Home, to me, could be two places. There is home where my family is, in Wexford. And there's the home I made all for myself, by myself, in the city of Amsterdam.
I ended up here after graduating in 2010. There weren’t many opportunities for graduates at the time and I took the chance to get some work experience in Amsterdam; six months somehow turning into eight years.
Two years ago I felt a conflict. After six years in the Netherlands, I felt my "good time abroad" was at an end and it was time to get serious and make a life for myself in Ireland before it was too late. Ha! Too late for what?
I don’t know if other Irish people abroad have this feeling, but at times it felt like my life in the Netherlands was a sort of temporary existence. Not that this should come down to material things, but just as an example: I never bought anything substantial for my apartment. Somewhere in the back of my mind I’d already decided it wouldn’t fit in my suitcase whenever I would eventually move “home”. Why bother, when I’d be leaving?
I left for what I thought was my dream job at home in Ireland, and to be closer to my family. Instead, what I got was a shock. “Home” turned out to be working a manic job, living in a sad little apartment share in Dublin. I didn’t see my family any more than I would have when living in Amsterdam.
It didn’t work out and I moved back to Amsterdam within a few months. Some may argue that I didn’t give Dublin a fair chance, and I would probably agree. But it was the right decision for me.
Moving back to the Netherlands for a second time meant I had to confront myself. I expected my family to hate my guts for leaving again. To my relief, they said I am an adult and I need to live my own life. I can’t describe what a weight off my shoulders that was.
It also surprised me that I had needed their permission. I was carrying around this idea that they expected me to set up my “real life” close to them. I know it is still something they would like, but it was amusing and a relief to find the real pressure to do so was coming from myself.
It’s different now. I own my own home with my boyfriend who is Dutch. I’m invested in Amsterdam. Years ago I would have imagined this as a betrayal to my family. But this is also why they supported my education; to go out and live the life I want, to be safe, independent and to have something of my own. They see now that I have all that and more. Plus, it helps that I’m only an hour’s flight away and can pop over for a weekend every now and then.
So will I ever come “home” to Ireland? I will never say never. But there is no denying that I have difficulties with how Ireland functions. Some might say that makes me a terrible patriot, but I think it comes down to a mismatch in values.
Amsterdam is historically built on liberal thinking, while Ireland is just now shaking off the last of the Catholic grip. Irish people tend not to speak their minds, or to deal with the things they most need to deal with, and we have a really bad habit of begrudging those closest to us their success.
That all said, if I could frame or bottle the best of Irishness, I would.
The Dutch have their own faults too, no doubt, but I am just more at ease living here. Explaining that “home” to me is no longer where I was born is controversial.
As a nation, for centuries we’ve emigrated en masse, but are expected to live half-lives abroad, one foot in two places as we set up GAA clubs across the globe. There’s nothing wrong with that, of course, that’s what comfort and identity is. But for me, “home” is more and more the one I am building for myself here, out of Ireland, with more of the pride and less of the guilt.
