Mitchell Scholar Blogs

Parnell Street is one of the busiest streets in central Dublin and is also home to one of the most racially and ethnically diverse areas of the city. Following the British occupation of Ireland, the street was renamed after Charles Stewart Parnell, parliamentarian and former leader of the Irish Nationalist Party. To the east of Parnell Square, you can find Nigerian, Brazilian, Indian, Vietnamese, Korean, and Chinese restaurants and businesses.

I first found myself at Parnell Street per the recommendation of my friend Azeez, who after examining my tattered hair line said, “head to Parnell bro; they’ll fix you up – I promise.” A good friend is one who lets you know when your hair is looking like a mess. 

My hair is such a huge part of my identity. Black hair has always been a site for resistance – there’s always that history that’s tied to it. So, even when you try and not make hair political, the history of black bodies and hair, particularly black women’s hair, is innately tied to a political struggle. 

Locking my hair five years ago was a way of outwardly expressing love for myself, love for my people, love for my culture. So naturally, before moving to Dublin, I was quite concerned about finding the salons and products necessary to care for my hair as usual. Cesar’s Hair Salon on Parnell Street has been essential to my whole and healthy well-being here in Dublin. On average, before lockdown, I tried to get my dreadlocks retwisted every six weeks and faded every two weeks 

My visits to Parnell Street have allowed me to learn about Dublin from the purview of its migrant communities. Every trip to the salon is filled with stories, banter, and if you go on Sundays, tasty treats. Cesar, the salon’s owner, moved to Dublin from Lagos, Nigeria twenty years ago to create a better life for him and his family. After working many odd jobs for several years, he saved up enough money to open his salon. Cesar is the most well-known man on Parnell Street – he might as well be mayor. His salon is always teeming with people from all backgrounds – a kailedoscopic view of Dublin’s burgeoning multiculturalism.  

On a final visit to Cesar’s shop before lockdown, he lamented about closing the shop indefinitely. 

“This is my home. These people are my community. What worries me is that I don’t know when I’ll be able to come back” he said. While he was speaking, I realized that I would miss the salon too. It had become a home for me as well. I’d even say it’s the place in the city where I feel most safe. 

It’s been five weeks since I last saw Cesar and one thing I know for certain is that as soon as lockdown is over, I’ll be making a trip back to his salon on Parnell Street. 

When I applied to spend a year in Belfast, I had a decent idea of what I thought I would be getting. I had been to Belfast before and made great friends, both Irish and American. When I returned to Belfast a year later, I found the same people in the same places ready to welcome me again. But when I returned this time, I found no one where I left them. Covid restrictions made meeting new people very difficult, and I was discouraged knowing how impactful these friendships could be. I was worried that without the ability to make casual friends in pubs, or go to friends’ houses for dinner, this time in Belfast would be less impactful, and I would have a more difficult time understanding my purpose here.

A few weeks after the semester began, all of my classes moved online due to Covid’s increasing presence in Belfast and Northern Ireland. I quickly found a silver lining brought on by much of my alone time. For the first time in years, all I had to focus on was my studying and thinking. I was consumed by questions of justice, ethics, and care in education, healthcare, and work for people with intellectual disability. Most gripping was considering experiences of women who receive prenatal diagnoses of Down syndrome. This is an issue that continues to gain public attention, especially with the recent publication of “The Last Children of Down Syndrome” in The Atlantic. The article describes increases in selective termination rates in cases of prenatal diagnoses of Down syndrome. My thinking found its way into final assignments and even spurred discussion with students in a class at the University of Mississippi through former Mitchell Scholar, Ashleen Williams.

I returned home to Knoxville for the holidays and had the opportunity to reflect on and share my experiences from the fall. Though my experience was entirely different from the first two experiences in Belfast that were full of new friends and always spent out exploring new places, it was just as meaningful—perhaps even more so—in its quietness, and its significance only continues to grow.

With the flexibility of virtual classes, my boyfriend, Evan, came to join me in Belfast several weeks into the fall. As Evan and I explored what we could of Belfast, I was able to see Belfast through new eyes, and we got to focus on one another during a time where all other distractions of daily living were removed—yet another of the pandemic’s unexpected silver linings.

