Roundup

Yup, it’s that time of year. Last day of the last month, i.e. New Year’s Eve. It’s time to have a look back at what I’ve done over the last 12 months and have a little think about what I’d like to achieve in the next 12.

I’d do it month by month, but I don’t think I have an interesting enough life for that, so I’ll just take a general look at things.
In 2011 I…

• Earned a bachelors degree. The same degree I started way back in 2008 finally came to fruition and I am the proud owner of a 2nd Class Honours Grade I Bachelor of Civil Law (Law and French). I’m not gonna lie and say I slogged my butt off to earn my degree, but I did work for it, and I’m proud of what I got. Especially considering how much I struggled through the middle of the degree, I’m proud to be able to say that I got there, and in the recommended amount of time.
• Started a Masters degree. The LLM (International) International Business Law offered by NUI Maynooth and the Catholic University of Lyon. This was, perhaps, not my smartest move. I’m not saying I’m not enjoying the degree (I’m only halfway through it) (and I am enjoying it) but choosing this particular degree, given that it’s an LLM (International) meant that
• I moved to France and lived there for three months. I’m not gonna lie. It was tough. I struggled with language barriers, loneliness, motivation, grocery shopping, paying bills and occasionally just getting out of bed in the mornings. But I did the whole three months, I didn’t go bankrupt, I went to every single class, I travelled around the South of France and saw lots of it, I went to Geneva to visit my dad, I sat all seven exams and (hopefully) did pretty well in them, and in all, I think I pretty much kicked France’s butt.
• I struggled with a long-distance relationship. Alex was in Limerick for six months (March-September) and I was in France for three months (September-December). It wasn’t fun. We made it, but not without a lot of tears, a lot of fights and a lot of struggles. Still, we’re back in the same place now. He’s sitting next to me now, and the sheer fact of being able to see him whenever I want makes me way happier than it should.
• I reviewed a few books. Not as many as I’d like to, though. We shall see if it continues into next year. I’ve read a couple of books over the course of the holidays, so I might review them if I think about it
• I missed the crap out of music. Having quit both the band and the orchestra, I needed some sort of outlet for musical creativity, so I joined the Gospel Choir in the college, as treasurer, and sang my heart out. I couldn’t, obviously, go back to band and orchestra when I was in France, but I went to the first orchestra rehearsal back in September and I played the carol service with the band on Christmas Eve, so come the second half of the year, I’ll be back in the swing of things. Now I just need to work out how to improve my embouchre, which has become beyond terrible.
• I quit my job. I had to, because I moved to France, but I regret it. I miss my job, I miss the people in my job and I definitely miss the money. I need a job, so from next week I’ll be looking for someone to employ me. I’m friendly and hard-working, do you want to give me a job??
• I ran for Students’ Union Vice-President – but failed miserably. The less said about that the better
• I beat depression. After several years of misery, tears and general low mood, I’m finally able to say that I am 100% depression free, with no pills, no nothing to help me.
• In conclusion, I had a good year. Bits of it were sad, bits were brilliant, but looking back, I’m pretty pleased with it. So I’m looking forward to a 2012 which is as good as, if not better than, 2011.
• Screw Flanders

Presents

When it comes to presents, I’m not really fussed on what you get me. I have, basically, everything I could ever want, so it’s not like there’s anything I really need or would like when it comes to time to give presents.

I will admit that I hate getting smelly things (bath soaps, shower gels, lotions and potions) and make-up, from someone I know, because anyone who knows me will know I’m not that kind of girl, but from someone who’s only a secondary connection (although why would they be getting me a present?) I’m not so bothered.

But what really means a lot to me is a card. I like cards, I like getting cards, I like reading cards, I like keeping the cards and re-reading them a few years later because it conjures up all sorts of memories of when I got that card.

The thing about getting a card is that someone has to take the time to pick the card out, think about the card itself, the message it has, then hand-write it and put a message inside (even if that message is only dear x, from x). It’s a keepsake and a reminder and a sample of that person’s handwriting as well as being a gesture at the time of the fact that they care.

I like presents. I really do, who doesn’t like getting stuff? Except Sheldon, that is.
But in any case, I like getting a card as much as, if not more than, getting the present itself. So if I get a present and no card, while I will appreciate it and whatnot, I will appreciate a present AND a card much more.

