I will never be six feet tall and I will never not be Irish. This is how I feel. Even if I had stayed in London, I would always be Irish. I will always have blue eyes and I will always be Irish. It's in my DNA, it's in my blood and bones. I could try to fight it but I would never win. I could wear purple contact lenses but I will always have blue eyes. I could get myself another accent, English, American or Australian, but I will always be Irish.. This is how I feel. This is who I am.
Ireland doesn't belong to me. I belong to Ireland. Something in me lets out a long sigh when I come home. I can live in other places. I can even love other places. But something in me unfurls and says 'home' when I am in Ireland. Though I might hate the corruption, the nepotism, the lies and the injustice I am 'ceangailt' to this place. (ceangailt can mean tied as in chained or it can mean a deep bond, a warm connection. Pronounced kang-guilt.)
I have experienced both kinds of ties to Ireland.
Today, my bond with Ireland is deep and warm. I no longer feel chained by the past. I cherish the freedom I now know I have. This would never have been possible for me had I not lived in London. London taught me to make my own choices. It taught me to ask for what I want and to persist until I had it.
...In a strange kind of way, living in London gave me back my heritage, my identity as an Irishwoman.
Have had a similar experience.
Do you feel more Irish, living and working in another country?
Has being abroad helped you to overcome the shadows of the past?
Do you feel this 'ceangailt', this bond with Ireland though you were born and reared in another country?
Do you know yourself to be Irish though your passport says something else....
If my small granny could see me now
An afternoon among the women poem
Growing up in a white world
When people say genealogy is boring
Anger and Truth
Where do you come from?
The House on an Irish Hillside book review
Mammies for Mariage Equality
Aw go on, say YES
Homeless in Ireland
When wide sky opens poem
I love my work
Celtic New Year
This small house
Rhythm & Rest poem
The Hidden Self
The Lonely Road
Kerry Pride 2013
Letting the Light in after Loss
Letting go is hard
Pick up the phone
Her name was not Magdalene
Do what you love doing!
My small granny
Praise the child and boil the dishcloths
My invisible brother Michael
I don't want to be Irish anymore
Alone on Valentine's Day
I love my country but I am not blind
Truth no. 2
How we tell the Truth
From Clare to here
Mother's Day is bittersweet
I will not be part of that
No Blacks No Dogs No Irish
Thank you for the days
Baby Marion Howe
My Irish Identity
When my Mam was dying
Violence against women
Take back your power
Draw the line
My small granny and other stories