Belfast taught us lessons during such a formative time of our relationship that we will carry with us forever. To be sure, shortly after we returned home for the holidays, Evan and I got engaged with a ring we found in Belfast. Now, Belfast will be with both of us always. Always remembering the lessons of warmth and hospitality her people taught us; always remembering the lessons from challenges of adapting to life in a new place with each other.

Evan and I are now back in Belfast and planning a wedding that will pay homage to our time here. Belfast will forever be part of our lives and embedded in the memories of what have been some of our best times together.

I was a month into the fall semester, and I still hadn’t met anyone in Dublin besides the other Mitchell boys. I was wading through the murky waters of a depressive episode: here I was thousands of miles from my family, with no social structure available to meet new people and few locations to do so. Ireland had recently reentered a level 5 lockdown, so travel outside a small radius of Trinity’s campus was prohibited. I felt alone, and upset with myself for leaving the security and conviviality of my family life to venture forth into genuine isolation.

There was one thing that offered some hope: the postgraduate reading room on Trinity’s campus remained open, despite the restrictions. That meant that classmates of mine were still travelling to campus to make use of the study space. Starved for social interaction as I was, I would keep an eye out for any of the students in my classes in the hopes that I would finally be able to have an in-person conversation and, dare I say, make a friend. Luckily, my attentiveness paid off. On my way out of the reading room in October, a classmate of mine was walking in, and I (rather intensely) pulled him aside and ushered him into pleasantries. With a sense of urgency, as the conversation dwindled, I asked if he would be interested in grabbing some beers from the local Spar sometime and having a drink by the canal. He agreed; a few days later we sat beside the water and chatted about class work, politics, family, relationships, and anything else. That same student has become a dear friend-we study together in the reading room most days of the week.

I cannot lie, drinking in public is exciting to me. I’m from an Irish family myself, one composed of punks, emos, and general social dissidents. Playfully illicit pastimes, especially with respect to drink, are some of the best memories I have with my siblings. And while drinking in public is legal in Ireland, it still carries a sense of rebellion for an American like myself. I was eager to share a few beers with my classmates since, as I have often been reminded, Irish social life revolves heavily around the pubs. As those are not available to us, cans of Brew Dog and Guinness by the canal is the best we could ask for.

That’s one thing I’ve realized about the United States, and something Kyle Berlin and I have spoken about by that very same canal: there isn’t much free space meant for friendly congregation. Parks and the like don’t allow drinking, which often lubricates the wheels of social interaction, especially with unfamiliar folks. The public sphere is limited to locations that have to be paid for, like bars. In Ireland, though, there seems to be a greater emphasis placed on maintaining interpersonal relationships. Evidence of this is the locales which support a vibrant public sphere-the parks, water features, and other infrastructure which facilitates fellowship in all its forms.

Out of everything I was excited for in looking ahead towards my Mitchell year, the idea of spending a Christmas season in Europe was easily at the top of my list. I envisioned touring Christmas markets in Bavaria, watching the ignition of some enormous Yule Goat in Scandinavia, or going to a Christmas Eve mass in an old Irish cathedral. Of course, this was all back in 2019.

Fast forward to November of last year and I could feel that old excitement building again as I worked through my first online semester at UCD. As winter break approached, Ireland’s plan to emerge from lockdown for the holidays looked like an oasis after weeks of tight restrictions. The whole country seemed like it was ready to exhale. I could hear it in the voice of my barber as she told me about visiting her daughter in Spain while swapping details of our upcoming plans, or in the general milieu out in the streets. On top of everything, my girlfriend had a flight booked to Dublin for a long-awaited reunion after months of FaceTime calls.

Needless to say, I was eager to finally have a chance to get out and see a bit of my new home that had been cordoned since nearly the day I arrived. We decided to split our time between Dublin and Galway, and with an inbox full of reservations to various museums, pubs, and restaurants, we were ready to (responsibly) finally inch closer to the European Christmas of my now-modified dreams.

Unbeknownst to us, however, we had already entered onto another bend in the road out of this pandemic. The now-infamous British strain of COVID-19 had snuck into the country and seized this moment of national respite to hit yet again. As the third wave of infections began to surge, and the Irish government announced yet another lockdown on Christmas Eve, it was hard to feel much of the holiday spirit as I watched my inbox refill with cancellation notices. Of course, relatively speaking, I was extraordinarily lucky to be healthy and in Ireland in the first place; Still, the feeling of frustration was unavoidable.

