That’s the thing about Dublin city. Once you’ve known someone, it’s difficult to not know them. It’s a small, intimate county, sometimes so intimate that it’s possible to meet your ex-boss at lunch and your ex-lover at cocktail hour, all in a day.
The social scene of Dublin is undoubtedly divided in a similar way to most other cosmopolitan cities in the world. There’s the “it” places, and there’s the “not it” places. It’s pretty much black and white, but it’s by no means simple. Soon enough, at say 19 or 20, you find the scene that fits you best, and make friends, not to mention dates, with those who fill the bars, coffee shops and restaurants you frequent.
What happens though, when the friendships turn sour and the dates become just that - a string of dinners, drinks, mueseum openings and movies with stranger after stranger? What happens, I have noticed, is that you never can say “I am never seeing that person again”, because most likely you will.
In a few short days last week I managed to take what I considered to be an unnecessary trip down Memory Lane. On yet another Summer morning disguised by rain, wind and general dreariness, I huddled into my usual coffee haunt. There she was, on front of me in the line of impatient workers waiting for their caffeine fix: the dreaded ex-boss.
There she was, with her unmistakable ash brown hair, black twin-set and pearl necklace. She looked around, as though she had sensed being looked at. I looked at her, a moment passed as we both decided whether or not to bother being falsely nice to each other. The “Hi how are you?” that came from both our formerly pursed lips indicated that we both cared far too much about the circles we moved in to ignore each other merely because an actual disliking existed.
Two cappuccinos and ten hours later, the last thing on my mind was that another, much more painful type of ex would be drinking another, much stronger drink mere inches away from me. As I stood beside the bar of a popular city centre dancing haunt, sipping a vodka-soda which was far too light for my liking, Beloved moved backward on sighting of a former lover. It was then that I realised, it happens to everyone, ex-boyfriends and ex-girlfriends living on the island were bumping into each other left, right and centre, and they were even engaging in flowery conversation.
And there it was, the first lover. It wasn’t love, or was it? Maybe lust. It didn’t even matter. After all, it had only been a couple of months, almost three years ago. What mattered was that I was here now, standing on front of an ex and wondering what the appropriate level of engagement would be. A perfunctory hello allowed me to stop wondering and set the bar for my response. It seemed so odd that two people could share a bed, each others bodies, thoughts and lives for a time, only to avoid any sort of real communication upon their next encounter.
Did it signify something, I questioned. Why did I even care? I cared because it felt like opening the Sunday newspapers to find no comment columns on the week’s news - it wasn’t something that was required, but it was a nice touch.
Later that night, I realised, it’s difficult to not know someone you had once known, but maybe it was possible to acknowledge someone you had known a lot of, very little.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Thursday, August 9, 2007
Simon Says "Game Over"
It is recommended that you read the previous columns listed below before reading the following column:
The Reason To Rebound
No Pressure Over Cappuccino
Midweek, 12 noon, a rare opportunity arose where the sun stayed out long enough over Dublin city centre for myself and Simon (my highly educated, highly frustrated friend) to eat lunch in the great outdoors of South William Street.
As the tables began to fill and our fiery-haired waitress approached to take our order, I realised that I had not yet glanced at the menu, for there were far more pressing items on the agenda: Simon's love-life, circa the last three months.
The couple, who split in January this year one week after my 21st intimate birthday dinner at the Morrison (coincidentally under that very roof), reconcilliated their love at the beginning of the summer, and while I was apprehensive, I was glad to see Simon glow once again. Not for long, it would seem.
In Simon's eyes, the reunion would mean that the couple could resume couple-oriented activities, you know, kissing, sex...and mini breaks. Mini-breaks, Simon would soon discover, were the only thing on the menu. I sympathised, and yet I wondered what was the underlying problem of the Dark Lord that meant sextra curricular activities must be ruled out. I couldn't help but wonder, had the fact that Simon had made the decision to dump the Dark Lord back in January encouraged growth in the gaping hole that was the Dark Lord's self-esteem?
That lack of self-esteem was endearing at first, though with self-esteem, come side-effects. He possessing the low esteem requires the feeling of control, and when that control is given, well, everything is hunky dory. However, when control is taken away, out comes the self esteem monster...revenge.
