Squandered Youth

When I was 22 years old I lived in Europe, it was as romantic and adventurous as it sounds. The only problem with finding your freedom as a vivacious woman at the age of 22 years old was the timing. 22 is the age of stupidity, and it was… at least for me. When I moved to Dublin I had the time of my life! Sure, I had gained some weight, and spent a ridiculous amount of money on drinks… which explained the weight gain, and time of my life bits. But Dublin had taken me down, she had a strong grip, and a beautiful voice and I quickly fell in love with her. My favorite moments were getting lost on her old cobble stoned streets, and finding my way between her dirty back alley’s. Like all good things that must come to an end, so did my time in Ireland. I realized that staying in the country after my visa expired would be a difficult endeavor, with all the red tape that comes with immigration, and it would probably be hard to find a job as an immigrant, an illegal one – regardless of my strong Irish surname. I vividly remember locking myself in a bathroom stall of the Airport on the day I was to board my flight back to Toronto, I remember considering my options, thinking of my Mother, and my new found freedom and identity in a foreign country which I grew to love tremendously. Would I stay in that bathroom stall for just a bit longer, could I miss my flight and blame it on sluggishness and traffic? Yes, but I did not. Some people believe that there is beauty in walking away from something, but I think that is cowardice. Now 10 years later, my heart is still in that airport. At least St. John’s is closer to Dublin than Toronto. I’ll get there… slowly.