Much like back in March, when the festivities of my college graduation dangled from a thread that eventually snapped, I could feel my excitement for this long-awaited celebration evaporate. This time, however, we decided to learn our lesson from almost a year ago and wasted no time renovating our break.  Tours were replaced by walks around Galway, pub crawls were replaced with a crawl through the beer aisle of Dunnes, and we made our own paintings for much less than two tickets to the Louvre. Sure, it was no European Grand Tour, but it was the best of craic regardless.

These days, it’s easy to forget just how quickly any enjoyment of the present can be stymied by an endless longing for better days. Thankfully, making the most of simple pleasures is quite easy to do on the Emerald Isle.  

I have lived abroad before. I spent my freshman year of undergrad in Florence stumbling through broken Italian and a phone with no service. I spent my junior year in London adjusting to British politeness and the constant rain. I thought I was used to adapting, and figured that these skills would suit me well during my year in Galway. I was correct, but it would be rash to say that the challenges of COVID-19 didn’t put these skills to the test.

I love meeting new people. There are very few things more satisfying to me than hearing someone tell a story the way they deem it should be told. It is an actual thrill to watch as a person decides which bits of themselves to share when you first meet. You can practically see the internal dialogue in their head: what makes me interesting? what are the defining features of myself? what, right here and now, should I share with this stranger?

It is because of this love for the unfamiliar person that I often stumble into bizarre situations. I will stop a stranger in the grocery store if I’m lost on what to cook for dinner. If I hear someone tell a funny joke near me, I’ll laugh. I am the first person to message a random organization on Instagram because they posted something I found intriguing or important, and this is exactly how I ended up playing in the National Volleyball League of Ireland. 

When I saw NUIG Volleyball post an Instagram story of them training, I sent a message asking if I could join the next practice. They responded back immediately, letting me know that the next practice was that very night. I should preface this with the fact that I am not an elite athlete by any means, although that’s the distinction I received in order to play volleyball matches during COVID-19 lockdown in Ireland. I played volleyball in high school as a right side hitter and on an intramural team at New York University. 

I almost didn’t go to that first practice. The location was in a Catholic school I’d never been to. I had no idea how good these girls would be, and worst of all I hadn’t brought the proper shoes or knee pads for volleyball. Fellow Mitchell Scholar and housemate extraordinaire, Mason, told me I’d regret it if I didn’t go. As usual and annoyingly so, he was right, and so off to practice I went despite the typical Galway weather of rain, wind, and more rain.

The volleyball scene in Ireland is minimal compared to the United States, and because of this everyone seems to know everyone. When COVID-19 caused all university play to cease, I was invited to join the Galway Volleyball Club to compete against other teams across Ireland. I train with men and women alike, and my teammates are Irish, Polish, Greek, Croatian, Canadian, American, Italian, French, Malaysian, and the list goes on. My coach, Luke, plays for the local hurling team and calls me “Florida” as a nickname. Our team captain loves to say “Becca Brett” really fast because it sounds “very American” to her. When we create cheers during matches, most of my teammates don’t know what I’m saying. This confusion is because in Ireland certain volleyball terms are different than in the United States, like opposite hitter instead of right side, wing instead of outside hitter, or the fact that liberos aren’t allowed to serve ever. 

Unfortunately, Level 5 lockdown has suspended game play and training for the Galway Volleyball Club. In December, I look forward to seeing my crazy bunch of teammates again and screaming “Opa!” together after scoring a point. I may wear the unlucky number 13 on my jersey, but I am lucky in the sense that a random message on Instagram has brought me fifty new friends. I know that Ireland will continue to grant me sweet surprises such as this.

I landed in a nearly vacant airport with a stern voice warning of the pandemic over the intercom. I had come to Ireland on a nearly vacant plane and had slept on the flight with my mask on. I sat on a bus with ten rows between me and the one other passenger and recounted moments from last I was here as we drove through Dublin to the university. The welcoming committee stood behind glass. I zigzagged through the rope course where crowds were meant to queue, unsure of when to acknowledge the gazes of the biding staff.

Life is constructed in such a self-centric way. “I” am the subject, always. And from such vantage, each reality is formed. However, in these moments, I am pulled from my pinhole view. The world expands rapidly and panoramically. It was naive to see this pandemic as my issue, or America’s issue, or any derivation or combination of the two. But I am naive, and experience is my teacher. And so Ireland has taught me to step back and observe how connected and interdependent the world is.