The well disguised revenge included a "no labels" rule. Simon was in hell. Well, he was in Aldi when he really wanted to be in Superquinn, and let's face it, that's pretty much the same thing. "This is not a relationship, it's a trial", said the Dark Lord. Simon couldn't help but feel like a lab rat. Pessimism, naturally, was order of the day, and sprinkled on the relationship, apologies, "not relationship" at any given opportunity.
Suffice to say, after his fun, the Dark Lord decided that the flight home from said mini break was the ideal moment to terminate the relationship. As I had suggested weeks prior, this would happen at a time when it was least expected by Simon, just to allow the Dark Lord have added kicks.
Simon, once again, had been booted, full force, out of the driver seat. "I just feel, had I not gone back into it the first time I would be totally over the entire issue now", he told me, toying with his fish cakes, which at this point were as cold as his love life. "And now, I'm here, basically hijacked", he said despairingly.
"Well there's only one thing you can do now", I interrupted. "And that is to viciously cut the toxic Dark Lord out of your life, if not for good, for an extended period".
"You know what", my anxiety-ridden friend announced, sounding more powerful than before, "Simon Says Game Over".
And just like that, I realised, I had hardly touched my Tandoori Chicken, which was still mid air on fork, for I was far too busy devouring the contents of Simon's non-labelled mess. It re-enforces the thought that, we are far more interested in stories of doom and gloom that those of hope and happiness.
The Reason To Rebound
No Pressure Over Cappuccino
Midweek, 12 noon, a rare opportunity arose where the sun stayed out long enough over Dublin city centre for myself and Simon (my highly educated, highly frustrated friend) to eat lunch in the great outdoors of South William Street.
As the tables began to fill and our fiery-haired waitress approached to take our order, I realised that I had not yet glanced at the menu, for there were far more pressing items on the agenda: Simon's love-life, circa the last three months.
The couple, who split in January this year one week after my 21st intimate birthday dinner at the Morrison (coincidentally under that very roof), reconcilliated their love at the beginning of the summer, and while I was apprehensive, I was glad to see Simon glow once again. Not for long, it would seem.
In Simon's eyes, the reunion would mean that the couple could resume couple-oriented activities, you know, kissing, sex...and mini breaks. Mini-breaks, Simon would soon discover, were the only thing on the menu. I sympathised, and yet I wondered what was the underlying problem of the Dark Lord that meant sextra curricular activities must be ruled out. I couldn't help but wonder, had the fact that Simon had made the decision to dump the Dark Lord back in January encouraged growth in the gaping hole that was the Dark Lord's self-esteem?
That lack of self-esteem was endearing at first, though with self-esteem, come side-effects. He possessing the low esteem requires the feeling of control, and when that control is given, well, everything is hunky dory. However, when control is taken away, out comes the self esteem monster...revenge.
The well disguised revenge included a "no labels" rule. Simon was in hell. Well, he was in Aldi when he really wanted to be in Superquinn, and let's face it, that's pretty much the same thing. "This is not a relationship, it's a trial", said the Dark Lord. Simon couldn't help but feel like a lab rat. Pessimism, naturally, was order of the day, and sprinkled on the relationship, apologies, "not relationship" at any given opportunity.
Suffice to say, after his fun, the Dark Lord decided that the flight home from said mini break was the ideal moment to terminate the relationship. As I had suggested weeks prior, this would happen at a time when it was least expected by Simon, just to allow the Dark Lord have added kicks.
Simon, once again, had been booted, full force, out of the driver seat. "I just feel, had I not gone back into it the first time I would be totally over the entire issue now", he told me, toying with his fish cakes, which at this point were as cold as his love life. "And now, I'm here, basically hijacked", he said despairingly.
"Well there's only one thing you can do now", I interrupted. "And that is to viciously cut the toxic Dark Lord out of your life, if not for good, for an extended period".
"You know what", my anxiety-ridden friend announced, sounding more powerful than before, "Simon Says Game Over".
And just like that, I realised, I had hardly touched my Tandoori Chicken, which was still mid air on fork, for I was far too busy devouring the contents of Simon's non-labelled mess. It re-enforces the thought that, we are far more interested in stories of doom and gloom that those of hope and happiness.
