My American life, the beginning. Emigration & Immigration

Quote -  Bono

I am a freckled ex-pat.  You could say my American life began properly this summer with my marriage and more recently with the approval of my green card. I feel lucky and know I am blessed. The anticipation and anxiety around this coloured card has been palpable.  Not only was there apprehension regarding it's approval and the interview process but now there's the exciting, wonderful, pinch me am I dreaming, I'm so grateful feeling paradoxically juxtaposed along side the realization that comes with all of that. "Permanent residency" and I am terrified.  It's bringing with it it's own kind of loneliness and nostalgia.  

Permanent Residency: but wait a minute, I'm Irish and more importantly I'm from "the Gar".  Now I'm the first one to call out Bono on being a self righteous knowitall so and so, I have a love /hate relationship with him, which I'm sure concerns him gravely. I'm proud that he's Irish, I'm a U2 fan, his wife's a stunner but he does go on a bit by times and I can't stand him holding court like he does but I love this quote from him (picture above) that's stenciled on the wall of the "The Little Museum of Dublin".  When I read it, I was instantly struck by how perfectly it synopsized my feelings about the beautiful island. Lately quotes like this one have been making me cry. 



But why, oh why, why do they make me cry?.... I know I get it, yes, cop on, it's lashing rain here!

I have had a wandering heart and desire to live abroad since I was a teenager. At 14 I was dying to escape.  In hindsight that was more likely an escape from the hormonal head of an adolescent. I loved looking at different city skylines and would turn my nose up and scoff at Ireland because it didn't have any. "This country!, I am outta here!" I'd declare and slam the door with more melodrama than a Shakespearean tragedy. Tut tut and roll my eyes in the back of my head like a scene from "The Exorcist", possessed only by a fluctuating imbalance of oestrogen and whatever else was making me feel so misunderstood especially by my mother, poor woman. At 15 I noticed the lights on a dark cityscape picture of Sydney, Australia. It seemed so exotic and far away and I was desperate to get there. Let's face it, anything foreign is exciting when the canal line walk to school with the chance of a horse being on the loose along the way is about as electrifying as it gets.  Looking back it was a bit thrilling and terrifying at the same time.  At 15 all 18 years ago Australia wasn't the huge Irish rite of passage it has become now.  As I write this I currently have two siblings hoping for adventures and searching for themselves somewhere in sun kissed Queensland.  

My home town always felt too small for me or I was too big for my boots. 
I took my big boots and ran from it with all the speed I could muster.  I foolishly longed to be an adult, get to Dublin and to university.  I was fascinated that the college had the same population as my home town and enamored by the idea of anonymity. Which is actually the thing I came to hate the most about UCD.  In 2003 we decided on America, the J1 thing.  We took it for granted that we had access to the US like this and sure doesn't everyone love the Irish, sure aren't we going to be grand.  We were more loved and a lot grander than we had ever dreamed.  Going from Manhattan to Mullingar at the end of a J1 summer in one felled swoop is a rude awakening that only the strong can survive.   Our beloved J1 had come to an end but we were bitten by that travel

bug. Travel venom coursing through our veins mixing with our blood where it would remain forever.  Forever I would travel, a gypsy at heart.   We were vindicated by the fact that we had navigated the murky scary waters of a transatlantic flight alone and inexperienced. We had successfully negotiated the loud, exciting and abrasive streets of Manhattan.  We were green, we didn't care and we thought we knew it all.   
And so began my love affair with America.  

There have been holidays in between and a short stint in Sydney but I felt a home from home when I landed in California just shy of a decade later. A happiness and sense of relief that I can honestly say I never felt before.  Was this it?  Was this where I was meant to be?  My heart was happy with a contentment that came with ease.  Blue skies, palm trees, hilly canyons and Venice Beach felt like my home and to say my pink skinned sweaty self was a little out of place against this back drop is an understatement but I didn't care.  I was as red, white and blue as they come, all about the crosswalk, sidewalk, trunk and trash can. But I never thought for a second that I would be lucky enough to meet my future husband over Mexican food and a margarita.

As the days went on there was a real sense of Irishness stirring inside me, something to stay connected, to stay rooted to my home.  My stomach rumbling for bacon and cabbage and the what should be and probably is illegal "red lemonade".  A patriotism there that I never knew until I left,  except for match days against England. I love England, just not when we're playing them.  I actually wore green on Paddys Day and bought a kiss me I'm Irish t-shirt. Yes, hangs head in shame.  Quite bizarre as this is the holiday that you daren't go near town, for fear of being stabbed, puked or peed on.

What?! It was on sale! Now here's me now all "pog me cos I'm a cailin". Who am I?!  Could it be true that I yearn for the familiarity of Mullingar and my more recent home in Dublin 4. Mullingar is a proud town, we gave the world one fifth of One Direction, a few Olympians, many musicians and some businessmen.  If you have grown up in any town across Ireland I'm certain the upbringing was the same except you may not have been fortunate enough to have been from mighty mighty mull-in-gar.  I may be donning some rose tinted glasses but no matter where you're originally from, I find there is a contradictory sense of happiness and sadness upon returning.   Walking into a pub in your hometown at Christmas and seeing the familiar faces has a unique warmth.  Happiness that things are the same, a little sadness that you have changed or outgrown it and an acceptance that it will always have a part of you.  This hometown.

Two years have passed and I'm now a green card holder married to never a redder, whiter or bluer fella you could meet. I'm a hybrid or a red white and golder.  I miss the craic, the green, the grey and the red brick, the damp chill in the air of home and even the dirty smell the cat and dog.  Enough said. I miss it all..  

I love America, this beautiful country is my home too but I will always be a Paddy. Right now I am working through the stages of emotional emigration, and likening them to the stages of grief be that correct or not.  I am extremely lucky that my husband knows to put that in the "other press" and that sometimes I think he's an "eejit" when he turns to me and answers me in the best Lucky Charms accent he can.  I never tell him his Irish accent is pretty spot on.  Sure we wouldn't want him getting a big head now would we?!


As I write this I think of Berkeley and those excitable students and the hurt that that J1 summer has left behind.  My heart aches for the families and friends of those young people.  My thoughts also turn to the refugees looking for shelter in Europe.  I hope safety and peace finds them soon.