Listening to- Black Me Out-Against me!
Life is not always perfect. Any adventure comes with misadventures.
Like wrenching a fish from its pond. It dreams of a world outside its small existence, but it doesn't realize how truly comfortable that pond is. The temperature is perfect and the fish knows every corner and seeks solace in this familiarity. This fish often tries to jump out of its pond each time failing without help, left gills gasping until someone notices the misadventure and slips the poor thing back into its comfortable pond.
After so many jumps, the fish finally makes it to a new destination. Just what they have been dreaming of. Only the new pond is smaller with none of the comforts and familiarity that the other has.
The fish also happens to be a different breed of all the others in this new pond, one that looks much different then the others and in a small pond everyone notices differences. Some of the other fish gawk when they swim by, others nip at the fishes fins, a few ignore the fish completely. The new pond has all the potential in the world, to be something that the old one wasn't, but all the new pond does is become a smaller foreign pond that can begin to feel familiar but is never truly going to be like the old pond.
This isn't always a bad thing. The fish adapts and finds new comforts, and new joys.
Sometimes, I feel like that fish, and Ireland is a really small pond.
Recently, although, I relate best to the Liffey river.
A steady stream that soldiers through a changing city. A river that changes with every few paces.
It ebbs and flows with the natural highs and lows of life. Some times the water runs slow pushing through and regretfully dragging object along with it. The water smells rotten and is so low that banks are visible at the widest points. This reveals the flaws that the river craves so dearly to conceal, the garbage, the muck and the imperfections.
Never forget that the river, although dirty, smelly, and low, still flows. The river is always flowing, always moving on. I admire that.
Then it rains. The sky opens up and seems to drop upon the city. The sound silence and then the rhythmic pounding of the water on the city streets. The world seems to go black and white for a moment.
The streets and the people groan at the sky, wishing only for sunshine.
But the river craves the rain. In the days between when the sky is clear it begins to slow down. The river longs for the sky to fall upon its banks for it to exhale its gift upon the ground and into its wake.
While the city aches for sunshine, the Liffey yearns for a downpour.
Sometimes the river waits patiently for days, and only for a moment will the sky comply. Other times the clouds fill the heavens for days and while the city whines in chorus, the river revels in solitude.
The rain fuels the river, gives it power to push full force through any obstacle in its way the water clear and refreshing hiding its imperfections and filling it with the strength the carry on. The strength to move silently and briskly, pushing its way through the corners of the city and onward.
The river moves on without regards for those passing by. Some stop and admire rushing water for a little while, but none ever stay. The rain often deters them from remaining for too long.
The river rises and falls. Some days it rushes and other days it slows to a graceful and sluggish pace. Others are deterred from the river and what it takes joy in, but the Liffey never minds it just continues on in the chaotic state of flux it is used to. It always keeps moving on.
So now I am moving on. Moving out of my housing on campus and not always pleasant living situation. Moving into a and bright beautiful new home. Like the river yearning for the rain, I need for change. So with a new home comes a new leg of my journey here.
From Dublin, With Love.
Olivia
