I decided to move to Dublin because I needed a change. I felt stuck at home, so when the opportunity to move to the Irish capital arose, I went for it.
I’m a 26-year-old journalist, producer and film-maker from Denmark who arrived in Dublin during the summer.
In June 2023, my mother died after a lifelong battle with alcohol addiction. At home, it felt as though every little thing brought her to mind.
I’m sure anyone who’s had a big death in the family can relate to the feeling of a sudden, complete transformation of one’s way of looking at life. There’s a before and after that’s so apparent, it almost feels like you were transported to a new, parallel universe.
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We had sex maybe once a month. The constant rejection was soul-crushing, it felt like my ex didn’t even like me
I didn’t leave my home in Denmark because I tried to escape, but I felt like I needed to rewire my brain, which didn’t feel possible at home. I needed to go away for a while in order to appreciate my surroundings without being hit by grief every time I stumbled across anything that reminded me of her.
Irish wit is something quite special. It’s like you’ve all mastered when to crack a joke at the right time in the right way
Before my mother died, I was always five steps ahead. I was already planning what I would be doing six months from now, one year from now, five years from now and so on.
After her death, being faced with the all-consuming grief, it was like I was able to just be present for the first time.
Because that’s what grief does to you, it forces you to a standstill because it’s impossible to do anything else but feel whatever you’re feeling.
At least that was my experience.
So there I was in Denmark, a country I love, but also one where death is taboo, people are often busy planning their next moves in life and in general not the best at asking how one’s doing, mostly because it makes us uncomfortable if the answer to “how are you?” isn’t a positive one.
We shouldn’t, for the love of God, ruin the “hygge” (a coziness and comfort that creates a feeling of contentment or wellbeing).
In Dublin, I’ve been met with a different warmth.
[ Being English in Ireland, I often sense I’m being too frankOpens in new window ]
Even the simple gesture of people greeting the bus driver is something completely different from the introversion of Danes. It makes me feel that, even though we’re all strangers in this city, we still see each other as fellow human beings.
The nature in Ireland is very grounding in itself.
Seeing the green hills, cows lying in the grass, the cliffs, waves of the Irish Sea splashing high, ancient formations of stone. When witnessing that, all you can do is be in awe of the world around you.
I hope every Irish person knows just how special that is.
Irish wit is also something quite special, it’s like you’ve all mastered when to crack a joke at the right time in the right way.
Also, you apologise a lot, which is totally unnecessary most of the time, but it’s very polite and sweet. It makes the people around you feel very welcome.
I remember the day your football team played against England, and I couldn’t figure out which pub in the area to go watch it in. I ended up asking a guy, who one might describe as dodgy-looking. He ended up being a total sweetheart and gave me tons of tips. That experience only proves that one shouldn’t judge a book by its cover, which is something that I think Ireland is a testament to in itself.
Yes, you might not have the best weather and bluest skies, but you definitely possess a friendliness that outweighs all that.
Today, my grief has transformed into something else.
Grief has taught me to appreciate the moment exactly as it is. Grief has given me the strength to live an authentic life on my own terms. It has made me believe that everything will turn out really well, even when things may look pitch-black for a while.
For the first time I’m not sure what will happen six months from now. Maybe I’ll stay here, maybe I won’t. But I’m thankful for the Irish people for making me feel more at ease with my decision to just enjoy the present moment.
But before this all sounds too lovey-dovey, I do have two complaints.
Your traffic-light system does not make any sense and I feel sorry for every single person risking their life on a bicycle here. Cheers!
Joyce Cathleen Hall Andersen is a Dane who has made Dublin her home - for now.
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