It is obvious, but I will state anyways, that my experience here has sidestepped expectations. I haven’t met an Irish person. I haven’t been to any buildings on campus. I haven’t spoken to a classmate. I haven’t even seen all of my professors’ faces. I feel, in many ways, like a perpetual tourist. As a tourist, I have strolled streets and peered in windows that spill gold onto the sidewalk and wondered what dinner the dwellers will have that night. I have eavesdropped on conversations and made a mental note of where my witty comment would fit. I have showered and dressed and sat alone, hoping for a pair of eyes to find me and confirm my existence. To remind me I am real.

From these moments, I have grown. I have found deeper reasons to study in the absence of validation. I see that my knowledge is my power and I will forge and yield it. I have unearthed a bolder self in the absence of recognition. A will to exist and be good anonymously. Most of all, I have affirmed my passion. The work of ethics in machine learning is the work of the observer. Observation of a field, of its effects, of who controls the data, from whom it has been taken, and toward whom it will be applied. I must release myself from all of these roles and yet know them all equally. I see now the beauty in this solitude state. Perhaps a twisted trick, but one that has pushed me in ways I could not push myself. It has forced me to face the uncomfortable self-lackings that constant companionship conceals.

So, while Ireland has not spoken to me, she has taught me. I will stay steadfast in pursuit of my passions. I will walk the streets and wonder. I will think critically and question before accepting. I will step back and widen my view. I am a tourist, perpetually. And yet, this place has begun to shape me.

I was very nervous about leaving the United States. I had never been outside of the country before. I had never been more than a few hours away from a member of my family. I had never gone so long without seeing my siblings. Family interaction is crucial for me and—as one of fourteen children—I never had to look far for someone to talk to. The days leading up to my flight, I was swimming in anxiety. The pandemic made things worse. The image I had of myself was one alone in my dorm room, working through my class material, eating alone, day in and day out, rinse, and repeat. I was excited at the opportunity to see a new country, of course, but I was sure that I would be going through the experience alone.

In retrospect, those fears were entirely unfounded. The day that I arrived, I took the shuttle to campus and was struggling to pull my suitcases along the cobblestone of Trinity’s courtyard. I had asked a guard where to check-in, and they said they weren’t sure. As such, I was wandering around campus aimlessly. I was in a place I had never been before without any sense of direction. And after no time at all, a woman approached me, and even behind the mask, I could see her smile. She could tell immediately that I was American (either by the accent or the black Chuck Taylor’s) and she offered to show me to Trinity’s main gate, where I could collect my room key. Along the way, we chatted about the Irish weather (I had been on the island for a few hours and it had already rained twice), the impending American election, and the state of Trinity that year. It was perfectly cordial—not so much like the forced amicability of Ohio, and certainly nothing like the strict “keep to yourself” mentality of New York City. It was a sincere and genuine conversation, even if it only lasted a few minutes. That same day, I had a similarly pleasant conversation with the woman distributing the quarantine meals. She and I have kept up a bit of a friendship, and she has recommended a number of spots for me to explore (my advice has always been to make friends with the lunch lady).

Things have only improved since those first few days. Not only the interactions with staff at Trinity, nor simply with classmates and professors at school, but everyone here seems to be amiable and ready to converse. What’s more, they seem ready to make friends. Ireland is a place for all types of people, which I am coming to learn more and more. Dublin is a world capital and a cosmopolitan city, and the demographics are changing daily. As a host of new folks come in, they are greeted warmly by the Irish, accepted, and made to feel most welcome. I’m happy to say I’ve already made friends who seem lifelong. To think I was so foolish just a few months ago…

It’s hard to move somewhere new no matter what. Add in an unprecedented global pandemic, and the task of moving to a new continent for a year can sometimes feel like an impossible task. But out of those moments of self-doubt, of discomfort, of ambivalence, I’ve found you can create experiences that make all those feelings worth it.

For the recent past and the foreseeable future, a fourteen-day period seems to have overtaken the seven day week as the appropriate marker of time. The first day I was legally permitted to leave my apartment – it rained in typical Belfast fashion, going back and forth from sunny to pouring multiple times in the same hour. Walking down the street, I laughed to myself at how oddly lifelike the passing pedestrians were compared to the characters on Netflix I had spent my isolation with. I know the analogy about an alien on a foreign planet is overused, but returning back to the public from solitude – and in-turn entering a completely new society – was an experience and feeling I didn’t expect to be so captured by.

