Mitchell Scholar Blogs

When I travel, I love reading books that have roots in the place I’m visiting. It livens up the experience of the book, and I feel like I can hear little echos of the story in the new streets I walk down. If I reread the book in the future, no matter where I am, the memory of the other landscape remains.

One of the first things I did when I moved to Dublin in August for the Mitchell Scholarship was take myself to the beach with a paperback copy of Dracula, by Bram Stoker. While much of the book takes place in the haunted forests of Transylvania or the foggy shore of Whitby, England, Dracula also was formed by Dublin! Stoker grew up in Clontarf, on the northside of the city. He also attended Trinity College from 1864 to 1870, where I’m studying now for my master’s degree in creative writing. 

The city celebrates this legacy heartily, with memorial parks and plaques scattered throughout Stoker’s old haunts. There’s also the Bram Stoker Festival, running every year since 2014 around Halloween. This year was the first festival since quarantine ended, and the organizers packed Halloweekend with literary skullduggery. Live performances, screenings of old vampire movies, themed tours of local museums and historical sites, and more popped up through the city. On Saturday, I went with some friends from my writing workshop to Marsh’s Library, where Stoker would have studied as a young man. We heard some very fun ghost stories from the librarians, and the tale of how an ancient mummy turned up in one of the office closets. Even without the spooky stories, the Library is definitely worth visiting when you’re in town. It’s incredible to see so many old books so well preserved from the 18th century. It smells shockingly good in the stacks, strangely sweet from all of the old paper and leather. You can also see the caged reading desks, built to prevent book thieves. The library desks at Trinity are much comfier! 

Outside Marsh’s Library, we wandered around Stokerland, a Halloween fair on the grounds of St. Patrick’s Cathedral. This is definitely more for little kids, but I missed passing out candy at home this year, so it was sweet to see all of the tiny witches, fairies, and superheroes running around. The food trucks were also really good, I had the best tacos I’ve had since moving here! 

If you’re in Dublin around Halloween, I highly recommend stopping by any of the Stoker Festival offerings for a spooky good time. For now, RTE has a nifty trove of interviews, theatrical readings, and articles all about Bram Stoker and Dracula’s legacy in Ireland, which you can enjoy year-round. 

By Ali Watkins

It was around 8 a.m. the first time I stepped off the ledge at Blackrock. I had anticipated the adventure for days, and it took me seconds to regret it entirely. The water slammed into my chest like a slab of concrete, so much colder and darker, so much angrier than I had imagined. Frigid and shivering, my chest spasmed. I couldn’t touch the bottom. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t feel my feet. “This,” I thought, in a deep, guttural surrender, “was a terrible mistake.”

—

I gave up open water swimming more than ten years ago. It was after my last triathlon, a now-defunct Ironman in the Poconos. I had dove into the lake water and when I opened my eyes and saw darkness, I panicked. My body would not cooperate — I inhaled each time I put my head into the water, a reflex more overwhelming than any I’d felt before. The strange phobia had swept over me out of nowhere, some long-lost ghost I hadn’t known was buried. I didn’t understand, but there it was. I finished that race in a backstroke, perplexed and angry that I had lost the war to water. I haven’t swam laps in dark, open water, since.

And then, Galway.

As soon as I heard of the sea swimmers, a light flickered in my brain. I suppose a part of me understood then that I’d join them. It’s my more annoying habit, to do things that are cold, hard and horribly early, for no reason other than some strange mix of adrenaline junkiism and self-loathing.

For weeks, I watched them. I ran the promenade each morning, stopping at Alain, the Blackrock coffee hut, and studied the morning rhythms. I watched how people swam (very strong), when people swam (very early) and what people wore (very little). Like finding the wizard behind the curtain, I felt safer, seeing the mechanics.  

I gave in in early October, bought a wetsuit (a clear indicator that I’m not from here; I’ve accepted this) and took the first of many morning walks down the prom, which led me to the tower’s ledge, which led me to the water, which led my life to flash before my eyes. The closest I have come, to being that cold, was February in rural Wyoming. I was dry, then. 

Bull-headed, I dunked my head underwater and opened my eyes. The ghost from the Poconos stirred — I felt my body flutter, and I instinctively inhaled. The same phobia, ten years old, was still there.

