People have the their own problems to worry about. You don’t need to hear about mine.


That’s a very moody sounding title for a blog post, isn’t it?

I’ll try to be brief. It’s pushing four months since I returned to Ireland after the long jaunt in Korea. There’s probably a lot to say about it but I’ve felt kind of pent up and not comfortable saying to much lately. I’m going to blame my circumstances in private but pretend everything is rosy on the outside. Despite this things are kind of rosy, as it is good to be back in Ireland, and while some things could be better there are plenty of people in this country suffering a lot more than I.

*

Maybe I’m just battling against the former cushy lifestyle that I had in Korea, and the familiarity of living in the same home for over three years – something myself and Herself hadn’t done since we left our family homes some years before. Living in Ireland is very different of course, and the costs are always one of the first places you feel this. Learning to adapt to deal with these costs is its own challenge.

 

 

All three photos taken looking east from Capel Street Bridge, Dublin

Before we lived off credit cards essentially, where they would function as bank cards most of the time, but now we live off hard cash. So if there’s no cash in the bank, or indeed the pocket, there is no longer the long finger to rely on. This is both an advantage and a disadvantage, but you’re likely to be an adult so you can work out the problems yourself. I can feel the restrictions but I’m kind of glad there we’re no longer juggling bank balances.

*

One of the biggest differences is where we live. Of course you’ll be familiar with the view from the twentieth floor, that spot from where our apartment looked out over Suwon and caught the sun reclining over haze and high-rise on so many evenings. The apartment wasn’t tiny by Korean standards but it certainly wasn’t large.

Compare it to where we live now. Our kitchen is almost as big, and certainly longer than our apartment, there are three bedrooms which are all much bigger. We have a separate sitting room, and a dining room a family could be comfortable residing in. But the real coup de grace is the garden, which is not only equipped with mature growth, a green house, walnut and fig trees, but it’s also massive. Of course I can’t be entirely happy – maintaining this space is a full time job in itself, or so it feels.

New skyline view from the garden

I should add that we were very fortunate to have this situation. The house is definitely not mine, it was my grandfather’s and after he passed away last year the house became vacant. Part of the reason we came back to Ireland so hurriedly – I suppose – was because we knew that we had this place to move into. Myself and Herself are grateful for the support of both our family’s, without whom this move would have been impossible. It is still a work in progress but at least there is some progress being made somewhere.

*

Some time back I decided to focus my career fully on education, or at least education related. This decision came after a lot of thought and frustration, but one penny that did drop told me that I had been working quite enjoyably in education since 2005, so why stop now? There are a number of reasons why I would stop, namely a lack of jobs and generally lower salaries, but a reason I’ll continue is that I’m kind of good at what I do I think, and I kind of love learning myself.

This focus has made the transition to Ireland easier I suppose, in that I don’t mind teaching English for a living and when we came back in the summer there was no shortage of quality teaching opportunities. This is less the case now, but if anything the lack of work is a strong impetuous to get me up of my arse and find a proper job. There’s plenty out there, but I suppose it’s just a question of finally connecting the hammer with the nail, a skill I have a tendency to lack I believe.

Regardless of that, having to work in the city centre has been something I’ve missed. I am espcecially fond of those pre-work walks across the river, through Temple Bar and from there beyond. There are tiny features and so many sounds that even if you listened you would miss the majority.There is bustle and a hush on seemingly always rain damp streets no more than a minute apart. I feel I almost recognise every face. Town is a remedy in itself where I can daydream my way through the streets and imagine something.

Dublin city streets of an early morning

All that being said, if you’d like to offer me a job I’m more than willing to hear you out.

I had planned this post to be one where I wouldn’t rant on about my circumstances. I had imagined a later post in my life that would divy out the entire insipid unemployment fueled rant, but it seems that a genuine desire just to write something has countered any major veins of negativity. I’ve tried here to at least be honest while at the same time not bore you with melodramatics of a new life in my home country, as it has certainly been far from that. We’ve been enjoying it here, but it’s not without it’s occasional speed-bump. But we knew this was going to be the case so it’s hardly news.

