Grounded.

Ireland.

===I may have been waiting to get here since I first learned about this country.
===
At first it might have been that I was stubbornly and childishly sure that a country with such a strong connection to the color green was the only connection I'd need to understand and belong to this country.
Then it might have been that I was young and naive enough to believe that knowing the country of my high school sweetheart's heritage would further merge our lives together; as if going there would help me understand a part of him that I didn't know that didn't exist.
Later on, it might have been that I was selfishly adventurous and wanted to see what felt like the one country my parents missed on their eight month backpacking trip around Europe. They were fresh out of grad school, with a bag each-free to move about wherever they wished and somehow they didn't manage to make it across the Irish Sea. If I went there, I'd have no wondrous, well-sculpted stories to compare my experience to. I'd be striking out on my own, taking up the title of pioneer and succeeding my parents. If I went there, they could visit me, as they did my brother on his term in England, and I could show them my new world.
And then I grew up a little more. Now, it might be me; it might be what or who I have become, a Creative Writer. I have always loved stories, especially fairy-tales and folklore and mythology, and what better place to learn about their, to learn to what they offer us, and to learn how to write from them, then the recognized birthplace of such things? In my application essay, I wrote about my belief that a story is the best kind of gift. It doesn't clutter up your house; it resides in the mind, painted across your imagination, where you can take from it what you will, and apply it to your own experience. It has the power to change your understanding of life without a physical presence and yet somehow has a tangible quality. Irish tradition is oral tradition, so their stories weren't even give the benefit of a written, therefore pseudo-physical, form. Bards were employed by Gaelic chiefs and kings to sing of their master's genealogies, the deaths of warriors, great battles and other important tales to document their lives. I wanted to learn from that tradition, that history and become the writer I want to be.

So, after long hours spent traveling, I am here.

I tried to sleep on the plane, I really did. For our last leg of a flight, I even took a mild sleeping aid from one of my companions and informed the guys on wither side of me that I might drool on them in my sleep and that I was sorry in advance. But all the time changes and flights had confused my body so much it didn't know what to do. Eventually I talked with the guy on my right, who looked to be about my age. Turns out, even on international flights, it's a small world. He said he was going to Galway to study, too (even though the plane was flying to Shannon), and that he was from Pittsburgh, which is where I was born. He goes to Dukaine in the US. We talked awhile and I told him if I saw him on campus I'd yell his name really loud, hopefully at some sporting event, thus making him fumble the game.

We landed in Shannon, where we were told John would pick us up. After getting through the airport security with paperwork, etc, we (all eight of us Linfield girls) saw the man with the sign reading "Linfield" and called out "John, we're here!" Only to find out twenty minutes later that his name was Chris and he was too polite or confused to correct us at first. So, CHRIS drive us to Galway in a bus with nice seats. I finally took my boots off my swollen feet, draped them over the seat in front of me and passed out. It was still dark although the morning traffic was in full-swing. We got to our apartments around nine, local time, checked in, and realized just how windy Ireland is. Abby, the other LInfield girl in my apartment, and I found the apartment, did our inventory, both slightly shaky and then met up with the rest of the group to get bedding across the way at Dunnes Stores (which is like a Fred Myer, I guess). I got a cheap duvet and an even cheaper little boy's duvet cover with safari animals on it. We spent the rest of the day reconviening and splitting up, getting food, meeting fellow flatmates, getting ethernet cords, more blankets, making tea, laughing, and finally a good group of us ended up in my apartment's living/dining room in the evening. We were all tired but full of questions for each other and determined to adjust to the time change. Allison and Rory are my other flatmates, both from the University of Richmond in Virginia. Allison is a cheery girl with curly light brown hair and Rory is a tall, funny guy who made the mistake of wearing light yellow pants to get groceries, which ended up soaking up the ink on his grocery bag as well as the water. We have all bonded well so far I think. There was a lot of laughter that wasn't just out of sleep depravation, that night.

It is early morning now, on the first day of orientation. I have rhubarb greek-style yogurt in our mini fridge (yes, a mini meant for four people), and a selection of teas that were on sale calling my name from the kitchen.

It was pouring all day yesterday, but it looks dry now. Even if that is only a misleading morning thing in Ireland, I am ready for this new day. Or at least I think I am now, and if I don't get going now, I might shed a bit of nerve.

So, good morning, late night, or day. Wish me luck!

(It'd also be great if you asked questions about whatever you'd like to hear about, since I'm sure I've left out loads-I'm open to suggestions and I want to make sure I am getting the real, full picture of my experience across)

Cheers,
Julia