There is no doubt that COVID has transformed Belfast. Given the economic uncertainty associated with the pandemic – which is exacerbated by the continued short-term lockdowns being used to manage the spread of the virus – many cultural institutions and businesses in Belfast have been forced to shutter. From the closing of concert halls to restaurants to the all-important pub scene, it’s become more difficult to fully immerse yourself in the culture of Belfast and Northern Ireland. Throughout this year, it will be challenging to engage culturally with Belfast as easily as I had once hoped, but the uncertainty of the next few months will reveal new opportunities.

Although COVID has created many hardships, it has also created once-in-a-lifetime experiences for a long-term visitor like me. Given the inability of tourists to travel to Northern Ireland, those who are here now have free reign over usually packed tourist destinations. My first Saturday out of isolation, I was amazed to be one of a handful of people walking through the Titanic Quarter, and could easily enjoy the outdoor exhibits of Titanic Belfast (one of the most visited museums in all of Europe) without even coming within shouting distance of another person.

The next weekend, I rented a car to drive up the north coast of Ireland to Giant’s Causeway and Dunluce Castle, two attractions that average almost one million visitors in a single year. To my surprise and enjoyment, I spent nearly an hour on the rocks of the Causeway without another person in the entire park. It was a surreal experience and provided an intimacy with one of the great wonders of the natural world that few will ever be able to claim.

There’s no doubt that COVID has turned the world upside-down, and changes what it’s like to study in a new place. But out of those challenges, unprecedented opportunities for deep engagement still exist. You just need to be willing to seek them out.

Going on a nice, long run is one of the first things I do when traveling to a new place. To me, running is one of the most exciting ways to discover a new city.  I’ve found that Dublin is an excellent city for runners. Because Dublin is so compact, many of the most iconic runs are easily accessible from the city center. Moreover, many of these scenic routes fall well within the 5km lockdown radial limit. 

On a good week, I run about 25 miles. But I usually try to run at least 15 miles.  Although Covid-19 has limited the ways for newcomers to familiarize themselves with Dublin, I’ve been able to explore this vibrant city with my running shoes on.

Here are some highlights from the runs I’ve been on this fall:

Stephen’s Green

I ran my first 5km at Stephen’s Green. Smack dab in the heart of the city, this beautifully designed park is a perfect spot for early morning runs. As you lap around the perimeter, it’s hard not to be distracted by warm hues of foliage at every corner. However, I soon learned that running at Stephen’s Green is a nightmare during the afternoon and early evening. At these hours, the park is teeming with your usual mix of school children on lunch break, elderly couples birdwatching, and herds of middle-age women speed walking. 

Dún Laoghaire

The longest run I’ve done was an 8-miler from Belfield to Dún Laoghaire. I ran it on a dewy Sunday morning, which is considerably decent weather for Dublin. This run puts you right along the coast. And on a clear day, the view of the harbor rivals my hometown favorite, Chesapeake Bay. This route has become my favorite–I try to follow it a couple times per week.

Galway

The highlight of my Halloween weekend in Galway was a 5-mile run I ran with Kyle, through the city center and along Galway Bay. Kyle and I are running buddies–two weeks ago he helped me set a new PR in the 10km. 

I think we’d both agree that Galway is not the most runner-friendly city. On our run through town, we paused several times to make way for vehicles and passersby. But once we got to the bay, the obstacles we faced earlier seemed worth it.  The bay was simply breathtaking. So much so, that Kyle and I both stood still for several minutes and watched in awe as the sunset. 

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Prior to moving to Ireland, I had been training for my first full marathon. But like almost everything else this year, the race was canceled due to Covid-19. With the help of Kyle and the Dublin gang, I hope to run a makeshift marathon sometime this winter.  Although I won’t have 5,000 fellow runners and 500,000 screaming spectators helping me along, I look forward to creating a crazy route winding past all the new and exciting places I’ve been able to explore in Dublin this fall.