Frantically treading water, I was turning for the ladder when a man in a speedo caught my eye. 

“Better get moving,” he said. “It’ll get warmer.”

His words calmed me. If I left, I wouldn’t come back. So I started slowly, one stroke, one meter at a time. Each time my head went underwater, I reflexively panicked. Each time, I stopped and collected myself. One more breath. One more stroke. I put my head under again, this time with my eyes closed. My breath stayed steady. One stroke, then the next. Breathe. Stroke. Breathe. Stroke stroke stroke. When you close your eyes underwater, I realized, you can be anywhere.

I turned the tide that morning, swimming a strong lap to the 100-meter buoy, then back again. I laughed as I floated, looking back at the shore.

My mornings now begin at Blackrock. Faces are more familiar. The kind kids at the coffee shop know me. “How was the water today?” they ask. I always say it’s cold, and they always tell me to “just keep coming.” I’ve listened.

I’m stronger than I remembered. My second day, I swam 600 meters in rough water, three times out and back to my North Star, the yellow buoy. I prefer the rougher water, the mornings when I get to fight the tide, back in some primal state of survival and strokes. Each day is easier. Each day there are fewer shadows. Each day I open my eyes a few seconds longer than the last time. Each day is a little colder, and each day I care a little less.

It’s my joke now, the line that makes me friends at the tower. “It only gets warmer, right?” We laugh, and laugh. I know, I say, pointing at my wetsuit. Such an American. 

Bah, they say. No bother.

“Fair play to ye,” they say, “being out here.”

I turned 22 the day before I left for Belfast. Having gone to a college in the same town that I grew up in and ending undergrad tumultuously, I looked forward to my year in Belfast as a chance to finally get out of the South and give myself a kind of sabbatical. Jokingly, I’ve been calling this my “Frederick Douglass year”, but I really did imagine myself following in the tradition of Black scholars and thinkers temporarily leaving the U.S. in search of a kind of peace that just could not be found in their home communities. Without any spoilers, whether it’s Douglass, DuBois, or Baldwin, they always end up returning home with a kind of guilt that they left in the first place.

Having been away for two months now, I don’t know if I’d say I feel a sense of guilt for leaving my community, but I do feel an unexpected appreciation and sometimes even a kind of longing for my home. As I’m away, I realize the power of being so deeply rooted in and connected to a community and having an autobiographical relationship to its history. There’s something really beautiful about the fire you can feel for community and where you come from. 

I also wanted to come to Belfast because people compare the residuals of its central conflict and the tensions of its complicated identity to the U.S. South. And this place has provided refuge for Black people before (at least in the cases of Douglass and Equiano), but dynamics of race and power are present and problematic here too, even as they are tend to be much more subtle or not as immediately obvious as in the U.S. context. I am the only Black person in all of my classes, and one of few people of color in another. Race is hardly mentioned, even as we talk about gender, class, and sexuality. Even when talking about making museums more accessible, telling stories of the marginalized, and becoming interpreters of the past, students in my class argue that we need not be concerned with questions of justice. I am hyper-aware of my otherness in all spaces, even if others are not, and it is exhausting. 

There are things I really like about Belfast, though, and I am slowly (but surely) finding my community. Sarah’s cohort has integrated me into their tight-knit circle and I have had really sweet days out and nights in with them. We recently climbed the summit of the highest mountain in Northern Ireland (both, marvelling and suffering together) and took a class walk around East Belfast with their faculty which ended up inspiring my dissertation topic.

Because I only have class on Monday’s and Tuesday’s I had a bit of time to kill, so I ran for Students’ Union (student government) and ended up being elected as the new Union Council Speaker. I also joined the Queen’s Rowing Club which is quite competitive for beginners, and was invited to continue in the Club as a coxswain. (At the info session the coaches said they were in need of “short, loud, and bossy” people to be coxes– and here I am!!) 

So there’s plenty of good–  In less than 30 days, I’ll be done with my first semester of classes and I’ll be ⅓ of the way through my program! I am alive in the age of worry, living the questions, and I’m taking my time in settling in. I am reclaiming my identity as a Southerner and appreciating my home for all of the good things I often overlooked while clouded by my own context while appreciating all the joys and frustrations of getting to know somewhere new.