Table

There are certain rules in my house. Most of them are unspoken, just understood that it’s the way things work. Last week I was mailing my mother about Christmas (we have an extra for dinner that day) and she was wondering where everyone would sit.

In my family, one of the few things which is pretty much set in stone is where people sit at the dinner table. I don’t remember how it actually came about, but when there are six of us sitting at the table (parents, two sisters, Shane and me), we have our own assigned places. My dad sits at the head, Aoife at the foot, my mum sits on my dad’s right and I sit on my dad’s left. Sinéad sits to my left, between me and Aoife, and Shane sits facing her.

Nobody questions it. There has never been any discussion of it. That’s just the way it works. Those are our places, and we sit there automatically. I don’t know how, I don’t know why this came into being, but it is just the way things are.

There are certain cirucmstances where this changes, though. In the event of my gran visiting, she sits in Aoife’s spot, and Aoife sits in Shane’s spot. This, obviously, is only relevant if there are six of us there (i.e. no Shane) because if Shane is there, the rules change again.

If there are seven of us for dinner (or it’s a special occasion) then we eat in the dining room (because the table is bigger, and it extends). The rules here are different to in the kitchen. Aoife and my dad sit in the same spots, the head and the foot, but Shane and my mum swap places with myself and Sinéad, so we’re now on my dad’s right and Shane and my mum are on my dad’s left.
I equally don’t know why the rules changed for the dining room, but they did. This is the way things are, and nobody messes with it.

Then if my gran AND Shane are both there for dinner, my gran again takes Aoife’s space, and she moves the same way as in the kitchen. But because we’re now in the dining room, Aoife doesn’t take Shane’s space, she takes Sinéad’s space, and myself and Sinéad both move up slightly so there are three of us on one side of the table. This (Aoife’s spot) is the prime spot, because Sinéad and I are between Aoife and escape, so when it comes to clearing up, she’s the last person who’s able to get up. That means that usually she sits and talks to my gran while the rest of us do the clearing up. It’s not that she’s lazy, it’s just the way things work. Again, there was nothing explicit stated about this, it’s just the way things are.

It was only when I was talking to some friends a few days ago that I realised this was odd. Other families don’t appear to have the same rules about it. One of my friends said it was just plain weird.

BUT! Then I asked some more friends (Gary and Dave) and they BOTH said their families have seating arrangements.

Again, I’m not entirely sure how it happened. I don’t know why the rules are so complex, or rigid. I also don’t think I’m fully aware of all the intricacies of table-seating, but at least I know my family’s not alone in having such arrangements.
There’s a relief.

Home

I’ve been home about 26 hours now. I’ve seen my boyfriend, my sisters, my sister’s boyfriend, my parents, Dave and Blaney, and gotten most of my Christmas shopping done (only my Gran to go!).

Therefore I think I’ve done pretty well.

I am so unimaginably glad to be home. It helps that the Christmas atmosphere is all around the place, so everyone seems excited and cheerful, but it’s just amazing to be back.

It’s weird, though, to see how things have subtly changed since I left in September.
There are little things, like the fact that they’ve renovated my train station (and put in new seats) and changed the name of Phoenix Park train station (although I realised that when I came home for a week in November), and big things, like the fact that my sister doesn’t live at home any more.

It’s different, being home. Being away has changed things, because I’m totally out of the rhythm of my family – when I came in from town today with Sinéad my dad was heading out to darts – like he does every Monday, but I had totally forgotten.

There are loads of differences which I’ll pick up on as I go along, but the most important thing is that I’m home, and happy being back where I belong.

Torn

Today’s my last full day in Lyon. And it’s over now. I’m just about to go to sleep, and when I wake up tomorrow I have only to clean my apartment and then leave.
Besides the whole furore over the strikes making the likelihood of my flight leaving very slim, moving back to Ireland has thrown up a couple of issues to look at.

I didn’t hate my time in Lyon. I quite enjoyed it. It was very lonely, at times, but it was also really fun. I lived on my own for the first time ever, and was responsible for everything in my apartment from cooking to cleaning, rent to electricity bills… It was weird. I’ve never done it before.

I think it was a learning experience, though. After several issues with banks and with bills and with rent and with a broken plug, I’ve (sort-of) learned how to look after myself without needing to run to my parents for everything.

