"The Carpal Tunnel Of Love"

"So he said "Would it be alright if we just sat
and talked for a little while,
if in exchange for your time
I give you this smile..."

Today, I made the decision to change my location to somewhere slightly more local, and therefore more relatable to my audience, in Arthur's Bar, the Griffith College student bar.

I bought my cup of tea and my pre-packaged "freshly baked" danish pastry. As I sat in my usual spot (by the stools and the long tables), I noticed a young man sitting opposite me. He looked nothing short of miserable. He gave the impression that the end of the world had entered one side of his soul, and eternal pain the other, and both had met with an unbearable crash, right in the middle.



Tears were streaming down his face, free falling onto his newspaper at an alarming rate, which I knew he wasn't even reading, as it was upside-down. His face crumpled into what I can only describe as pure agony every 20 seconds or so, as if he were brutally reminding himself of whatever it was that was crushing him. His shoulders shook violently, his eyes and cheeks were fiery red, the rest of him seemed so white, I thought him to be quite ill.

He would look at his phone every couple of seconds. From the angle at which I sat I could see that he was reading a short message over and over again, and each time he finished he would bury his face in his hands. He was in utter distress, so much so, I also began to feel sad. His pain was palpable.

His phone rang. He picked it up straight away.
"DAD!" He roared down the phone. "She's after breaking up with me! I'm going insane! I don't know what to do, I can't find her anywhere. I didn't run after her at the time, I didn't want to seem weak by following her, but I feel worse than anything you could imagine. I'm in bits. I don't know what to do!"

He explained the situation in between treacherous sobs, and rattling gasps for breath.
"I should have gone after her, I was just trying to keep my pride. I know this wouldn't be happening if I had just done the clever thing and fought for her instead of walking away. She thinks I don't care! I told her I didn't! I'm about to crack up, I don't even care how much of a show I make of myself. You should have seen how it ended, I just left her there! At the bus stop!"

At this stage I was nearly brought to tears myself, and had actually decided not to write about this chap for my blog, as the entire fiasco was making me feel so heavy, and really quite down.
I decided to go for a walk.

I left the college and turned right to go into town. Surely an hours walk into the city centre and back would cheer me up, after all, this wasn't even my problem...

I got as far as the 122 bus stop.

There, sitting on the plastic seat, blonde hair stuck to a clammy, red, sobbing face was a young girl on the phone to someone, pouring her heart out. I knew straight away it was the girl the boy had been crying about in the bar, because before I even reached the bus stop I heard her half screaming, half crying about how someone had left her there when he was clearly in the wrong and he didn't even say anything. Also, she added she thought he had gone to the bar for a drink, so I was nearly positive that I had made the right connection.

Her story was, if possible, even more heartbreaking.
"I do everything for him, you know I do. You see how much money I spend on him. How many people I cancel on just to spend time with him. How hard I try to look nice for him. How tolerant I am of all the girls he knows I don't like but he talks to anyway. I told him he'd have to change, otherwise we'd be finished, and he just walked away, he didn't even say sorry! The bastard!"

I went to walk past her as she was hanging up from whoever was on the phone, but in her love sickness, her madness, her moment of desperation, she reached out to me and begged me to stop for just a second. "Please, please" was what she said to me.

She said she had seen me around on campus, and everyone else she knew properly had gone home for the weekend. She needed somebody to stop her losing her mind, and wanted to know if, just for a little while could I please, please, please wait with her for her bus, if I wasn't in a hurry to be anywhere. Having seen how both her, and he who was presumably part two of this story, were dealing with this dilemma, I knew that the sadness being dealt with was serious, and so I said that of course I had a moment.

So I sat. And I listened. And I successfully (but all the same barely) hid my own tears from this young woman as I was snatched into this story, that I had actually been trying to relieve myself from no more than 15 minutes before hand. I listened, and I listened, and I listened.

I listened to how she had loved him from the moment she had properly spoken to him.

I listened to how it gave her endless pleasure to spend time with him, and see him happy.

I listened to how she watched, and held her tongue as she saw him speaking to girls they both knew wanted him.

I listened to how he flirted with everything that had hair past it's shoulders.

I listened to how he never said thank you for anything.

I listened to how he never told her she was beautiful, even thought she always made sure to look good for him so that he'd be proud.

I listened to how she had given up many things for him, and he hadn't praised her for it until she actually had to ask him to.

I listened to how he would joke about breaking up with her and not notice the tears that would well up in her eyes.

I listened to how she said all this (and more) to him, and that she ended it with a request that he might change, and lose his bad habits, for fear of losing her.

I listened to how he shook his head, looked her up and down once.
and walked away, saying he couldn't care less.

