I'm going to try to get this out quick, because my cousin Stephanie is HERE in Ireland and sleeping on the couch and I'd like to write this before it's time for us to head out and explore Galway- and then heading to Dublin for the greatest St. Paddy's Day of all time.
It's been wonderful to have her visit, and again, like I did with the group from La Salle here on spring break, get to show off this city now feels so much like home. When she first arrived on Wednesday night I took her to all of my favorite pubs, and yesterday we went to a play put on by some members of Writers Soc that was set in and around Galway and even the NUIG campus. Though now I'm apprehensive about venturing over to the Engineering building (where I have my Celtic Languages class and which was the setting for a murder/haunting in the play), we will definitely be checking out the Spanish Arch and all of the other wonderful Galwegian landmarks.
Last night after the play we decided to stay in and hang around the apartment, and ended up eating ice cream and watching The Perks of Being a Wallflower, a recent film adaptation of a book that I forgot how much I loved. It was directed by the author, so followed extremely closely to the truth of the text, and is just overall a fantastic story that needs to be heard by everyone. It does handle a lot of mature content, though, so take note.
One of the two great lines from the story, along with "we accept the love we think we deserve", is uttered twice in the movie, though most strikingly at the end. The introvert high school freshman main character is driving through a tunnel with his two best friends, and stands up in the back of the truck as music blasts. He's been through a ton during the course of the plot, and closes the scene with "And in that moment, I swear we were infinite."
I can't explain what about the line gives me goosebumps, because it even works out of context and I'd remembered that alone from the book even before seeing the movie last night for the first time. (I'm notoriously bad at seeing movies everyone else has.) I just find it so beautiful, though. It's the moment of bliss and contentment where nothing in the world can touch or harm you, and it's fleeting, but to capture it I think is one of life's greatest gifts.
Yesterday while Stephanie was out exploring the Cliffs of Moher and the beautiful Connemara landscape, I went to a training session through the group I've joined that visits an elderly persons day care center, and got a bit of advice about talking to those in their golden years of life who may not always be in tune with what's happening around them. It included a lot of good reminders on the dignity of humanity and the importance of connections, and at the end I had a really thought-provoking talk with the woman who's been taking us each week and really leads the sing-a-longs, keeping everyone's spirits high. It jumped from a conversational remark on the new Pope Francis, expanded into some tricky theological territory, but then moved towards a peaceful consensus on how life will frequently get you down, but that the important thing is to keep moving and enjoy each bit that you can.
There have been a lot of moments recently when I've forced myself to slow down on the nightly walk back from campus where I'm finally starting to lock myself in the library for hours on end, to just sit along the river, look up at the stars and illuminated cathedral and breathe in the realization that this is where I'm living for two more months. (I do this less frequently when it rains). It's hard at times to think about life at La Salle or at home churning on without me, but when I stand against the railing of the river where the bridge is all lit up and there's sometimes a woman playing a flute, it really does feel Infinite. Being here has made me take advantage of those times so much more than I normally do in the rush and bustle of campus life, and while I'm going to love the moment getting off the plane and hugging my loved ones, there's no reason I shouldn't take full advantage of each one here, too.
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