The college itself was nice, I will admit that, but it wasn’t Maynooth. I think I was spoiled in starting off with Maynooth. It is genuinely the friendliest campus I’ve ever been on and, well, the Lyonnais students aren’t as nice.

The course was great, I don’t regret doing it for a minute. The staff were great, the mix of lecturers was great and the other students in my class were a lot of fun. I’m glad the majority of them will be coming to Ireland next semester, and I’ll miss the ones who don’t.

But it was tough. I didn’t like living on my own, I struggled with the language barrier, I missed him like god only knows what. I missed my family and my friends, I missed real food (the French love cheese, but try to find cheddar and you’ll be sadly disappointed). I HATED not having a toaster, a kettle, an oven, a dishwasher (but to a lesser degree than the first three). I lived on pasta for three months because my range of cooking skills and budget were both limited.

It wasn’t an easy three months. I’m not even sure if it was an enjoyable three months. But I’m also not entirely sure that I actually want to leave.

Grèves

I’m finished college now. I’ve had my meeting with my landlady, who has checked that I haven’t robbed any chairs or broken the microwave. I’ve packed nearly everything into my suitcase (well, it’s actually a bag, but whatever) and I’ve struggled to fit it in. Struggled gravely. There are still many things which need to go into my schoolbag which I doubt will fit.

I’ve started trying to eat allllll the food – including the magic pasta, which, strangely, is actually depleting, albeit very slowly.

So the fact that I’m totally ready to Lyon is great. And today I sent a text to Lisa, the first of us to leave, wishing her a safe flight.
Only her flight was cancelled, due to industrial action.

So now she and I are sitting in my apartment, booked on flights home in the next two days, slowly going crazy worrying that the strike will continue (as it’s expected to) for the entire weekend and that we’ll have to live like hobos in the airport, until the stupid French security men stop striking and start actually doing their jobs so that people like me and Lisa (and Orla and Blaney) can go home for Christmas!

Honestly, what is with the French? It’s like striking is a national pastime or something! Airport strikes today, tram strikes tomorrow… Cop the hell on, would you guys?

Him

« Entre deux amants, il y en a toujours l’un qui baise, et l’autre qui tend la joue »
That’s a French proverb. Or at least, in English it’s attributed as a French proverb. It could also be a quotation from Balzac or Montserrat. But in any case, it means between two lovers, there is always one who kisses, and one who turns their cheek. It’s probably my favourite French phrase ever, because it perfectly embodies a philosophy that I’ve always believed in – in any relationship, there is always one who loves the other one more.

This, I know, is me. And it has never bothered me. It’s just a fact of life, that I love him more than he loves me. Many times it’s been the other way around, but this time I’m the one who’s more invested. It’s not a bad thing – someone has to do it, otherwise you don’t have a relationship, and it’s not exactly something I have difficulty coming to terms with.

But because I’m the one who loves him more, I’m also the one who’s had far more trouble with being away from him in the last nine months. For six months he was in Limerick, on industrial work placement, and I was stuck in Leixlip, unable to go anywhere because of firstly my college course and secondly my job.
Then immediately following his return from Limerick (by a margin of a day) I moved to France. And this is where it really began to hit me just how reliant I am on him.

The main reason I don’t like France is because he’s not here. I would be happy in France, I could get along quite fine without my family, or my friends, but because he’s not here, I don’t like it here. I can’t stand being away from him and not talking to him.

And it’s not like he’s any good at long distance. He never calls and we only very rarely skype and I get an e-mail of about three lines every two to three days. Darren reckoned today that the chats he has with his significant other are better in a long-distance relationship because they mean more. But trying to get him to tell me about his day, his week, his college life, his family, anything, over the last nine months, has been like getting blood out of a stone. I talked to him today for the first time in a week and he just had nothing to say. In person, his reticence is less troubling, because it’s easier to prod responses out of him, but on the phone and especially via e-mail, it’s just not possible to sustain a conversation.

And it drives me up the wall. It wrecks my head that I can’t talk to him about anything because he’s just not capable of doing it. The times we do get to talk are either punctuated by a skype call which cuts off abruptly or a phone call which cuts off when one of us runs out of credit, which happens every time.

And the worst thing? That is the sole reason I hate France. I can deal with the hipsters, I can deal with being on my own (eventually), I can deal with the language barriers, with the fact that I don’t like the college as much as I like Maynooth, that I haven’t managed to make the calibre of friends here that I made at home. None of that really bothers me, I can cope with all of it. But I cannot cope without him. I’m not happy here, JUST because he’s not here.