And then all that was left to listen to were sobs. Deep, gut wrenching, genuine sobs.

The 122 came promptly. All I could say was, "It'll be ok! Feel better. I'll see you around campus."

I was no longer in the mood to walk into town. And I sat at the bus stop even after the girl had left, trying to get over what had happened. As I felt a raindrop on my head, I looked up, and saw the young man running to the bus stop at full speed. It was getting quite dark at this time, and headlights were flashing into his face every time a car passed, which was roughly every half a second, so no wonder he couldn't distinguish between me and her. No wonder he just saw the blonde hair, and made his assumption.

I was shouted at to stay there, but I got up straight away, for fear he was building his hopes up to think that I was her, and she had been waiting for him.

I had never seen anyone more disappointed to see me in my entire 18 year old life. His entire frame slumped the second he saw he had mistook me for the other girl. He was still crying, but it was made worse by the fact that he was also gulping down the air trying to catch his breath after running.

He began his sentence with;
"Have you seen..."
But I knew what he wanted to know, and so before he finished his sentence I replied;
"She got on a bus."

He turned, staring in the direction of the road. I could do no more. This was all so intense. I muttered that I was sorry, turned on my heel, and went to walk back to college.

Who knew that, when observing the human race and their habits, one would get caught up with their subjects. So much so that this would become more than a blog due for next Monday. It would become an emotional, dramatic, true story of two lives that should have been happy moulding together, and a third left to accidentally walk in on the carnage, and feel awful as they were unable to pick up any pieces.

"And it's you,
And it's me,
And we're sleeping through the day.
And I'm five years ago,
And three thousand miles away..."

Country Bumpkin Vs City Slicker

"Well it's a big,big city and it's always the same,
Can never be too pretty, tell me your name ..."

When I was 6 years old, my family moved from County Dublin to County Kildare. While I settled into my new school quite well, I couldn't help but miss my old home, living near to my granny, attending my old school, etc.

I carried this longing for Dublin city all through my teens. I thought I still posessed this preference even these days, up until this morning.

Walking into the cafe, I was worried that I might run out of money and a capacity for caffine before I would be able to find a suitable story for this week's post. However, no sooner had I ordered my white mocha, when I (and the rest of the café with me) was faced with a comical, almost classical dispute between a man and a woman.

Starngely enough, the man (from what I gathered) was from Kildare. The woman had lived in the city for most of her life. And the feud, though full of passion, was also full of hilarity, and how on earth the two had even managed to cross paths was beyond me.

"You'd want to change yer tone fair rapid miss, I've done nahtin worth frettin' over."

"You're commentary was unnecessary. And offensive. I come in here for a quick coffe break to relax and you make foul observations, not even to yourself, but aloud! Who do you think you are?"

"I'm John Keogh, and it was nahtin got to do with you. Get yhur head out yhur arse and leave me be!"

At this stage, I think it would be worth mentioning that Mr.Keogh was in a typical farmers Sunday best, (even though it's only Friday). Hair waxed into a side parting and flattened down to his forehead, save for the mad tuft sticking up at the back. A checkered shirt with courdery trousers, and a grand pair of freshly polished brown loafers.

Our business lady was dressed in the stereotypical pinstriped suit with the clickity-clackety heels, and a bun on top of her head that was pulled so far back I was surprised that her eyeballs weren't popping out of her head.

Our dear Mr. Keogh appeared to have had enough at this stage, and was seemingly backing away from the argument, when our business woman planted a shocking verbal blow to poor John's ears;-

"Rude, ignorant culchie. Get back to doing nothing with your life and shovelling shite in between!"

Ouch.

John winced. I myself felt an indignant stab of offence. How dare she?! How unproffessional! How unpolitically correct! And just plain indecent and inconsiderate! I was furious, and if I hadn't been trying to avoid her gaze since the argument started for fear she would see me writing down nearly everything she said, I would have almost certainly stood up and said something to her.

She had no idea the work that went into being a farmer! The freezing cold 6am starts, the sleepless nights, the physical labour endured in between! What was even more infuriating (if possible) was the way she delivered the sentance. The tone she used. She may as well have spat fire.

I quickly rearranged the streotype "Business woman" in my head, from busy, hardworking and clever; to closed minded, rude and pretentious. After all, that was my turf, and my people she was genralising into one big uneducated and non-existant pile of muck. And I was disgusted. My family, my boyfriend, my best friends, all from different aspects of country life. Each as successful and civilised, as any person you might happen across in any given city.

I couldn't help but smile, and also feel a stab of pride as Mr. Keogh peacefully retorted;

"Well, we supply yah with yer meat, and yer vegetables, and yer leather for yer shoes, and the grains for yer alcohol, and apart from anything else we beat yah more times in the shport than I can remember, so we must be doing something right. Ah sure yer only a young one anyway. What would you know?"

