The Sounds of St. Stephen’s Green

The Sounds of St. Stephen’s Green

As the sun sets lower in the sky, and the shadows of the trees on the ground stretch to see the last of its light, so we celebrate the end of a long and tiring week, soaking up the last of the day.

There is jazz playing from a show further in the park, and people chatting and laughing fill the rest of the air. Grafton’s buskers’ tunes float towards. Different languages pass you by, mixed with the songs of birds and the gentle rustle of their feathers in the small lake nearby. Even the passing traffic’s invasiveness is swallowed by the tall green trees surrounding us.

The 400-year-old park, that holds so much of Dublin’s history, now holds yours too. For whatever reason you came to the 27-acre cut-out of the city – whether it’s to read or picnic or paint with your friends. Whether it’s to think about your problems or escape from them. St. Stephen’s Green offers you a bit of “fresh air” from the stale air of work and the hyperventilating of life. Here, you are given an opportunity to grasp the peace that’s calling to you. And ask yourself: maybe if we spent more time just ‘being’, we wouldn’t feel the need to ‘be’ something all the time.

Yesterday was supposed to mark our last day working in Swords but the promise of our work transfer has been delayed. So what we thought was an 8 day push of exhausting ourselves with 4 hours of travel a day, has been extended another 3 weeks.
I wouldn’t mind the travel as much if I didn’t suffer so much from motion illness.

I have been trying to use the time to think.

Think about what, I’m not too sure. I usually circle back to “What am I doing with my life?” And “what should I be doing with my life?” Unfortunately, that’s left me with a small case of the morbs – wondering why I wasted 4 years of my life to get a degree I now know I won’t use, and wishing I’d just stuck with something (anything) for long enough for it to show me fruition.

I realised on the tram the other day, that I’m 25 now. No longer in my early 20s – free to be indecisive and reckless. Not that I ever really loved being that- I was always fighting to make something of myself. And now is the time, really. At the very least, I can choose to dedicate myself to the things that leave me fulfilled. For enjoyment of toil is a gift from God.

Ken and I have decided that there is no better time to change everything in your life, than when everything in your life changes. Embrace the chaos – then find your footing in calmer waters. So we’re both on the hunt for new jobs. “Real jobs” as we South Africans call it – but the Irish keep reminding us that “any job is a real job” and that’s the beauty of a first-world, liveable-wage country.

It’s just time to focus myself on what I want to live for. Instead of floating aimlessly – I want to float on the currents that at least align with my passions.

So I’m writing again.
Straight from the heart of the city that inspired all this in the first place (even if I did lose sight of that for some time).

Thanks for reading, dear Traveler,
With love from Dublin,
Cheylin.

Where have all the Irish Gone?

Where have all the Irish Gone?

Our day ends at 4pm. The shops all close nowish, not that that’s our reason for climbing into bed; it’s our day of rest.

We spent the day with a South African couple from The Church, they took us to the local mall, fed us and showed us some good places to shop. They’ve been here for a year and have a bit more experience than us.

The other couple we connected with The Church is a young married couple — much like us — from Hungry, they’ve been here for about 2 years now. We’re keen to get to know them. The girl works for Google, so Ken and I were both, obviously, intrigued. They’ve promised to take us on a hike when the weather eases off a bit more.

The most interesting thing about The Church is really the vast diversity. Every third person is black, something we didn’t expect from a white-majority country (especially when that wasn’t even the norm in South Africa for us). They’re from all over the world, Nigeria, Botswana, England, and Brazil. It’s truly magical to be a foreigner in a place where you’re almost at home in your differentness.

We have a rough plan for the days that follow, get an appointment for my PPS number (like a tax or social security number), get Kendal’s passport stamped, buy some real things and maybe apply for jobs.
I’ve been telling people that I’m in media — and while I technically am, I’m still fairly undecided about my path here. I’ve started telling people that I’m looking for any work while I write my book. That feels right to say. Maybe I’ll start saying “I’m a writer”. (I do have a blog and all).

We’re dreaming, Ken and I. Still, the possibilities feel endless.

With love, From Dublin.
Cheylin