And that worries me. We haven’t been together long enough for him to mean that much to me. I’m too young for him to be that important to me. It’s FAR too one-sided for him to mean that much to me.
The third one, I know to be true, because he had no such problems when he was in Limerick as I’m having here. And that, in and of itself bothers me. It’s not the inequality in our respective dedication, it’s that I care so much more than he does.

The corollary, then, of how much I miss him while I’m here is that when I get home, I will want to see him all the time. For the first time in three months we’ll be living in the same country, the same province for the first time in nine months and the same county for the first time ever. And because the last few months have been so hard, I’m afraid I’ll smother him when I get back.

I don’t want to strangle the life out of my relationship, but I don’t want to have to restrain myself for fear of scaring him off either. I just don’t know how to deal with feelings this strong.

They’re too strong – they’re too committed and they’re too loving and they’re too developed for me. They’re too much for me and they’re too much for him – neither of us is ready for any sort of commitment, so caring this much is really not the ideal situation. It would be so much easier if I could step back and see that while I care about him, he’s not so important to me that not being with him changes my entire experience. I don’t want to look back on my three months in Lyon and say I could have made so much more of it if I hadn’t been mooning over some guy who’s going to end up breaking my heart, but the truth is, I can’t control how I feel about him. These stupid feeling developed of their own accord and they are bewilderingly strong and they’ve fixed him as a central part of my life. And I’m really worried that they’re gonna end up destroying what I’ve had to work so hard for the last nine months to keep going.

It’s just head wrecking to think that after struggling for nine months with not seeing him enough, what might actually kill us is seeing each other too much.

Coquillette

Since it’s my last few days here (awwwh, more about that some other time) I’m trying to finish up the food I have in my apartment so I don’t waste anything by chucking it out when I’m leaving.
Certain things I know I’m gonna have to get rid of – I’m never going to eat 400g of salt in the space of 5 days, and the comté cheese which has been sitting in my fridge for three weeks now looking sad since I remembered that I actually don’t like comté will sadly not be realising its full potential (especially since I have a sneaking suspicion it’s out of date at this point).

However, if there was one thing I didn’t think I’d have spare when I was leaving, it was pasta.
When I arrived first, I bought a normal-sized bag of pasta, 500g, and it lasted me a week. I did the same for the next two weeks and then realised it would be smarter if I copped on a bit and bought bigger bags of pasta. So I bought kilo bags for a few weeks, which lasted twice as long.

Then when Dave arrived, we finished off the pasta, so I wandered out and bought some more. Again, a kilo bag, but this time, instead of fusilli, which was what I normally went for, I bought coquillette, because I liked the look of it, and had a craving for some mac and cheese.
It’s not quite macaroni, but it’s similar. In any case, the pack I bought was really small coquillettes. Teeny tiny baby pastas. But it was like, 88c or something, so I was happy out.

Fast forward a few weeks, I’ve been home, come back, slogged my way through most of my exams and then I’m looking around my apartment at what food I have left. And I look at this bag of pasta.
Bearing in mind that I’d eat pasta around three times a week, I bought the pasta six weeks ago and Dave was with me one of those weeks so I was cooking for two -
how is it possible that the bag is still half full?

I’ve had pasta for the last three nights in a row and the amount of pasta left in the bag hasn’t decreased by any measurable amount!
It’s clearly some sort of magic pasta which I will never be able to finish.

I have only three evenings left, and there’s clearly more than three servings of pasta left, so I fear I have been defeated by its dastardly ways. I just don’t understand how it’s lasted so long, though. It’s not like I don’t eat a lot of pasta. I eat a perfectly normal amount of pasta! But this one, the bag just refuses to empty!
I’m bemused!

This post was brought to you by virtue of the fact that Sinéad refuses to skype me, so I can’t show her my magic pasta, and I had to tell SOMEONE.

Jealous

It’s exam season. I haven’t had exams before Christmas since I was in school, so it’s more than a little weird for me. But the six weeks I’ll have off immediately following my exams will more than make up for that little discrepancy in my scheduling conflicts.

In any case, because it’s exam season I am, naturally, spending a great deal of time pondering the mysteries of life (and specifically relationships) because I’m avoiding studying (and moping about missing the boy).

