Everybody Knows You Cried Last Night

It is so so so so so painful to see somebody you love in distress. It's even more painful to not be able to show the weakness you're feeling, and to have to be strong instead. And when the problem is the death of a loved one, and there's clearly nothing you can do, it's even worse, because you would actually prefer to have to bite off, chew and swallow each one of your fingers rather than sit there and oh so obviously not be able to do anything for anybody.

I thought that, by mentally keeping my distance from the reality of an inevitable situation, I would be a help to the person that needed me. Instead, I was overwhelmed with grief and often would have to shift all my energy from a blackly negative form back into a positive one, which was exhausting. I had to stifle bout after bout of sobs and cries.

It wasn't the fact that I was at a funeral, and somebody had gone. It was the fact that nearly every face I saw that day was one I had come to know and care about over the past few months, and each one was glistening with tears and clearly racked with despair. And it was heartbreaking to think that, these people, who I had only ever experianced in a jolly, ecstatic, humerous form, could be so defeated by something that no body, no matter how hard anyone tries, can help in the slightest. Watching them grieve over the death of a loved one, with time being the only promise of emotional recovery.

I guess you never know how much you love somebody until you see them in a vulnerable form, and realise that you love them even more than you did before, and more than you thought possible. Even then, your revelation baffles you and you still dont fully comprehend what's going on inside your heart and your head.

All I have learned since Thursday (today being Sunday) , is that, I'm a useless softie who can't control her emotions, just like everybody else deep down. I've also learned that I would do anything for someone, who, this time last year, I didn't even know.

Thank God for fate, and curse it at the same time.

Method To My Madness

Shane is an 18 year old young man who stands at 5" something. He has hair that is some colour or another. He was last seen in Portarlington, talking to two males in a white car, wearing... well... truth be told, I can't specify what he was wearing either.

Shane was at an 18th birthday party when he disappeared. He has been missing since Saturday.

I wish I could tell you more about Shane. Who he is, what he looks like, even just providing his second name would be an improvement. But I can't. This is because the news of Shane's disappearance came to me through word of mouth, a friend knew a friend at the party who knew a friend of Shane. The disappearance of this young man has not been made public at all.

So far, since the day of his disappearance, there has been 1 official search for Shane. This was initiated up by his community, not Guardaí officials.

Why hasn't this been made public? How can Ireland keep news stories going for weeks upon weeks, of little girls going missing in England and all sorts of European countries,  when they cannot even report the disappearence of somebody who belongs to our own country?

Shane is not the only missing persons case not being publisised. There are people every day, who, for one reason or another, go away and never come back, that we just don't hear of.

So seeing as the media would prefer to talk about the economy (becuase we haven't heard about that in "ages" ... :\ ) and over-weight Ministers of Health getting cheese thrown at them, seeing as the media would rather speak of this politicain saying that and that politician saying this, instead of doing what they are supposed to do, which is report news that would be in the interest of the public, such as the disappearance of the people who belong to our nation, we have to take it upon ourselves to look after eachother.

We have to mind eachother. Look out for one another.  Watch eachother.

Seeing as Shane's disappearance has been left to word of mouth around the County instead of the paper's to deal with nationwide, all we can do is hope and pray he is fouond. Maybe his family will get enough missing posters put up so that a couple of hundred people will know to keep an eye out for him. Hopefully they will hand some into different pictures of him into Guarda stations in each town, in a few counties, and hopefully he'll be spotted.

Hopefully. But doubtably. Please don't forget, we need to mind eachother when we're out at night, even when you're at a party and you think everyone around you is somebody that you can trust.
Just mind yourself and your friends.

Just because no one has heard of Shane outside of his community, does not mean that the pain inside his community is bearable, or will pass. This problem won't go away like Shane did.

93% of abductions end in the death of the victem after 24 hours.

Upon speaking to a good friend of mine about the student protest, held the other week against the proposal of a rise in college fees, we both agreed that it was a very emotional affair, whether anybody admitted it or not. Tens of thousands of us, Irish or otherwise, young, broke,  and coming together in an attempt to stay educated, refusing to consider the prospect of emigration without a fight. With such dedication and passion, the future of Ireland could have startling potential if the Government could clear the way for us a little bit and clear up their mess. We were listening to his ipod at the time, and when this song came on it was instantaneously deemed the most appropriate given the conversation we were having.

Sharks In Your Mouth

As I was walking down O’Connell Street late last night, with a very good friend of mine, it struck me that, after walking the whole way from Griffith College, stopping off for a late night coffee might be a nice thing to do before turning back home. Nowhere else was open except Mc Donald’s, so much to my disappointment, we paid a visit to the infamous Mc Cafe.

As we queued at the back of a considerably large line, I couldn’t help overhearing a woman complaining (although she was being quite loud) about the rudeness that tarnishes today’s society. Why, not 3 hours ago she had been in work, and was asked by her boss to photocopy something “without as much as a ‘please Martina’, or ’thank you Miss. Stafford’, or even an acknowledgement of my offer to make tea or coffee for him!”

Miss Stafford went on to say that bad manners were a sign of complete ignorance and idiocy. Apparently, they also stemmed from a poor upbringing.

Miss Stafford went on and on and on, and my friend and I had to laugh as we saw the woman’s friend with a very fixed smile on her face, and her eyes glassy as if she were somewhere very far away, perhaps she was bringing herself back to her childhood where her mother used teach her about manners, except Miss Stafford was performing a voice over.

The topic for discussion then moved on from bad manners, to the ignorance of people in general.

