Bookings

So instead of sorting my clothes and commencing the packing process, yesterday was spent right here on my laptop finding places to stay in Ireland and London and booking them.  Now, while this was a productive endeavor, I felt like I was accomplishing nothing.  My room still looks like a war zone, I have some laundry to do, and don't even get me started on my closet.  I love my mother dearly, but did she really need me to navigate the interwebs?  She has her own laptop and knows how to use the internet.  AND she's the one with the credit card.  So why was I fated to sit on my computer and do this?  I suppose she'll learn to get on without me.  Practice makes perfect...even with using computers.  We'll be staying in a self-catering apartment in Cork City, then we'll be in a hotel in Dublin (one we've stayed in before).  London is still up in the air because it's bloody expensive...even for a dump. 

  I was supposed to have help packing my room and going through my clothes.  Help has not arrived.  Do my friends not realize that helping me pack is a theraputic way for us to bond?  For us to share a sense of community together before I leave?  It's not just about 'helping me pack' or 'clean my room'.  It's about sharing meaningful time together.  Ugh.  And it's not like any of them are coming around asking to hang out.  Are they separating from me already?  Would they rather start missing me while I'm still here and able to see them?  I don't understand that phenomenon.  Wouldn't one want to spend MORE time with someone just before they leave for a long time instead of less? 

Tough Stuff

When does "just a boy" become more?  I'm about 2 and a half weeks away from leaving...and a big part of me is dreading getting on that plane.  I wasn't expecting it to hurt this much.  I'm the one about to embark on the adventure of a lifetime...twice over with grad school in Ireland next year.  But I feel so...sad, alone, hurt, scared.  I feel like my heart is breaking just a little bit more with each passing day.  And I've gotten into a routine of crying myself to sleep almost every night.  Any elder would tell me that I'm being foolish, or feeling too much over "some guy".  They'd say I need to focus on me and maybe I'll meet somebody overseas.  Wait...what?  Focus on me...and meet somebody overseas?  Am I meeting this person before or after I focus on me?  (And, NEWSFLASH: Of course I'm gonna meet somebody overseas!  I'll meet a lot of people overseas!  Because there are people who live overseas!)   But he's not just "some guy", some dime a dozen that you just pick up off the street.  No, he's not god.  Not perfect, he has issues just like anyone else.  But somehow, without even trying, he's become so important.  An essential part of my life that I'm going to miss terribly.  Yes, there's always Skype, and Instant Messaging, but it's not the same.  We're going to have to find a new normal.  I don't regret deciding to go.  And I am looking forward to teaching in France and going to school in Ireland.  It's paramount to my growing into who I'm meant to be.  And actually, I almost turned down going to France.  It was after his encouragement that I actually decided to apply for the program.  It means the world to me that he encouraged me to go, even if it meant he'd be left behind.  A lesser man would not have been able to do that.  I would do the same for him.  Sorry for the heaviness of this post.  I try to be strong about this whole thing and keep smiling, but every once and awhile I have weak moments.  This is all part of my journey.
Cheers, Keely

Victory!!! I think...

So, I went to the French Embassy today and applied for my long stay visa.  Things went very smooth once I got there.  However, it was a slightly bumpy road along the way.  Once again, I was up waaaaay too late last night.  1am to be exact...well...ok, maybe a little after 1am. Got up at 6am, cursed whatever gods on high for creating such a rather 'ungodly' hour, then proceeded to get myself together (make-up, black pencil skirt, teal top, and some low heels.  Very classy if I do say so myself).  Well, as it turns out, I may or may not have enough passport photos of myself to give to the Embassy (though why ANY country would possibly want more hideous photos of me boggles my mind).  So, I manage to persuade my mother into letting me borrow her car so I can run to the 24hr Walgreens (a drug store, for those of you not from the US) and get passport photos taken.  Time is now 7:15am.  It takes about an hour (or more with traffic) to get to our destination.  My appointment is at 9:30am.  Long story short, photos take more time than expected (naturally), and I make it home by about ten past 8.  We get on the road by 8:20am then hit traffic after about 40 minutes of smooth sailing.  Good times.  I ended up being late, but it didn't really matter because the appointment times are really only used as an indicator for the embassy to know how many people are coming any given day.  Oh, I didn't even need those extra photos.  Nor did I need half of the 'required' documents.  Ugh.  That's bureaucracy for ya.  Anyway, the embassy lady (a very nice French woman) told me that they'd be sending me a letter in the mail, probably in about a week telling me to come back to the embassy with my passport and they will give me my visa!  No appointment necessary.  So yeah, then my mom and I spent a couple hours in town outside the embassy.  It was really nice...though, I was getting tired of being in my pencil skirt.  I am soooo glad things went so well today.  I'll be checking in with you all later.  Stay tuned.    

