5 Things from Radegund

[ailbhe]

entitlement
Ooh, I feel all defensive now. I'm NOT entitled. In fact, that's one of the things I work hardest at - I don't, basically, feel entitled to buy anything, or get medical or dental treatment, or, um, have nice things, in general.

Perhaps this comes over as a huge sense of entitlement, like shyness manifests itself as brash overconfidence.

On an intellectual level I recognise that I deserve basics and trimmings just like everyone else, but the pit of my stomach is all confused about it - I want to feel like I deserve things, but I resent not having had them, and I strongly resent people who take things for granted, things people ought to take for granted like having enough to eat or somewhere safe to live or any of the other things people tend to think they have earned but which actually are hugely reliant on good fortune and good family.

colour
I'm again not sure what this is about. Skin colour? We're all pasty white, us, but I could never again live in a wholly pasty white culture with any comfort.

Or colour as a tool for pussikerlojickle health? I like red. I find dressing in colourful, patterned clothes really useful to me. Red shoes, especially. If there's a way to get rainbow stripes into my life, I do it. And spots, multicoloured polka dots. I like strong colours, bright colours.

I like translucent blue.

I'm not sure to what extent it's about fashion, because it probably is, but I'm much more aware of it being about mood adaptation. I wore a lot of black as a teenager, and dyed my hair black, but on other days I wore purple and orange - often together - and again with the rainbow stripes.

My mother quotes Van Gogh often; "How beautiful is yellow."

being Irish in England
I was told yesterday that I couldn't possibly be related to someone the speaker knew who apparently looked like me because "she is of Irish extraction, and of course you're not." I am invisibly Irish, and part of why is that I don't have a strong accent (of any kind, apparently - people guess English, Canadian and Scottish as often as they guess Irish) and part of it, I am increasingly convinced, is because I appear to be educated.

Thankfully, the vile remarks about the IRA that I used to get, which somehow no English person ever felt a need to apologise for because "it's just a joke," have stopped. Moving here just after the Omagh bombing (Emer's birthday is on the anniversary of the Omagh bombing) was a bad move, in terms of avoiding IRA jokes.

The whole 17th of March thing is a bit weird to me, too. No parade, no fireworks, no celebration, just drunkenness and green wigs. What's the point?

Oh, and Irish people seem to assume I'm desperate to "Go Home." To which I can only say, "NHS."

qualifications
I should probably have got some but urgh. The longer I live among post-education-system adults the more I see that most of the qualifications people get - Leaving Cert, A-Levels, a basic degree - mean very little in terms of skill or knowledge base. People seem able to emerge from the other end with a really good degree and promptly forget everything they learned. Masters and PhDs, and people who get their degrees as adults rather than straight from school, seem to be more indicative, but I can't be arsed.

But I'm getting an almost wholly unrecognised Breastfeeding Supporter qualification which I am explicitly barred from using to make money, because I care about it and the organisation I'm training with won't let me help as much as I want to unless I have the qualification.

home
When I moved into this house, Janice's friend Emma said she'd never seen anyone nest so fast. I make the places I live into my own home fast. I put my mark on them - with throws and books in rented spaces, with paint and curtains here because it's ours - and then I settle in. I like good strong locks, heat, space to have hundreds of people over for dinner, and all the keys carefully controlled.

No, home is not about people, for me. It's possible to be with all the most important people and still be homeless.

Home is awfully empty when the right people aren't here, though.

Comments

[ailbhe]

Immigration
Fear of failure
That which does not kill us makes us stronger
Come friendly bombs and fall on Slough
Moving home