*

I’m keen to get back blogging regularly. I miss the attention, the fun of finishing a draft, the nervous wait for the view count the rise, and the sudden vibration and tinkle on my phone as a comment or like comes through. But I’ve been a bit at a loss for things to say, which is a poor excuse for someone as loquacious as I.

If there’s anything you’d like to hear my waffle on about or if you’d like a topic analysed as only I can, or even photographs of a particular place or theme from Dublin please drop a comment in below.

From the top of Google HQ in Dublin

*

The photographs in this post were all taken over the past couple of months in Dublin. These days I’ve ditched my old iPhone 4 and and am now touting a HTC One M8, which is very lovely indeed (maybe there’s an idea for a new blog post…)

This Could Be (one of) the Last Time(s)


The fact that I live an apartment on the twentieth floor is not news to this blog. This high position allows for a fine, if not a little post-apocalyptic at times, view of Suwon on all but the most weather beaten of days. I have grown fond of taking photographs of the many perspectives this home of ours provides. There aren’t many opportunities left for me to do this. 20140606-193730.jpg After four and a half years here in Korea, which is essentially the whole life cycle of this blog, we are returning to Ireland to live. 20140606-193754.jpg Things you need to know: This is an indefinite move. We really aren’t sure where we will eventually settle down. 20140606-193806.jpg We will never leave Korea forever. We will be back. This is a certainty. Just don’t ask me when. It’s going to be a crazy change, and we are excited, terrified, happy, and of course sad to be making such a move. This is a life changer. 20140606-193825.jpg Before we came back to Korea in 2010 we moved country four times in a year and a half. We’ve enjoyed the stability. I’ve really enjoyed writing here about life in Korea, and I know many of my regular readers are here for my writing about Korea. I hope that you will join me as I document life in Ireland, when I find a minute to spare (of course). 20140606-193840.jpg So that’s my big news, in case you’ve been wondering. So with that in mind, here’s a song.

…And a post-apocalyptic-ish sunset

20140606-194035.jpg

 

P.S. I hate packing/moving country almost as much as I hate K-pop. It’s going to be a blast!

Home to If I Had A Minute To Spare Towers


I kid because I love. But in this case I’m not kidding. I do live in a tower, a twenty storey high tower pitched between what seems like a thousand other twenty storey high towers. Although mine is made from concrete, steel, and glass, not ivory. This may or may not be a good thing.

20130901-230901.jpg

After a long summer away in Ireland, myself, Herself, and +1 have returned to our perch overlooking the ever present traffic which persists along that big long avenue that runs through Yeongtong-dong which I have no idea of the name.

20130901-231034.jpg

We have been told we have missed the worst of the heat, and we can well believe it as a cool breeze is now flowing through our apartment. Outside the weather is balmy indeed, with only the strong afternoon sun in our eyes to bother us as we stroll around.

20130901-231217.jpg

This evening, the first of September, the sky was truly clear for the first time as the sun encroached on the horizon of high-rise to our west. Bright, it turned the walls of the other apartments closest to us pink from white in its glow. All else which felled a shadow was black in its own silhouette from the departing evening. As it darkened more, all those shadows tuned to dusk, street lights came on as pin-pricks of fluorescent light, and the sky streaked with a brushstroke of cloud was layered in a peach kind of pink and a typical sky blue.

20130901-231325.jpg

It is home, I suppose.

“Getting There”


This is a short narrative post I initially set out to write for Groove Magazine‘s “Share Story, Win Trip” writing competition. The call came out for ‘funny’ travel stories where a lesson was learned. The winning pieces would be read out loud dramatically. Frankly, there just aren’t enough of these kind of encouraging writing opportunities in Korea. I could say more but I’ll get distracted.