I think often about something Sarah said at our Mitchell retreat in September when I was worrying about the future: “Life is short, but its also long.” I laughed at the time pointing out that also, “Life is long, but its also short.” With this in mind, I remind myself to take what I need, and to keep on keepin’ on. 🙂

… From there I got away my spirits never failin’
Landed on the quay as the ship was sailin’
Captain at me roared, said that no room had he
When I jumped aboard, a cabin found for Paddy
Down among the pigs, I played some funny rigs
Danced some hearty jigs, the water round me bubblin’
When off Holyhead, I wished myself was dead
Or better far instead on the rocky road to Dublin
– “The Rocky Road to Dublin” by The Dubliners

Dear Reader,

The stanza above is meaningful to me for two reasons. First, it played a part in sparking my curiosity in Ireland nearly a decade ago. “The Rocky Road to Dublin” tells the story of a hapless Irish emigrant who leaves his rustic hometown in the west of Ireland to travel to England in search of work. Throughout his journey, he is beset by a series of maladies that are nevertheless unable to deter him from reaching his destination. The song foreshadowed a lifelong fascination with Ireland and immigration, twin interests that have led me to pursue a master’s in Global Security and Borders at Queen’s University Belfast in the present day.

Second, after some unfortunate visa issues of my own I came to both empathize with and envy the narrator of the song as I would have gladly taken up a spot as a stowaway in dire travel conditions if it meant getting to Belfast. This proved to be unnecessary as thanks to the help of the US-Ireland Alliance and friends in the Northern Ireland Office the way was quickly cleared for the road to Belfast.

The start of my semester in Belfast also marked a return to Northern Ireland after last studying here in 2018 under the guidance of Nigel Glenny at Ulster University. I spent the first few weeks catching up with old friends I dearly missed: My partner in crime Mál met me at the airport with a homemade welcome sign and an understandably skeptical attitude about my ability to haul the luggage I had brought with me up two flights of stairs, while my former internship supervisor Maureen hosted me at her home in Coleraine and took me to see a reading of selections from “As if I Cared” by Irish poet Damian Gorman in Derry.

I have been equally grateful for the time spent with new friends. A Halloween trip to Derry this past weekend with fellow Mitchells Asha and Swati and fellow QUB post-grad student Ellie proved to be the highlight of the fall. Somewhere in the torrential downpours that stole our umbrellas, the late nights spent watching horror movies in the hotel room, Asha’s fearless confrontations with masked figures in the town square, Ellie’s terrified reactions to actors in the haunted house, and Swati’s relentless enthusiasm for everything eerie, it finally settled in that much like the narrator in the opening song, I had finally reached my destination.

It has been such a wonderfully eventful time in Dublin so far – to be able to return as a full-time student to the city I have grown to love over the years as my third home has been so rewarding, enlightening, and an opportunity to reflect on how my journey as part of the Syrian diaspora has evolved over the years. Whether it be through time spent in late night conversations amongst flat mates in the Graduates Memorial Building, shared co-prepared dinners with fellow Mitchell Scholars in the city pursuing a plethora of passions away from home, or conversations with classmates deeply passionate about international healthcare delivery and equity in my Masters of Global Health program, Dublin has been a place where I have been grateful to be able to build community, and grow to love the new world that this experience has unlocked for me.

It’s always hard to know what to write about when so much has happened – but most beautifully, as I take the opportunity to pursue Global Health at Trinity, I have had the opportunity to be more connected to my daily surroundings, more conscious of the relationship building with both Irish students and fellow international students that come to Trinity from all over the world for the sharing of knowledge and intercultural exchange. My return to Dublin has also given me the opportunity to grow my relationship with my host family who I lived with during a summer internship at National Children’s Research Center in 2018, and explore with them parts of the Irish Sea coastline, and grow my appreciation for the value of the extended Irish family unit, and the way in which they always gather to celebrate, mourn, love, and overcome collectively.