Forms and Fees...the joys of beaurocracy

So apparently my long stay visa is going to cost me $129.00.  So, not only am I filling out a bunch of forms and showing every document that proves my existence, they also want me to PAY for them to tell me that yes, I am in fact a human residing on planet Earth and that I can in fact work and live in their country.  Thank you, France, I really appreciate it.  Look, I understand that governments need to know that they're not just letting any riff-raff and shenanigans into their country, but for those of us who have in fact been hired by a school, and are totally legit, it's really frustrating.  Being a foreigner is frustrating.  Pretty soon my life will come down to words on paper and inconvenience.  I know the US isn't really any better, and I commend those legal immigrants who are driven enough to persevere through the process, but still, it sucks.  I have my visa appointment at the French Consulate tomorrow morning.  I'm not excited, I'm not amused, and I am definitely very nervous.  I've been in this boat before as a student studying abroad...but it was different then, more things were already set up for me.  I pretty much had to just show up and hand over some paper.  My visa was given to me that same day.  I have no idea what I'm walking into tomorrow.  Ugh.  Wish me luck.

Something on my mind

While one person goes off to another country, new experience, and new people, there are always those who are left behind.  Friends, family, and significant others.  We rarely hear about them and what they're going through.  Why am I bringing this up?  Well, my...ok, this is where it gets complicated, but for lack of a better label so to speak, my significant other sent me a youtube video of surprise visits home from soldiers serving in the Middle East.  Well, not only did he win the supposed challenge of making me cry (though that's not much of a challenge if you know the right buttons to push), it also made me think of my up coming departure...and who I leave behind.  It also made me have romantic fantasies of returning home next Summer and running into his arms in the airport and him picking me up and spinning me around and kissing me.  (PS: yes, I am well aware that I am a hopeless romantic).  While fantasies are all well and good, they are still my fantasies.  My vision of everything being great.  I'm the one gallivanting off to Europe.  I'm the one getting to meet new people with accents and possibly even new men...with accents.  I'm the one who's getting a taste of a career.  And yeah, why not polish it off with a dramatic return home complete with waiting arms and a smile?  I mean, a girl can dream right?  Of course she can.  But it's not fair.  He doesn't say too much about what's going on inside him.  Only that it's hard.  While I'm enjoying 1,000 year old architecture eating a croissant at an equally old cafe, he's going to work, going to school, doing homework, playing video games, hanging with the guys, and seeing family.  Which all in all isn't bad.  But it's not new, not different.  And I'm not there.  Well, he won't be with me either.  I'll want to share my experiences with him, show him what I see, introduce him to the people I meet.  And I wonder, will he be wanting to tell me about his day at work, or his video game scores, or his time with the family?  Is he also thinking about reuniting next Summer?  On a more serious note, how many military wives, faced with a much harsher reality than simply their husband going to another country for a while, like what if he doesn't come back alive, are forced to create a sense of normalcy while their love is away?  How do they cope?  And how come they aren't revered like their soldier husbands?  Sorry, that was slightly a separate issue.  And I'm getting tired.  Thanks for reading.
Cheers, Keely

Of things mundane

Naturally the first step before going away for a long time is packing...among other things, like getting a visa and filling out numerous forms, and signing away my soul to the French government for 7 months.  But packing is pretty high up there on the list.  Alas, I can't seem to get motivated to do so.  Perhaps it has to do with the fact that I'm being lazy, or maybe it's because there's a chance I may not be returning to my childhood home as I always have in the past (my mother is moving).  Not only am I packing clothes and books for my trip, but I'm also packing up my life...or at least my life in the sense of possessions.  I'm hesitant to pack up my already paired down belongings and say 'goodbye' for a time to each memory attached to a book, an inlaid wooden box (made in Poland), and pictures...among other things.  I don't see this as being materialistic, just as an attachment to memories and emotion assigned to certain objects at this moment in time.  See, the more I pack up, the closer it brings me to leaving the place I grew up.  My roots, which have always run deep, are now being transplanted.  I certainly don't see this as a bad thing, but it's hard.  Growing pains, if you will.  My room has always been my sanctuary and now I am forced to find a new one; a new room, in a new house, in a new country, and perhaps not have a sanctuary waiting for me in my own country when I return briefly next Summer.  I will return a foreigner in the country of my birth.  You see now my dilemma.  Packing for something like this is a lonely journey, but an exciting, scary, and awesome one.  Wish me luck!  I've begun my laundry and will be sorting through my clothes shortly.  Isn't it amazing how something as simple as folding clothes into a suitcase can carry the weight of something as immense as a life?

Introduction

Hello, Dia duit, and Salut, Everyone!

 Welcome to my first blog post.  Allow me to introduce myself.  My name is Keely and I am a girl between three countries; the USA, Ireland, and France.  I've decided to write a blog chronicling my journeys in each of these places.  Starting September 8th 2010 I will be leaving the USA and traveling to Europe, ultimately ending up in France to teach English for 7 months.  After my stint in France, I'll be in graduate school in Ireland.  After that...who knows?  I'm an American with Irish ancestry who speaks French.  I am proud of my own country, but am deeply in love with Ireland and my Irish heritage, and also have developed a passion and affinity for France and the French language.  As a 22 year old recent college graduate with my whole life ahead of me, I wonder, in which of these three places will I end up?  Or is it possible that I will always live as a nomad between all three?  All that remains to be seen.  In the meantime  while I figure it out, I invite you to continue reading my blog, leave comments, and hopefully enjoy my writing and maybe learn something new about American, Irish, and French culture...or simply about me and my musings :-) 

Cheers, Keely