I shouted, “I live in Dublin!” to the woman behind the till at a crowded Irish gift shop as she tried to push me customs forms a couple weeks ago. It took me a couple of blocks to realize what I’d said and let it really set in.
I was sitting in a coach station for two hours in London, pacing impatiently, just waiting to be on the plane so I could sleep. And I started wishing I could just be home…in Dublin.
It’s strange, it really is, living in a different country for so long. My flatmate and I found some USD and had to stare at it for a second because it looked so weird. I’m saying things like, “oh it’s grand” and putting ‘u’s where they normal wouldn’t make sense.
What will I do in a month when I hop off the plane in Boston? Who will I be without O’Donoghue’s or the Brazen Head? What happens when it’s 3:00AM and all I want in the world is a Toffee Crisp? Or a 99?
What about snow? They don’t get REAL Vermont 6-14 inch storms with hot apple cider and walks to class that almost freeze your nose off. And what about crunchy leaves? All the ones here are wet and you don’t get the satisfying crackle of walking down the street. And what about when I wake up at 3:00AM and all I want in this world is a mediumblacktwoSplendasandaBostonKremethankyou from Dunkin?
I suppose they’re all small things to give up to have all of Europe at my fingertips. And Dublin really is a spectacular place, full of spirit and familiarity and something that makes me realize that, in a month, I’m going to wake up and not be in Dublin.
And that’s the worst news I’ve heard in a while.
Champlain Abroad Dublin, Fall 2014
Champlain College, Professional Writing, Class of 2016