The Mitchell Scholarship has also given me the wonderful opportunity to dive into the history of Dublin and Ireland, as a modern European city whose history is intertwined with struggle for independence, a national identity rooted in resistance, and a dedication to strengthening its linguistic, literary, and sociocultural histories. We have been able to visit as a group EPIC the Irish Emigration Museum, the Literature Museum of Dublin, as well as exposure to the incredible publicly funded initiatives in Enterprise Ireland to bolster Irish innovation starting at the University level and beyond. We’ve explored natural and urban settings around Ireland with an appreciation of the past, present, and future of the Island and all the things it had been through and everywhere the people of Ireland strive to take it every day.

During my first month at Trinity, I was able to witness firsthand the student commitment to organizing and advocacy, with the mounting struggle for housing and living expenses, amidst a national housing crisis whose effects are felt at the university level, and the university’s commitment to uplift student voices even when the journey to a fairer future is not straight forward. During a speech by the College’s first female provost in its 429 year history, there was a burning ember of hope for a future, and a commitment to unilaterally address inequities in the student experience. I am looking forward to the months ahead, and all that is yet to be discovered in this wonderful city and beyond.

On Tuesday and Thursday evenings in the Queen’s University gym, you can find rock climbers hard at work on a two-story climbing wall, rappelling down and then clambering back up to the top again and again with skillful ease.

And then there’s me. I suppose what I do can technically be considered rock climbing, though I rarely make it all the way to the top and there’s nothing skillful about my ascents. As far as I can tell, the different pathways up the wall range from a difficulty level of “Everything hurts” to “Everything hurts, and you must defy the laws of physics.”

I joined the mountaineering club as a way to make friends while trying something new, and I’m pleased to report that I have succeeded at those two objectives. But now that I’ve started, my competitive side has taken over, and I find myself discussing strategies for trickier portions of the wall – many of which seem to include developing what I’ve been told is called “upper body strength”.

My nascent climbing endeavors have paid off in other ways too. I find myself celebrating small victories, like getting a few feet higher up the wall than I thought I could. I’m learning how to accept encouragement when I tell the person belaying me that I’m ready to get down, only for them to tell me that I can make it a little bit higher if I just go for the foothold to my right. I’m honoring a commitment to myself every time it’s dark and rainy and I just don’t feel like going to the climbing wall, but I force myself to show up anyway.

Most of all, I’m embracing the freedom of pursuing something that I’m naturally mediocre at. There’s no striving to be the best, just trying to do better than I did last week. There’s no fear of failure, because I’m so used to it at this point. What started as a way to trick myself into getting exercise has now become something I’m surprised to find intrinsic joy in, even without the possibility of any external validation.

A few weeks ago, I went with a group of friends to hike Slieve Donard, the highest point in Northern Ireland. Despite my lack of experience with rock climbing, I’ve long been an avid hiker. I’m lucky enough to have experienced many mountain ranges in different parts of the world, but I was especially taken with the beauty of the Mournes. We went up on a clear day, and from the mountain’s summit we could see the vast peaks stretching out in the distance, while on the other side the blue sky blended into the sea until the two were indistinguishable.

I hope that my current efforts at indoor rock climbing will enable me to someday reach mountain peaks that I can only dream of attempting now. Just as importantly, I hope to remember that I’m as much of a mountaineer on Tuesday and Thursday evenings, as I struggle for every inch I gain on the wall, as I was that day standing at the top of Slieve Donard.

Upon arriving in Dublin, I wandered into a bookstore in St. Stephen’s Green and picked up a copy of An Irish Nature Year by Jane Powers—a book that took me on scavenger hunts across the island’s cliffs, fields, forests, and gardens in search of elusive little details present in the Irish autumn season.

Join me for an abridged journey through October with the writing of Jane Powers:

October 6^th: “In Brehon law, the yew was on the of the ‘nobles of the wood’, and there were severe penalties for illegally felling or damaging a tree. The hard wood was prized for bows, spears, and household items,” writes Powers.

The nearest yew tree was barely a few hundred feet from my residence at University College Dublin in the university’s Belfield Wood. My undergraduate university, too, was covered in bushes of yew, but those North American Taxus canadensis plants, trimmed into carefully manicured hedges, felt antithetical in character to the freely growing trees of Taxus baccata in the Belfield Wood.

Being so close to such lush woodlands at UCD has been a wonderful antidote to years of highly urban New York City life. I have found myself walking one of the several UCD wooded walking trails nearly every morning since arriving here, with still so much woods left to explore.