So I was chatting with one of the lads in my class the other day. He’s also doing the long-distance thing at the moment, although his is far more extreme than mine because his girl was in Australia, and then moved to the States. But he was specifically talking about jealousy. He stated that he wouldn’t tell his girlfriend if he was out with a couple of girls, because it would create more hassle than it was worth.

Then he went on to say that a friend of his had a MASSIVE fight with his fiancée because a girl texted him, and the fiancée didn’t understand why a girl would need to be texting him. Then it came out that the friend was planning on living with the girl, out of necessity, to which the fiancée reacted very, very badly.
While I can see her point, that she might not be best pleased at his living with a girl she didn’t know, I do think a massive fight is sort of out of proportion – if they’re engaged, surely she should trust him entirely? Why else would you marry that person?

In any case, I pointed out to the friend I was talking to that I was in no way jealous whatsoever. The boy can hang out with whoever he wants, of whatever gender, and I will trust him entirely. Now it’s mostly because I know that he’s far too lazy to cheat, but I do trust him. He lived with a girl (and, admittedly, three other boys) for six months and I had no problem with it. If he wanted to move in with a girl again, I’d have no problem with it. If he wants to develop a deep and close friendship with anyone, girl or boy, who am I to say that he can’t?

I don’t >get< the jealousy thing. I never have. If Alex wants to make friends with someone, it's not up to me to say that he can't. Especially not based solely on their gender. If he wants to go out drinking with a load of girls, that's his prerogative.

Now I might be biased here, because I get on a lot better with guys than with girls. If you measure the ratios of my friends, guys are sure to come out well ahead. Therefore, if someone was to try and be jealous to the extent that they were attempting to limit the amount of time I can spend with lads, they could whistle and foxtrot oscar.
My friends mean a lot to me, and I'm not giving them up, male or female, for a boy. Not least a boy who doesn't understand how little difference it makes whether the person you're hanging out with is male or female.

In my opinion jealousy, as a trait, is not even a little bit desirable. Alex is terribly laidback about the whole thing. I don't think he really mind whether or not I go out, let alone whether I'm with boys, girls or a mix of the two. I like that about him. I like that he trusts me enough that it doesn't matter who I'm with.
Or else he just doesn't care, but that's a question to ponder another day…

In any case, I wonder, in the case of the jealous fiancée I mentioned at the start of my post, how well they'll cope when he's living with another two girls in a different country (as he will be come February). Will her jealousy abate because she trusts him? Or will it become a huge stumbling block between them?

How do you deal with jealousy when you're in an LDR anyways? Do you install some sort of snooping app on their smartphone which lets you read their texts? Do you demand they stay in and skype you each night so you know they're not out with other girls?

I don't know… Jealousy seems a little irrational to me. If you are jealous, you're only gonna piss off your other half, and I doubt that jealously guarding your OH like a possession reduces the chances of your losing them.

Yeah. Jealousy. I dun get it.

Lumières

The one thing in Lyon which I have looked forward to since arriving here (and no, it’s not going home, although I’m looking forward to that too) is La Fête des Lumières.

Every December, on the 8th (although it lasts a few days) the city of Lyon gives thanks to Mary for saving them from the plague (I think). Originally it was celebrated by candles in windows, but it’s developed and has become an incredible festival of light shows across the entire city which lasts four days and encompasses some of the most amazing visual effects one could possibly imagine.

The focal point of the festival is the basilica of Notre Dame de Fourvière, which sits atop a hill in Old Lyon, overlooking the city centre.
Although many places around the city are the subject of fantastic lightshows (I went to see the one at the Cathédrale Saint-Georges), Fourvière is the biggest and the brightest, and the symbol of the festival, with its golden Mary standing resplendent on her pillar, lit up and accompanied by the words “Merci Marie”.

Words alone cannot do justice to the festival, so here’s a few pictures which will give you a much better idea of it than I can.

And we may as well have a video of the installation in the Place Bellecour. Named “I love Clouds” it was a fantasically colourful installation assembled around the statue of King Louis XIV.
http://www.dailymotion.com/embed/video/xmu7ji
3 – I LOVE CLOUDS – Place Bellecour par france3rhonealpes
Or if you’re too lazy to click through to the video (because I can’t figure out how to embed it) here’s a picture. Notice the big wheel in the background! Cool or what?