My Ireland

by Becky Sees

The phrase seems simple enough. It’s tossed around nonchalantly, this notion of an Ireland that belongs to me and me alone. I’ve been asked to keep a piece of it with me, not only by the people I’m leaving, but by those to whom I’m returning. But what are they really asking for? What does it really mean, MY Ireland?

This entire semester has been a journey and an adventure. I’ve scrambled over the blue-gray rocks of the Burren to the stone ring fort at the top. I’ve been tossed around in a small boat on the Atlantic as we tacked and rolled towards the Cliffs of Moher. I’ve explored the rich culture of Dublin, the gorgeous scenery on the Ring of Kerry, the religious ruins of west Cork, and the majestic terrain of Connemara. I’ve gazed at the stars on the beaches of Ballintoy, scaled cliff faces on Giant’s Causeway, walked along the Bogside in Derry, and reflected on the murals in Belfast. I’ve trekked through Yeats country on horseback, visited the ancient sacred sites at Newgrange and the Hill of Tara, and strolled down piers to the Irish Sea in Howth and Dun Laoghaire.

All these things I’ve done have been marvelous experiences in themselves. But when I think about coming back to Ireland (as, let’s face it, I’m bound to do), these aren’t the things I look forward to revisiting. Something in them will be different. Something in them will be missing.

The Burren will be missing the trailing line of students, with Kevin urging us to be more like the famed Macedonian phalanx. The Cliffs of Moher will lack the echo of our nervous laughter along the cliff’s edge, trying to get a group picture. Kerry and Connemara won’t provide me with partners with whom I can take a series of ridiculous pictures; Howth and Dun Laoghaire will be wanting for my fellow explorers who have no idea what there is to do or see. The beaches of Ballintoy will be empty without my collection of talented singers, and no pub in all of Dublin would be complete without a friend to share a story and a pint.

So what is my Ireland, then? My Ireland isn’t the landscape or the history or the culture. My Ireland is the very special group of people with whom I shared all of that. My Ireland is the family of students and staff that I’ve acquired, this group that has laughed and cried with me, that has stuck together through the brightest days and the darkest nights. This family is my most precious souvenir from my time here. This is MY Ireland. And this is something that I will keep with me always.