October 13^th: “Horse chestnuts are falling and peeping shinily from their green, spiny casings,” notes Powers.

My encounter with Irish horse chestnuts came from a trip to the Iveagh Gardens behind the Museum of Literature Ireland located at UCD’s original location of Newman House. Known as Dublin’s ‘Secret Garden,’ the Iveagh Gardens boasted stunning displays of waterfall-style fountains, a rosarium, and beautifully manicured hedges. The horse chestnuts at the gardens, as promised by Powers, had shed their green casings by this time of year and closely resembled Ohio buckeyes of the same genus Aesculus.

October 26^th: “The predominant tone of a rural Irish autumn is russet…Perhaps the most prevalent plant contributing to that warm glow is bracken. Pteridium aquilinum,” suggests Powers.

I experienced a rural Irish autumn in my two-hour bus ride between Belfast and Londonderry on my way to the Derry Halloween festival. The roadside was littered with the golden glow of Pteridium ferns—surprisingly, a staple of North American autumn foliage too.

The view of the countryside was delightful, and Derry Halloween with its haunted houses and City of Bones walking trail and CarnEVIL carnival rides and elaborate building projections, and elaborately costumed characters was a highlight of my time in Ireland so far.

October 31^st: “Collect blackberries after Hallowe’en at your peril, for the púca will be out after dusk spitting…on them, according to folklore” warns Powers.

Thankfully my blackberry collection was completed long before Halloween. For berry picking, I took the train to the nearby coastal town of Bray where I hiked the cliffs and found plenty of wild blackberries. Even with the clouds and the rain, the view of the ocean from the cliffs was unparalleled.

“It feels like a fever dream,” Fares said, as we walked up to the first floor and entered the flat. Of course, I knew just what he meant: I wholeheartedly agreed.

In two months here in Dublin, I have carefully learned that two liters of milk each week is not nearly enough, especially when living in a flat of coffee addicts. I’ve learned how to jam in a pub with seven other guitarists, how to play double-stops like Hendrix, and what it sounds like to actually be good at singing (thanks Peter). I’ve learned not to reheat frozen bread under the broiler and that finishing all the oat milk in the house is a vegan’s worst nightmare.

I’ve also learned to better understand tradeoffs. That staying up until 2am having thrilling conversations is a tradeoff between relishing in the diversity of the people around me and sleep: and that both are completely valid options. That choosing not to practice guitar one day might be the reason I have a conversation that strengthens my bond with a flatmate.

I am also learning about friendship: what it looks like to find a community built around care and trust, away from home and school in the States. A friend recently reminded me that care for friends and family can take the form of small gestures of self-sacrifice. I find it so true, in living with great people and in considering my relationships with people at home.

Like any experience, the past two months have had ups and downs. There’s been warmth and tenderness at a Sunday evening game night, or a home-cooked meal down at UCD with the other Mitchells. There have been feelings of anxiety and embarrassment too: drawing the courage to attend every week’s jazz jam session, knowing I’ll struggle to keep up with the musical fluency of the musicians there. Through it all though, I feel overwhelmingly content and curious. And very grateful to be here.

Anyways, enough of the soppy introspection. Here are some short recent memories that I really enjoyed.

First Day’s Photoshoot

I took my first steps through Trinity’s arching first looming front gates and make my way toward my temporary residence. After hauling my suitcases onto the floor of my room and a well-deserved two-hour nap, I strolled out of the main door to the dorm. I’m always curious about people’s favorite ways to explore a new city. Sometimes I just want to wander, like a character in an action-adventure RPG. Other times though, I wanted to immediately go for a street-photography session – especially after a spontaneous (and irrational) purchase of a new DSLR.

Something about Dublin’s overcast skies looming over the brick Georgian architecture brings out a modest, cinematic quality in the city.

Here is Fares, stealing the show as usual.

GMB Gamenight

I think this was the second or third weekend. Somehow I managed to convince my flatmates to come around for board games one Sunday evening, (and without any tasty snacks as incentive!). Look at how cute Isabelle and Peter look here.

