Leaving America

Today, I spent the entire day researching Ireland Citizenship, because someday, I'll be an Irish Citizen.

As you read: listen to Blood of Cuchulainn which echoed through the room I wrote this in.

 

As tears fell from my face, I clutched the back of my dad's shirt. "I will never forget you," I whispered. "Come and visit me, okay?" I let go, and reached for my mother, more tears fell. "I'll miss our ridicules fights." She began to cry, and I let her go. I laughed, "I don't fit in here in America anyway!" My hands grasped my hips. "I don't belong here My sports are there. My people are there. Everything is there, and you know it." 

 

"Flight seven six, departure to Dublin, Ireland." A woman called. I sighed and picked up my leather bags, glancing over at the small crowd walking into the gates.

 

My mum embraced me for the final time, and my father nodded. I was so used to having them around. Leaving them was one of the hardest tasks I'd ever have to do. I saluted, sarcastically, and began walking towards the gates. I could hear my mum sobbing in the background. As I approached the gates, I handed the attendant my flight ticket and took one last glance at my parents before walking that long narrow hallway into the aircraft.

 

* * *

 

A song was played as we crossed somewhere between County Kerry and Cork.

 

We'll sing a song, a soldier's song,
With cheering rousing chorus,
As round our blazing fires we throng,
The starry heavens o'er us;
Impatient for the coming fight,
And as we wait the morning's light,
Here in the silence of the night,
We'll chant a soldier's song.

 
Soldiers are we , whose lives are pledged to Ireland;
Some have come from a land beyond the wave.
Sworn to be free, No more our ancient sire land
Shall shelter the despot or the slave.
Tonight we man the gap of danger
In Erin's cause, come woe or weal
'Mid cannons' roar and rifles peal,
We'll chant a soldier's song.

 

In valley green, on towering crag,
Our fathers fought before us,
And conquered 'neath the same old flag
That's proudly floating o'er us.
We're children of a fighting race,
That never yet has known disgrace,
And as we march, the foe to face,
We'll chant a soldier's song.

 

As the song was played on, and drifted into Gaelic tongue, my hand slowly fell onto my heart. I'd have to start all over. I'd be a foreign child, and I'd have to discard everything I've been brought up with America. I'd have no one to know at first here. I'd be glued to roadmaps for a while and be responsible for several road accidents. But only one thing was on my mind, and one thing only.

It's worth it.

 

Author's Note

It was quickly done, and a bit rushed. I wrote it as a reminder to my self about some things.

Reviews

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There's one's physical homeland; then there's one's spiritual homeland. I've always wondered if Ireland isn't mine.

Well done.