Shorter than me

Tag: blog

  • Made in Dublin: into today

    When the greens are different.

    Not of the light luminescence of spring, but a darker green now.

    When the richer greens are more complicated, and more mature, and heavier.

    When the green of the grass is fuller then, than the younger grass, only then are the ants ready to fly.

    One evening in July, between the dusk and sunset, when the temperature, light and humidity are just right, and when the grass is long enough and strong enough, to launch them. 

    Then and only then, can the ants file one by one, and fly into the sky.

    Straight up, and into the wild awaiting air for them.

    Their first flight with their new, tiny, translucent wings takes their weight and the wind, and takes them high, into the blue sky still.  The clouds wait, and the air supports them.

    Off they fly, into today and into the summer eve’s blue.  And it will be the blue that’s a part of it.  When the sky is Maya blue, or cornflower blue, or wait, of course…cerulean.

    Some ants are brave and Gung ho.  They fly off on the adventure with big, lascivious grins. They can’t wait to mate, and start new colonies wherever they land, far away from the backyards where they started from.

    Other ants have summer melancholia and are wistful for their old homes, which were familiar and safe.  They feel vertiginous, and nauseous, and teary.  They will never enjoy the evening acrobatics, or the free falling or the dangers.  They look backwards, towards the homes where they once belonged.

    Some ants are neutral:  neither excited nor dreading the event.  They simply accept it’s what they do, on this one night in July, alongside all the other ants.

    All the thoughts and doubts.  The awe ants, and doubting ants, sad ants and excited ants, joyful ants and naughty ants, funny ants and deeply, earnest ants. 

    All flying in the sky, spectacularly.

    All the other ants, know the moment of flight from the temperature, the light, the humidity and the way the green grass looks different now, from the luminescence of the spring.  But now a darker green, a more mature green and a more complicated colour. 

    This tremendous journey under azure skies, timelessly.

  • Made in Dublin

    I was the victim of crime.

    Or rather, I was nearly the victim of crime.

    Last week, as I was walking down O’Connell Street, a young man unzipped my rucksack and popped his hand into my bag to try and take my purse.  I didn’t notice his movements, which were as light as a ballet dancer’s.  I didn’t feel his breath on my neck, nor did I hear him.  I didn’t feel any difference in weight or speed as I walked at my normal pace, and he walked just behind me.

    What I did notice was that two other men, two plain clothes Guards, swooped in and stopped him, mid-crime.  One man took the would-be-thief, over to the Public Order Van, parked next to the Spire.  And the other plain clothes Guard walked me over to the wall of the GPO, to ask me some questions, and take my details.

    The man had to tell me a few times, that he was a plain clothes Guard, as I wasn’t sure what was happening.  He told me to check inside my bag, which I did, and I reassured him that everything was fine.  He wrote down my name, address and telephone number, and again, I told him that I felt OK. 

    Dublin has a poor reputation these days. 

    Everyone criticises it for being dangerous, unpleasant and harsh.  I’ve been like an eternal ex-girlfriend, singing its praises and defending it, despite the reality unfolding in front of me.  I see the correlation between political neglect, inequality, rising prices and a rise in crime.  But as it’s been my home for half my life, I still hate it when people are mean about it.

    That said, when I was nearly the victim of crime last week, I wondered if it was time for even me to finally say, “Dublin is shit”.

    The plain clothes Guard finished writing down my details.  Then he asked me where I was going for the evening and so I told him that I was on my way to my writing group.  I explained that it was more of an open-mic event, than a traditional writing session, and that it was filled with eclectic and inspiring writers.

    He nodded and said, “well good luck with that Ruth, and tell me are you more of a poet or a prose writer?”

    “Both!” I said enthusiastically.  “I’ve always written short stories and flash fiction or vignettes, if you will.  But recently I’ve started experimenting with poetry and I’ve had two poems published in a magazine called “Flare””.

    “That’s really wonderful”, the plain clothes Guard said to me encouragingly.  “Keep it up!”

    …and our thief, what about him?

    He needed to take something that didn’t belong to him. 

    There were at least 20 uniformed Guards on patrol that evening on O’Connell Street, and so his chances of getting caught were enormous.  Nevertheless, he thought it was worth the risk.  I don’t look like the sort of person who would have a lot of cash with me, or a fancy new phone, but he thought it would be worth his while to see what I was carrying.  Even if he had been successful, all he would have stolen from my bag was 20 euro, a Leap card, a 4-year-old phone, and a poem. 

    He risked it all for that.

    Later, after the writing session or open mic event, I walked back down Dame Street to take a bus home, and I saw plenty more Guards in groups, around the city, keeping its residents and visitors safe.  As a woman, walking to a bus stop alone in the dark, I was happy to see little groups of Guards.  But wouldn’t it be cheaper and better if we just made the city a little easier to live in, so that people don’t have to choose a life of crime?

    Couldn’t we just have a city where everyone had a home, no one needed to queue for food outside the GPO, and no one needed to try and steal from passers-by?  Where everyone had enough comfort and security to be able to call their lives, “real living”, and where we all looked after one another?

    Ireland is one of the richest countries in the world right now, with full employment and a big bank balance thanks to the Apple tax.  If we can’t accommodate everyone now, and give those who need a little extra help, a little extra help, then shame on us.

    The place I call home is magnificent. 

    But it could be so much better and brighter for all.