I started writing mine and about two paragraphs from the end I decided that it wasn’t a travel story. So I stopped writing. I came back about a week later and took another crack at it, tidied it up but left it loosely over the 500 word limit, which kind of left it for any kind of flash litt and too short to be considered anything else. Still it’s a good story. You’ll laugh. I hope. 

Getting There

When I was bundled out of the taxi by the Englishless man who collected me from the airport, it was exactly twenty-four hours after my flight had left Dublin. He left me there shaking hands with a tall, spectacled and skinny Korean man with a mane of hair almost comically emerging from the top of his head. He told me his name was Richard, or Reeechard as he did his best to pronounce the R sound fully. He was dressed smartly in black pants, a grey jacket, white shirt, and burgundy skinny tie, all of which seemed to shine magnetically in the heavy overcast sky.
Richard helped me with my bags as we entered a building and took the elevator up to the fifth floor. I was brought into the school where I would be working, where I was introduced to the director, a man shorter than most I’d ever met before, but he effused authority and shook my hand confidently. He directed Richard to get everything sorted and then vanished into his office.
We picked up my bags again and made for the elevator. I was told that we would go to my apartment where I could get some rest or have some food. I would be sharing my apartment with my co-worker and with the teacher who I was replacing.
When we made it outside, we walked into a large apartment complex of twenty-five storeyed buildings. To say I was dizzy wouldn’t explain it properly. I had left an Ireland where buildings rarely stretched further than three or four storeys high, and in my home town of Dunboyne (pop. 6,959) there probably wasn’t a building, other than the parish church, more than two storeys high. Seoul (pop. 10,581,728) seemingly had no room for buildings that small.
We entered one of these behemoths and walked up to the elevator. There wasn’t much chat as I was tired and nervous, and Richard seemed a little uncomfortable with small talk for whatever reasons. When the doors opened he punched the number 23. I gulped and blinked hard. With a jolt we rose and the numbers flickered higher and higher, until they reached 23 where the elevator halted with a lurch. Outside on the landing Richard confidently asserted that “finally, we are here!”.
He pulled out a key and went to the door where he jerked to a stop with an “unghh” kind of sound coming from his mouth. He stood rigid with key holding arm outstretched towards the part of the door where a key hole would traditionally be located. I looked around unsuccessfully for Medusa but quickly found the problem was there was no keyhole in the door. Instead there was a small electronic pad.
He touched it and with a beep it lit up with numbers. Again an “unngh” sound. He looked at the key, looked at the pad, scratched his mane, and then looked at me. I looked at him and felt like replying “unngh”. He then rang the doorbell, whereupon a young girl opened the door, and Richard asked her if foreign English teachers lived in the apartment. The girl said no they didn’t, and closed the door. We stood looking at the green metal door in silence.
Richard sprung into action. He pulled out his phone, dialled, waited, and suddenly burst out chattering, then stopped talking, asked me to wait a minute, then started chattering again. He then hung up asked me to please wait where I was, and then he disappeared into the elevator which subsequently plumeted to the ground floor.
And there I stood, bags at my feet, jet lagged and clueless on a tiny landing on the twenty third floor of an apartment building a good 8,000 kilometres from home, diligently waiting a minute.
Richard eventually returned smiling and reassuring me repeatedly. We took the elevator down stairs to the ground floor again, and left that building, walked around the corner and into a completely different building. Here we took the elevator to the eighteenth floor, where a door stood with a keyhole in it.
Richard somewhat less confidently than before approached the door, inserted the key, and turned it. There was a loud unlocking click, and he let out a huge sigh of relief, then looked at me with a beaming smile. We entered the apartment.
Richard left a few minutes later, and I was left standing in the middle of a room looking around my new surroundings on the eighteenth floor. The large windows brightened the room. The was a purr of traffic outside but all I could see was clouds and mountains in the distance. I took a deep breath. I had arrived in Korea, and it was good. I think.