About: A sixth year student with a passion for reading, drawing and learning languages, Caoimhe finds it easiest to write in the small windows she can carve out of an otherwise busy day. Not looking to slow down, she’s eagerly looking forward to hitting university next year.
I feel more Irish when I’m abroad.
I break out the cúpla focail and
Use them to insult the locals
Without them knowing.
I watch the watery foreign milk
Dissolving my Especial K,
And say: ‘It just tastes better at home'.
But when I get back, I remember
How much I hate it here.
It’s cold and dull here, there’s no
People here, there’s two sheep
For every one of me, all of my
Relatives put bricks on my head
And fill my veins with tea,
I don’t want to stay.
I want to run away like everyone
My age, and at 18 my parents
Were the same, and their parents
Too, on and on from the generations
Chased out by skeletons and the
Fear of rotting among potatoes
In the grave. You’re not really
Irish if you never emigrate.
In 10 years I will be wishing
My parents ‘Merry Christmas’
From behind a computer screen.
I’ll argue with my fiancé over
Which country we have
Our wedding in. It would
Be cruel to call my son Oisín.
What is emigration to the
Irish but an extended holiday?
A mandatory, sometimes
Life-long excursion where you
Lose only half your accent and
Your heart breaks every time
You look across the sea. Being
Irish is a backwards nationality.
I only feel like I’m from Ireland
If I leave.
Tell us you like this