North City

This is just an exposure I found to be really stunning. It’s taken just a few minutes from Trinity Campus on a bridge to the north side of the city. I love how shimmery the water came out and how it contrasts the gentle blue of the buildings and sky.

Moving to Dublin this past September wasn’t only my first time moving outside of the U.S., it was also my first visit to Ireland. Although exciting, learning to navigate a new city and country is certainly challenging. Thankfully I have had the support of all my fellow scholars to help navigate it and inject fun and friendship into the experience. 

Within the first weeks there was so much to figure out, but doing this together made them enjoyable. Figuring out which rain shoes to buy introduced me to my friend Elle at Trinity’s Global Room and turned into a fun shoe shopping excursion together. Scheduling immigration appointments became group hangouts while we all called to get appointments. Identifying gym hours became the foundation of our gym group chat. And, visiting the sports store convinced us to sign up for the tennis society together and prompted many impromptu tennis matches, which is easy to do since my bedroom window overlooks the courts. 

Now that we’ve settled into campus life and our new home for the year, we are more comfortable navigating Dublin without the strength in numbers we relied on during earlier days. We spend just as much time together, except now our time is spent making the most of our time in our home for the year. 

Swati, Aadi, and I visited the Book of Kells on Trinity’s campus and learned about the upcoming restoration. Dolapo and I scour Dublin’s culinary finds trying different restaurants from our ever growing ‘foodie finds’ list. Some of our highest reviews awarded include Xi’an Streets, Bread41, The Little Pig, and Ninja Sushi. Swati and I venture between historic libraries, museums, bookstores, and cafes in search of the location with the best ratio of workspace vibes to convenient walking. And Fares and I go on long walks along River Liffey to take in the views while reviewing Taylor Swift tracks. 

As we continue to learn Ireland, we continue to prioritize time with each other and come together to share our experiences and ourselves with the Mitchell Scholar community we continue to build. Most every Wednesday, we all meet for dinner or drinks. On Wednesdays, I am fortunate to learn about public policy and biomaterials from Sam, machine learning’s ability to recognize language from Dolapo, and upcoming space events from Swati. We swap podcasts and make plans to visit Cork. 

My time so far in Ireland has been wonderful, packed with culture, learning, and beauty. However, all these experiences are greatly enriched by the incredible company of our Mitchell Scholar community, which never fails to impress me with their thoughtfulness, curiosity, and bright minds. Throughout my year here, I look forward to traveling through Ireland in the company of this scholar community we continue to grow. 

While, in a few days, I will be returning to Ireland to work on my thesis, my time at the University of Limerick has effectively ended. However, I am struggling with thinking through my next steps.

This is odd for me, because I have always been a planner. If I have a problem to solve, I devour all available evidence, I devise a solution, I devise alternate solutions, then I calculate all potential repercussions, and devise solutions for those, too. By the age of fourteen, I had my entire life planned out, and up until now, I have roughly reached every benchmark necessary to fulfill my plan.

Now, I have no idea what comes next. I never anticipated receiving the Mitchell Scholarship — if you told me in the fifth grade this is where I would be, I would have never believed you. Me, studying in Ireland? Me, studying in New York City before I even studied in Ireland? I’ve stuck to my course, but in these past few years, it has shifted. Now, after everything, I’m completely off course, headed for somewhere else entirely.

I will say that the COVID-19 pandemic affected me, too. I realized that no matter what I do, some things will always be out of my control. So, instead of confining myself to one choice, I should seize control of my life wherever and whenever I can, even if that means the end of my grand plan of my life. What comes next, then? The question frightens me.

I will say though, as someone who has always feared change, the uncertainty is exhilarating. Since I don’t know what comes next, I could do anything. I’m still scared I could make the wrong choice, but because of all I’ve learned and all the people I’ve met during my program, I know I have a decent chance at making the right decision. Or at least, the right decision for me.

Since returning home, everybody has asked the same thing: “What are your next steps?” I have avoided answering each time. I have this next month, my last month in Ireland, to myself. I’ll keep thinking through myself and my dreams so that when I get home and see everyone again, I’ll be able to give them an answer that brings a smile to both of our faces.