As I mentioned earlier, I have no idea what started this argument, but the way it ended left me proud to have roots and dealings in the land of the Lily Whites.

"And straight I will repair

To the Curragh of Kildare

For it's there I'll find tidings of my dear."

Brothers

"I find, by experience, that the mind and the body are more than married, for they are most intimately united; and when one suffers, the other sympathizes"

Taking the bus from one side of town to the other, at 7.45 in the morning,wearing the same thing you wore last night and without a smidge of food in your stomach, just to make it to college on time, is a frightfully drawn out, boring and uncomfortable process. One often finds themselves self pitying, and in no mood to do anything other than moan.

This morning, I was in said position. I was tired, hungry, nautious, and certainly was not keeping an eye out for people to write my blog on. However, such an incredible case presented itself to me, that I feel I simply have to write about it. Even though I did not have my laptop (I barely had conciousness), and was not in my café of choice (I was on a rickety 122 going through Phibbsborough), my story that I am about to tell has (I think) complete relevance to my blog.

Two men. Two grown men. Very similar (almost (if not entirely) identical) in appearance, sitting three seats ahead of me on the bottom deck. One wheelchair. One walking stick. Both men seemed to be very close, sitting almost on top of eachother, heads pressed together in deep discussion, a blanket covering them from head to toe. Suddenly, the discussion became quite loud, and it transpired that this converstation was actually quite a vicous feud.

Roars echoed around the bus belonging to the two individuals. Threats of violence, accusations of theft, statements of disgust, all whirled around the bus like a hurricane. No body could escape the loud, abusive and slightly alien sounding booms of agression.

From what I could gather, both men felt they spent far too much time together. One man in particular said he couldn't even go to the bathroom without having to make sure it was OK with his companion. There were complaints of the lack of love in each of their lives, each one blaming the other in turn.

I couldn't quite figure out what on earth was keeping them from reaching the solution! Clearly if they both agreed that they were being suffocated by eachother, time apart would seem like the obvious antidote... yes?

I soon realised that, for some unfortunate people in life, the most obvious and (seemingly) easiest solution to their problems in the eyes of the general public, were actually nigh impossible and strenuously difficult.

A knarled hand reached out from under the tartan blanket, and pressed the stop button as we were driving into Harcourt Street. The two stood up in awkward union. The blanket fell. And I witnessed two brothers joined at the head attempting to get themselves together in time to get off the bus.

One brother helped his sibling into the wheelchair, bending down almost the full way. The wheelchair bound brother handed his companion the walking stick that had been on a seat. I watched as the two worked together to, not even get off the bus, but make their way to the door. I watched with fascination and admiration as the ramp was lowered down and they, with some difficulty, shuffled and wheeled off the bus.

I was instantly ashamed of my self pitying, resentful and grumbling self. Poor me, making my way to a good college, in minimum discomfort because I had just come back from a fun filled, eventful night on the town. No wonder the two passangers had such a passionate row in the middle of everybody. They had never had two minutes to themselves. Always with eachother.

I felt very sad getting off the bus, and it felt strange walking up the road to my college while simultaneously thinking of what it might be like to have to wheel myself instead, or bend nearly the full way over and shuffle along with a walking stick. I couldn't imagine it properly, the thought became quite sickening and upsetting.

This blog's purpose and aim is to explore every kind of human trait and characteristic available to me. I did not think I would be writing about such genuine courage or determination so early on in my posts, but if I were to ignore this story and try to find a more light hearted or easily relatable one, I don't think I would be doing my job properly as a future jounalist. The brothers reminded me how good nearly all of us have it, and how easy it is to forget because of work and stress.

"You remind me of a time,
When I'd feel so alive,
Do you remember that?
Do you remember that?"

Welcome To Your Life

Welcome to your life. Welcome to your friend's life. The life of your neighbour. The life of your lecturer. Welcome to my life.

This blog will be all about people. Human interaction. Human nature. Human habits. Human error. My aim is to address and observe every type of personality that there is to experiance here in Dublin. Therefore, the list is endless, but I will, of course, do my best to post something relating to you. There are very few who will escape :P

So I have my café of choice, which I will be found in at least twice a week. Perhaps peeking over a newspaper, or peering over my laptop screen (this location will of course have to be kept top secret so as not to blow my cover). Essentailly, I will be trying to figure out Why we are attracted to eachothers faults. How do we manage to find happiness in misery? What are the most common quirks and habits belonging to us? What is the strangest and yet most wonderful character I will be able to provide you information with? Maybe one week you will be the strange and wonderful character that this blog will revolve around.

Hello fascination (: