Slán Go Fóill

My own personal Ginsbergian rendition of "I Remember, I Remember..."

It’s been a year since my college graduation. It all feels so small and foreign now. At the time, I had no idea where I was headed- an unemployed graduate who had just lost her home and was crashing at a friend’s couch. A few months later, I decided to leave the place I had come to know as a new home, Ireland, and go back to Guatemala, hoping for a grounding and peaceful return to the land that watched me grow.

And even though I made my peace with leaving Ireland and the life I had built there, a part of me stayed behind - in its plains, mountains and sea. I fell in love with all things Irish- from its poetry, to its greenery, its music, even its untimely bus schedules… (maybe an Irish lad here or there too). Many people commented on my bravery to travel across the world to an unknown land. I never considered myself brave for doing so. I just remember being eighteen and wanting nothing else but to leave my hometown and immerse myself in another culture, with a language unlike my own and be surrounded by people who didn’t know who I was. In a way, I was hoping to detach from parts of my identity to make a path for new ways of being. It was beautiful and fulfilling at times, and sometimes it was painful and extremely lonely. Yet, all was worth it. The day that I called my aunt crying and for the first time in months actually admitted out loud I wanted to come home - I became obsessed with remembering. I started reminiscing looking at the first pictures I took when I arrived, I reread journal entries I had written over the last four years and even had dreams about the people and places I was going to have to leave behind.

I don’t think it’s a feeling I can explain to anyone who hasn’t experienced it- there was a void, an emptiness that swaddled me at night. A part of me died the last time I swam in Irish waters, my eyes watered when watching the starry night light up the Sugarloaf peak. The icy frost of morning stole parts of my exhale. I tried to record everything and all that ever moved me - the view, the accents, the food, the streets, the epicness of it all. And funnily enough, in one of my last classes of creative writing, we were given a poetry assignment based on the renowned poem,“I Remember, I Remember” by Thomas Hood.

I remember, I remember,

The house where I was born,

The little window where the sun

Came peeping in at morn;

He never came a wink too soon,

Nor brought too long a day,

But now, I often wish the night

Had borne my breath away!

I read this poem a handful of times, but I have listened to the audio recording Hood made for it over twenty times. There was something about the cyclicality of its verses, the rhythm of its tone that resonated with my feelings of sadness and nostalgia. One evening, late at night, I layed in bed, watching the bare trees of November sway to the heavy winds and I started writing -. What poured out of me came from an unconscious place, unplanned and unexpected. Instead of writing it poetically and rhythmically as Hood did, I transformed it into list of memories, a sped up version of Hood’s poetry - almost attempting to imitate Ginsberg’s flow of consciousness in Howl. I just wanted to write down anything I remembered when thinking of Ireland. I have just recently found this written piece - a year has gone since I wrote it and reading it felt like stepping into a past I no longer yearned so obsessively for. There is beauty in change but there is something inexplicably special about the memories we keep to ourselves when embarking upon a new journey.

This is for all friends, family and readers that know the pain and beauty that comes with leaving a place you’ve known and loved so deeply. Saying goodbye for now because we know a part of us will always reside there and we long to get it back.

I leave you with this piece I wrote for the Emerald Isle.

Love always, Lejana ♥

Slán Go Fóill

Slán Go Fóill, I say to the land of endless green, the 40 shades that colour the valleys, mountains and plains. 

I came here as an 18 year old child, feeling obsolete in my own home, my own language and what I had known.

To change and leave the land that saw me grow  was to be staring at the eyes of a wild beast and meet in a hug. 

Ireland welcomed me, enchanted me with the sing-song of birds and the streets of Temple Bar. 

I remember sitting in a pub in Stoneybatter and hearing the lilting of strangers accompanied by an accordion and a single guitar. 

I fell in love, twice. Maybe three times. 

I became fond of Dublin, I enjoyed walking its busy streets and then somewhat empty lanes at night, although you’d still be able to hear a group of lads singing, laughing, and stumbling after a few pints.  

I moved every year within the same county, at least twice. I lived in Belfast for two months, I lived in Cork for about the same. In Greystones for almost four. I lived  in Portlaoise with my parents for two weeks during my graduation and lived in a hotel with my mother for a week during orientation. 

I got my first job, I got my first tattoo. I ate more meals in bed than at the dinner table. Sometimes I skipped meals to save money, other times I said, “fuck it” and spent rent on concert tickets. 

I became very ill, probably the most I have ever been, twice. I sprained both my left and right ankle, twice. I was helicopter rescued for one of those, in Mullaghcleevaun.

I learned what it feels like to belong to a team. Ultimate frisbee became the laughing stock for those who didn’t know what it was when I mentioned it and it was also one of the happiest times of my stay. 

I learned what it is like to live with your best friends, who later become family. I also had to endure hard conversations with those I love and cried uncontrollably in the arms of those who love me- 

I gained weight. I lost weight. I exercised nearly everyday during the summers, I barely got out of bed during the winters. I saw the first snowfall in the early morning of January 2021, ‘post pandemic’. It felt like the freshest breath of air in the longest time. 

 I spent most of my days during the pandemic walking aimlessly around Foxrock. I went swimming in the cold Irish sea. I remember feeling my blood vessels contract and expand with each stroke. Then I’d let my body float numbingly and almost motionless while looking up at Killiney Hill, where the sea and cliffs would meet. The Dart became my favourite public transport for its immaculate views of the cliffs, the rooftops of Dublin and the Sea. I had never taken public transport before moving to Ireland. I took the wrong bus more times than I can count.

I had my first spiritual awakening. I also suffered through my greatest period of grief and pain. 

I bought my first bike. I cycled at least 14 km with Falcon everyday to work. I learned what harsh wind and rain can do to my anger. I learned that a workplace is made by its people. I analysed and observed people constantly, acutely and almost annoyingly so. I learned to imitate the Irish accent. I also made everyone laugh when trying to do a Tallaght accent. I learned what the word ‘geese’ meant during a game of Cards Against Humanity and it has been an ongoing joke ever since. I awoke very early for work. I went to bed very early for pleasure. I lost my wallet in a pub in Limerick and found it exactly where I left it the next day. I was part of an intense, unnecessary debate of  ‘Is it a wallet or a purse?’

I’d never leave a pub without ordering a Guinness first. I laughed immensely about things I can’t even remember today.  Kevin Barry became one of my favourite authors. I’ve read and watched three Mcdonagh plays and had never laughed so much in a theatre.

I remember vividly standing at the rooftop of someone’s house in Phibsborough. It was late at night, I had a few drinks on my system and my best friend stood beside me. We watched the cars below go by, and the bus garage on the far right. We looked at each other and smiled. We shared a thought that night, one which over the next four years would become a recurrent topic of conversation, ‘I live in fucking Ireland.’

I felt the Earth move in the middle of the night on a farm in Cork. I watched a cow sneeze. I learned to drive a tractor and spent my 20th birthday racing in a ploughing field. I remember the big glass windows on my Killiney house, Leashafen. I remember the top of the sugarloaf coming in through my small window room in Greystones.

I went on coffee dates by myself. I had random conversations with strangers on the bus late at night. I worked o a warehouse and took a job in Aldi moving palettes and stacking shelves. It was weirdly rewarding and beneficial for my mental health at the time. I kissed a girl. I realised how deeply attracted I am to both women and men.

I lied. To my family and friends and to strangers sometimes too. I opened myself up to Love and heartbreak. I had an out of this world first date with someone I still have feelings for. Izakaya. Doyle’s. River Bar. Fibber Magees. Lauryn Hill and Mac Demarco live. Cultura Profética came to greet us at The Button Factory. I graduated college. I learned the importance of being more honest with myself and with those I love. I danced, painted, and tanned for a whole Irish summer. 

I began to feel more comfortable speaking English than Spanish. I recorded a short film. I wrote a short script. I am still learning to trust myself and the power of my Truth. 

I had to say goodbye to all that. Didion taught me the power of letting go and how to surmount the pain you feel when detaching from a place you love. Irish mythology lives in the depths of the countryside. 

I will someday go back and it will feel like I never left. My spirit is coloured  green, white and orange; I call her Éire.