When I think of this year, I think of

• A bench in St. Stephen’s Green, swirling with gulls, inhaling Beanhive takeout
• Joy, exhilaration, and peace climbing back up the coast, framed by gorse and wild wind
• Late night drives through the west coast, peaceful and quiet and content
• Swaying, arms around shoulders, listening to “Visiting Hours”
• A turquoise beach, two bikes, a bag of apples, and a roaring, freezing, inviting ocean 

Most of all, I think of

• Adjacent pillows
• 4 stars
• Bao Bun
• Mid-day vineyard wanders
• Primary color and animal print dresses
• Heads out the train, river valley flying by
• Helicopters and firemen
• Insane laughter, many memes 
• Profound understanding
• So, so much love and gratitude

Every memory is more beautiful and joyful when we’re together—a blessing. Here’s to more~

Before coming to Ireland, I knew I wanted to make 2021-2022 my year of becoming the athlete I had always envisioned myself to be. I’ve spent so many years focusing on my health through nutrition, that it was time to truly hone in on my physical abilities. This year I am saying “Yes!” to everything I want to do regardless if I think I am physically capable of doing it, I might just surprise myself! I saw Dublin as the perfect opportunity to explore all the items on my bucket list, little did I know that I would finish the year with much more than a checked box. 

I started the year by joining a sport I’ve always wanted to try: Archery! I joined the TUD Tallaght Archery team for the craic of course but ended up being proficient and even competitive. I won 3rd place for Women’s Barebow at Ireland’s 2022 Indoor Nationals Competition!

Apart from excelling at a new sport, I met some of my dearest and closest friends through Archery. One of whom is currently with me at the airport as we head to find adventure in Switzerland.

I am extremely lucky to call these people my friends.

As this is my year of saying “Yes!” I pursued another sport I’ve admired for years, but never felt I could do: Jiu-Jitsu! I joined the Brazier Jiu-Jitsu Academy and quickly learned not only self-defense, but I found a family. I lack the words to describe what this group of people means to me. From failed takedowns to successful submissions and even sharing the woes of life, these people have supported me, unlike anything I’ve experienced before. 

Their encouragement led me to compete in Jiu-Jitsu for the first time, something I never thought I’d do! The day of my first competition was surreal, I was out of this world nervous as I was the smallest one in my category and injured. I did not expect 7 of my closest Jiu-Jitsu friends to come out to support ME. I was the only one from our gym competing that day and the first of the girls to compete. If I wasn’t so nervous to fight, I probably would have cried as I have never had such immense support from non-family members in my entire life. I am without words to describe how grateful I am for them. 

I won 2nd place and am currently training for a few more competitions before the end of my Mitchell Year! 🙂

My adventures also lead me to join the Dublin Civil Defense as a volunteer firefighter. Learning the ins and outs of firefighting, and first aid, and connecting with vast people across Dublin’s public service has been an honor. The craic with the lads after a long Monday night training is a super plus of course.

Being a firefighter has been a childhood dream of mine, now actualized. 🙂

This year I’ve been able to go Go-Karting, AirSofting, Yoga, Olympic Weightlifting, Dog sledding, Glacier Exploration, Snowmobiling, and Outdoor Trapeze, and it’s not over yet. Soon I hope to start Muay Thai and Aerial Acrobatics. Who knows, next I may take up sailing, fencing, or learn to play a new instrument!

One commonality amongst all my adventures holds true, wherever I go, I am met with the kindest, funniest, most supportive people I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing. Whether I’m running late and need a lift to training, or wanting to grab a pint after class, my people are always there for me, and I am there for them.

I started the year wanting to become an athlete and ended the year getting to know people in Ireland from all walks of life. My new Irish family means more to me than anything I could have expected this year abroad to bring. 

As I end my Mitchell year, I am reminded of a quote I now understand more than ever:

“You will never be completely at home again, because part of your heart always will be elsewhere. That is the price you pay for the richness of loving and knowing people in more than one place.” ― Miriam Adeney

Ireland and its people will forever have a piece of my heart, and they’ll hopefully have me for a bit longer. I have found a home, in a far away place I’d never imagined visiting let alone living in. I’ve gained community, friendship, a family, one of the happiest years of my life, and I am incredibly blessed to have had this opportunity. 

Wherever I go after my Mitchell Year, I know I will always have a home in Ireland.

Thank you.