It’s about ten years now since I first set foot on Irish soil. Back then I didn’t grasp how much the experience of working as an au pair in Ireland would alter me.

I'm back in Germany for nearly eight years now, but I listen to RTÉ Radio 1 first thing in the morning. I know that it will be cloudy with sunny spells in Dublin before I am even bothered to open the blinds of my Berlin flat. I know that traffic on Con Colbert Road is slow (again), before even making my way to the hustle and bustle of Berlin's city centre. I know about water charges protests, Graham Dwyer and the new Glanbia plant before even thinking about Germany.

The Irish Times is the only online newspaper I read regularly; Irish dancing the only sporty activity I do; rugby the only sports I watch; and having fewer than ten Barry’s teabags in my kitchen makes me panic.

Should I ever have a daughter, I want to name her Saoirse, even though my parents’ attempt at pronouncing this “outlandish” word should probably teach me the better.

I am proud when my Irish friends tell me I’m more Irish than them, and when colleagues I’ve worked with for two years ask me if I’m “going home to Ireland for Christmas” and are shocked when they finally realise I’m not actually Irish.

I get upset and hurt when people call me "fake Irish" or tell me to stop "putting it on". Truth is, nothing is put on, it's who I am, what I feel and what I'm interested in. My favourite poet is Yeats. My bookshelf is filled with Roddy Doyle, Sebastian Barry and Anne Enright. My playlist mainly consists of The Frames, The Villagers, We Banjo 3 and Delorentos. I know more about the Easter Rising than any period in German history.

The Irish twang in my accent is as natural as my fair skin. My friends back in Drogheda had quickly found a term for it: Girish, which suggest that the bigger part of me is actually Irish.

But it should probably be G-Irish, as I feel torn between my constant longing for Ireland and my life here in Germany with my family and friends. I often get asked by people if I would like to go back to Ireland for good. Truth is, I would love to, but I’m scared. Scared that the Ireland I have created in my head no longer exists as it is linked to the freedom and relative carefree life of being an au pair during the Celtic Tiger. I’m scared that the reality of Irish healthcare, economy and politics will drive me out of the country, as it has so many of my friends.

But when I go back for holidays every year, I see that everything I love about Ireland is still as true as it was back then: the craic, the community spirit, close-knit families, breathtaking landscape, the hospitality, the banter, the poets, the music, the Guinness, the whiskey and the rich history. The question is, can all this make up for the above mentioned deficiencies? I guess I will have to find out one day and, after all, no country is perfect.