Sunday, August 5, 2007
One Child Warrants Many Remarks
What is the first thing that comes to mind when I say "only child"? Spoiled? Loner? Selfish parents? Smart parents? These are a few of the remarks I have heard in the past when innocently uttering the words "I'm an only child".
The most common of course is the spoiled remark. Everyone thinks it, and is totally willing to say it without any apprehension - to the face of you, the only child, or more hilariously, to the parents of said child. Would these people turn to a large struggling family and suggest "I bet you're scraping by with all those kids of yours?" I dare to guess, they would not.
If you're the eldest child of the family, there is little to be said, the youngest prompts the nowadays expected "ah, the baby!" and rarely further discussion. Maybe then, the only child shares more with the middle child, as unlikely as that might seem.
The middle child is the opposite of the only child in some ways, though it remains somewhat less spoken of. The odd "ooh the middle child (insert poor him/her sympathetic comment or expression)" occurs, and perhaps due to it being a negative subject, there is more to be said.
So what then, about only children being sad loners? Recently, my suspicion that the only child is in fact a happy loner, has been supported. The connotation with loner is negative, naturally, but why is this the case? Recently, I heard of another only child, aged in his 40s, who had remarkably similar views on the matter of time to oneself.
Patrick, a businessman, is way beyond being a loner. He's married, for one, and has children. When his children strayed the family home and wife packed her suitcase and took off on a "girls weekend", there were no questions being asked. Patrick was happy to put his golf clubs in the car and take off - alone. No invitations to friends or associates. The house didn't feel empty either, he promised. I believed him.
This confirmed my theory (well, as much as any case study can confirm a theory), that the only child is often more suitably equipped, and therefore able to be alone, and more importantly, to be happy about it.
The third and fourth remarks, the "what selfish parents they/you are" (these people are brazen!), and "they/you were the clever ones", are purely a matter of opinion, though in the view of many only children and their parents out there, not an opinion that needs to be discussed.
Why should how many children you choose to deliver be any different to one's decision to become vegetarian, or to purchase ridiculously expensive Prada shoes which remain in their box for all eternity. People: you know who you are - it's not your stomach, it's not your money, and it most certainly isn't your family!
The most common of course is the spoiled remark. Everyone thinks it, and is totally willing to say it without any apprehension - to the face of you, the only child, or more hilariously, to the parents of said child. Would these people turn to a large struggling family and suggest "I bet you're scraping by with all those kids of yours?" I dare to guess, they would not.
If you're the eldest child of the family, there is little to be said, the youngest prompts the nowadays expected "ah, the baby!" and rarely further discussion. Maybe then, the only child shares more with the middle child, as unlikely as that might seem.
The middle child is the opposite of the only child in some ways, though it remains somewhat less spoken of. The odd "ooh the middle child (insert poor him/her sympathetic comment or expression)" occurs, and perhaps due to it being a negative subject, there is more to be said.
So what then, about only children being sad loners? Recently, my suspicion that the only child is in fact a happy loner, has been supported. The connotation with loner is negative, naturally, but why is this the case? Recently, I heard of another only child, aged in his 40s, who had remarkably similar views on the matter of time to oneself.
Patrick, a businessman, is way beyond being a loner. He's married, for one, and has children. When his children strayed the family home and wife packed her suitcase and took off on a "girls weekend", there were no questions being asked. Patrick was happy to put his golf clubs in the car and take off - alone. No invitations to friends or associates. The house didn't feel empty either, he promised. I believed him.
This confirmed my theory (well, as much as any case study can confirm a theory), that the only child is often more suitably equipped, and therefore able to be alone, and more importantly, to be happy about it.
The third and fourth remarks, the "what selfish parents they/you are" (these people are brazen!), and "they/you were the clever ones", are purely a matter of opinion, though in the view of many only children and their parents out there, not an opinion that needs to be discussed.
Why should how many children you choose to deliver be any different to one's decision to become vegetarian, or to purchase ridiculously expensive Prada shoes which remain in their box for all eternity. People: you know who you are - it's not your stomach, it's not your money, and it most certainly isn't your family!
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