HappinessINFJ. Music. Laughing. Smiles. Bass + Bassists. Being bare-foot. Astrology. Tattoos. Piercings. Imperfections. Quirks. Stories. Art. Tacklehugs. Nonsense. Storms. The Abstract. Existentialism. Animals. The outdoors. Road-trips. Singing in the car. Fruit. Veggies. The Ocean. The Moon. Midnight. Office Supplies. Spontaneity. Photoadventures.
So, I have finally stopped pussy footing around and finally purchased a Teach Yourself Irish book (w/ accompanying CDs) and am I determined to learn Irish. It’s going to be a process because shit, this language is not easy and I’m in a graduate program (which consists of a stupid amount of reading), but honestly - I am really excited about this. I really want to do one of those Immersion programs where you go to Ireland for a week (?) and learn the language that way, but realistically, that will be a long time off. Maybe I’ll treat myself once my Masters is complete and before I have to buckle down for dissertation writing.
Point of this post, I’m looking forward to learning a new language. It’s so different from learning Spanish in high school, but I welcome the challenge.
Each time I’m asked to tell about myself, I find myself starting the same way: “My name is Kelsey and I’m nineteen..”
but what I’d really like to say is:
“My name means island of the ships but once
I found a translation that said I’m a burning shipwreck-
not a burning ship but a ship that has caught fire
after the wreckage and well, I’d say that’s more fitting.”
I’ve learned that people don’t have time for about me’s.
They need two things: a name and an indication you’re someone special.
The doctors, they want facts not details.
“I broke my leg when I was three, it’s a funny story actually-“
The right or the left?
The teachers, they want interests, hobbies.
You’re sad, yes, but what do you like to do?
The adults are a spew of questions.
What school do you go to? What classes are you taking?
What do you plan on becoming? Got a boyfriend?
People my own age are the worst.
“I’m planning on an English degree with a concentration in creative writing.”
Yeah, aren’t we all. So how many times have you, you know,
I’m pulled apart, my interests travelling highway 2
my goals at a stop light at traffic hour,
my medical history on a billboard for the world to see.
But what about me?
Where’s the chance to say,
“I hang on to fistfuls of poetry like loose change in my pockets,
and I keep waiting for the day that the world turns upside down
so I can swim with the stars.
I’m not afraid of darkness, it’s a loneliness I can empathize with it.
It’s the blackholes like cigarette burns inside of me that get troublesome.
I walk through graveyards and read the dashes between years,
each a story I’ll never know. Sometimes I create my own.”
No wonder none of us know who we are anymore.