality. “No, no I’m still half straight” – you’re still gonna get abuse, hun.

In fact, bisexuals face even more abuse than homosexuals. Believe it or not, bisexuality is not accepted as a legit sexuality by many (not all) gays and lesbians. They believe bisexuality to be a compromise of their sexuality. This hostility is not as prominent in recent times, what with the LGBT community rallying together in the fight for equality, and all that jazz. I believe that underneath the surface, however, that hostility still remains.

For many people bisexuality comes as a hard concept to grasp. How is it possible to like both sexes? How do you decide when you want which? The thing is, drumroll please… you don’t. It’s kind of like when you go to a buffet and you’re not sure whether you want the steak or the chicken. Then you go to the counter and see the steak and the chicken next to each other and you’re like “Yeah, I fancy a nice bit of steak tonight.” But at the same time you wouldn’t say no to the chicken either. Get me? What I’m trying to say in a roundabout way is that the attraction depends on who the person is, what their physical appearance is like, and whether or not they’re actually available. Sounds fairly heterosexual doesn’t it?

Somewhat of a pet peeve of mine is peoples’ tendency to use the term “lesbian” to define my sexuality. How kind of you to recognise that I like girls but hey, guess what? Men have a shot with me too! The funny thing is I always joke about my sexuality. I actually have an example from two nights ago. We were all having a few drinks in the house Tuesday evening and I wandered over to the sofa, only to find three lads lying on the ground together. Without even thinking about it I shouted “HEY! I’m the only one allowed to be in same-sex relationships in this house. I’m going to heterosexual it up here.” And so I proceeded to lie across the three of them, in the most non-sexual way possible might I add.

However it becomes a whole other ball game when someone else changes my sexuality. Either get it right or don’t mention it at all. I watched an episode of The Big Bang Theory the other day and in the episode Leonard and Penny get goo all over Sheldon’s seat on the sofa. Howard thought he could help by swapping Raj’s seat with Sheldon’s and he exclaimed “Problem solved.” To which Sheldon replied “If your head had been accidentally amputated, and we transplanted a dog’s head in its place, would that be ‘problem solved’?” Slight exaggeration but that’s pretty much my view when people refer to bisexuals as gay/lesbian.

Even though without reading back I’m sure a lot of this is me going off on a tangent, I hope you can understand the problem here and how it should be addressed. Bisexuality is not a joke, nor is it a reason to make a sexual object out of someone. We all need to show more respect to those who identify as bisexual and to not always try to gently guide them down the path of gay or straight. If you still don’t understand bisexuality, then it is not up to you how a bisexual should or should not act. Bear that in mind next time you try to persuade someone that their sexuality is imaginary.

Oh look, a poem.

A flash of all the memories,

A strike of pain inside,

Just like the wave that hits the sand

And rips it out with the tide.

A broken mind and twisted heart,

A knife right through my spine,

Self-inflicted, as it were;

An accidental suicide.

All is but diminished,

All black, and white, and grey,

A lifeless painting of my world;

A dark and empty space.

The void that only one can fill

Hurts more with every day,

Every day it grows in size

And swallows me like its prey.

So take me to the beach again,

And show me to the sea,

Let me feel you let me go;

Let the waves crash on me.