On a beautiful Sunday afternoon, I sat overlooking the Galway Bay as I listened to a virtual sermon about the importance of having a sense of community. The Pastor, Ryan, pointed out that “happiness doesn’t come from our circumstances. Instead, it comes from our communities.” The current global pandemic – and the isolated world that it has created – has magnified the necessity of having a community of friends, colleagues, and loved ones to fall back on when we need them the most. Our communities help us remain resilient when our circumstances seem insurmountable. 

In that moment of reflection, I thought back to my journey across the Atlantic a few short weeks before. In between conversations with Becca, a fellow Mitchell Scholar, a housemate in Galway, and seat buddy on the flight, my thoughts were consumed by how I was leaving my entire community across the world. I wondered if I would be able to find a sense of community in Galway. Quickly, as we settled into our new home, I realized that the Irish prioritize making others feel like a member of their community.

Marie and Therese, my program directors, went above and beyond to make sure that I had a successful start on the island. They both, separately, offered to pick me up on campus when the bus dropped us off from the airport so that I did not have the drag my luggage to my apartment. How thoughtful!

One of the first people that I met was our landlord, Peter. As soon as we had finished discussing the details of the house upon our arrival, he showed us to the nearest grocery store so we could grab essentials for our new home and offered to introduce us to a fellow American staying in another of his properties in town. A few weeks later, when we could not open an Irish bank account due to a delay in paperwork, he took me down to his local bank and attempted to circumvent the paperwork by personally vouching for me. It didn’t work, but it was an incredibly thoughtful gesture! Peter made us feel so welcomed.

John, a fellow Purdue University alumnus and Ireland native, sent me an email the first week I was in Ireland to invite me to a virtual event for an agricultural alumni organization that he leads. The event was full of insightful speakers and featured topics that gave me great context into Irish agriculture. John called me after the event to ask me if I had any questions. He even invited me to become an associate member of the organization. I’m thankful that John welcomed me into his community.

I came to Ireland to learn more about how Irish rural communities have remained resilient despite famine and hardship. My experience thus far has been a great reminder about what makes a community resilient: its people. A strong community – full of thoughtful residents that care for one another – can conquer any circumstance.   

“Wee”—everybody says it here. To quote Derry Girls character James Maguire, “People here use the word wee to describe things that aren’t even actually that small!” “Wee” is a great signal that I am far from my home in Knoxville, Tennessee.

My first 14 days in Belfast were spent in a bedroom by myself. It was a tough way to start a life in a new place. Even after quarantine, life in the times of Covid-19 made it tough to get to know this city and the people who live here.

I felt separated from everything—separated from my family and friends back home; separated from Belfast, as I watched it through my quarantined window or from six feet away, mask on.

There seems to be separation everywhere. Families and friends are physically separated in the face of Covid-19; my country’s citizens are ideologically separated. When I arrived in Belfast, my cab driver talked about a new threat of separation: the latest Brexit deal that could further separate Northern Ireland from the Republic of Ireland and cause even further separation in Northern Ireland between loyalists and republicans.  

Belfast is no stranger to separation. The Troubles, and the oppression of Catholics that preceded it, brought periods of intense and violent separation between Catholics and Protestants. The separation permeated every area of life.

Belfast’s history of separation, or rather its revolution of unity, is what brought me here in the first place, so it’s only fitting that Belfast would teach me how to see beyond the immediate separation I felt to embrace all the newness that awaited me.

This past weekend I met Norman. Norman is the classic example of a Belfast-native who is warm, welcoming, and excited to help new people understand his home—its history and progress. He reminded me of the people I met when I was in Belfast for the first time, whose warmth was a version of southern hospitality from home.

As Norman took me through the Shankill and Falls roads and told me about his own experience of growing up in the separation of the Troubles, he was quick to also share his enthusiasm of how far his city had come since those days. We talked about shared education and the integrated school he wanted his children to attend. He told me what it meant to him when Bill Clinton visited Northern Ireland in 1995.

Norman’s tour helped me feel more connected to Belfast. Norman also reminded me of a Belfast spirit to reject old separation and to look for new connections.

Now, when I hear “wee,” I think of connections to Belfast, instead of separations from home (and Derry Girls, of course—a must-see).

I’m grateful to Belfast and Norman for reminding me to embrace a perspective of discovery, connectedness, and unity, even when it’s easy to see separation. I’m grateful for the reminder of why I chose to spend this year of my life in such a beautiful place as Belfast.