People who forget to cover their mouths when they sneeze. People who dither along and don’t consider others who might be in a rush. People who don’t uphold any religious views, and consequently don’t bother to think of others who might feel very strongly about something, by passing discriminative or offensive remarks.  I was beginning to feel like the centre of the earth, where everything is meant to end, was actually in the form of Miss Stafford, standing in Mc Donald’s at half 10 on a Wednesday night waiting to buy herself a coffee.

In fairness to the lady, she was helping pass the time, as the queue was moving at a snail’s pace.

Next thing we knew, we were next in line to be served, and the dictator was being seen to.

“Yes I want a cappuccino with 1 sugar, no 2 actually. And a Danish pastry. The apple one.”

Without so much as a please or thank you, she turned back around to her friend.

“Oh, sorry Dee I forgot you wanted to order as well. You can ask when the girl comes back with my things.”

Upon the girls return and Martina being handed her coffee, her friend went to order her things, but was (what can only be described as rudely) interrupted by a bitter sounding;

“I asked for the apple Danish, not the peach.”

“We don’t have apple, I’m sorry Madam.”

“Well then I won’t have anything except my coffee, is there one sugar in here?”

“You put the sugar in yourself, over there Madam.”

And without so much as a “Never mind” or a “Not to worry”, or even a “How much will that be altogether then?” , a fistful of change was banged on the counter, and poor Dee was ordered to hurry up with whatever it was she was asking for.

As if this weren’t a contradicting situation enough, when Miss Stafford walked over to get her one sugar, she spent an unreasonable amount of time deciding whether she’d actually take a second one or not. Then she noticed the chocolate sprinkles she could have, and spent an unnatural amount of time examining the contents, while a steady queue of people who had been waiting for their beverages behind her in the coffee queue, had begun to grow in number behind the sugar stand.

Clearly, Miss Stafford was not aware of the delays she was causing, or her extreme rudeness she had displayed not 10 minutes previously to the lady serving her her coffee. Perhaps this was a good thing, as judging by her case she had presented to the world earlier, if she were aware of the example of “pure rudeness” and “inconsiderate stalling” she had just showed us all, I doubt she would have been able to live with herself.

Perfect Example Of Modest Beauty And Human Character; Cheryl Cole

StarrrrStruckkkk

The effect that a beautiful lady has on a room when she strides in, is a very interesting thing.

Such colourful expressions (easily readable and completely undeniable) appear instantaneously amongst the people around her. And often the beholder of said sentiments is completely unaware that they are displaying such obvious signals as to how they are feeling.

For instance, when I was travelling on the DART a few days ago, a young woman posessing charming features and supporting a fragile, delicate frame entered my carriage. She was chatting on the phone, and she had a distinct yet pleasant cockney accent. Everything about her screamed "Pay attention to me!", simply because her person held something of interest to anybody who might glance at her.

Two young girls sitting in the seats ahead of me were some of the first to catch sight of the young female, and if looks could kill...
Pure jealousy oozed out of the two girls' gazes, it was so remarkably bitter. Two pairs of beady eyes followed the young lady all the way down to her seat, and even when she sat down, I could just about make out pathetic critisisms made by the girls, vain attempts to find some kind of flaw in her.
"Her eyes are freakishly big..."
"Her hair is obviously dyed..."
"She's so pale, she looks sick..."
"I think I just saw her wiping her nose on her sleeve..."

Further up the carriage, there was a group of young lads, who had been quiet before the young stunner got on the train, but all of a sudden, were ranting and raving about how they bet this school in the rugby last weekend, and that school in tennis last summer, and how they walked this upset girl home last week, and got that drunk girl into a taxi last night... blah blah blah. Each boy taking a turn to see if the girl was paying attention to his heroic stories.

A girl sittng diagonally across from me was trying to keep her boyfriend focussed on just the two of them, a series of dry jokes from her were followed by a forced laugh from him, followed by a swift glance in the mystery girl's direction nearly every time. Finally the girl gave up, and sourly warned her distracted boyfriend to stop turning around.

I too have to admit that, although he had his back turned to her, and therefore did not see her, I was doing everything in my power to prevent my own boyfriend noticing this fresh, young, striking face and figure. I even resorted to looking for help with the crossword, something that I normally would be far too proud to admit I needed help with.

Different people of different ages at different stages of their lives were all displaying some sort of reaction to the rare beauty presented to them. Jealousy, lust, resentment, envy, admiration, fasciantion,awe; all painted on faces belonging to heads that were turning at an alarming rate.

Did this girl actually deserve any of the attention she was getting? Surely she at least deserved better than what the jealous terrible two were (poorly) attempting to hand out to her? And what of the half dozen young men, who may or may not have had girlfriends at home, or girlfriends who they could have even been on their way to see right there and then? Is it right that one person can make 6, or even 7 people, dredge up any success stories they have just for 10 minutes of glory with someone they'll probably never see again? Did this girl notice the effect she seemed to have on people??

Truth be told, I can't even answer on behalf of my own reaction, as I don't even know if I was successful at maintaining the attention of my boyfriend, therefore I remain undecided at how I feel towards the girl that may or may not have distorted his will to live, even if it was only for a moment.

Surely we all have the potential to be that breathtaking? Surely the vast majority, if not all, of us are already that good looking, and naturally charming, it's just that we, (hopefully) like that girl, are oblivious to the adoring gazes, twitters of approval and tuts of jealousy and disrespect?

I'd like to think we could all have such a dazzling effect on eachother, and that we all vaguely resemble a frightfully good looking, thin, windswept young woman in her late teens or early twenties.

The secret of true beauty, belonging to anybody, could be that, while everyone else around you notices your charm right from the off, you may be oblivious to it, and therefore are able to wear your other strengths well, with grace,  leaving out any cockiness or self absorbed tendencies. Hopefully this quality lies in all of us, and not just that stunning stranger on her way to Blackrock.

"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..."