The following is the fifth instalment of our second ‘Perspectives’ series. ‘Perspectives’ as a concept was born out of a desire to provide thought-provoking and relatable snapshots into students’ experiences navigating relationships, self-discovery, and other affairs of the heart. Our extremely talented writers continue to respond to the series and express themselves in ways that go above and beyond what we ever could have initially imagined. Please enjoy…

Alice, Sex and Relationships Editor

Karla and Shannon, Deputy Sex and Relationships Editors

 

Like most students who are from Dublin, I spent my first two years at Trinity living at home. For me this meant not much changed in the transition from secondary school to university. If I was heading out I’d let my parents know where I was, we ate dinner together most nights, and life carried on as it had done all my teenage life. Events hosted at my house usually included the mandatory ‘Where’s your passport?’ joke from my South African dad at the door, my mom pottering away at something in the kitchen – her warmth especially beloved by my friends who are far from home – and my brother glancing down from upstairs to see who his big sister had allowed to invade our home once again. For those who live at home, the feeling may be similar. It’s not stifling, but the constant familiarity with your surroundings can be. Especially in Dublin where everyone knows everyone, and, often, everything about everyone. You want to ‘fly the nest’ and join the throngs of Trinity students living in Halls, digs or on campus. 

 

However, the taste of independent student life did not elude me completely. I was very lucky to have friends whose luxurious student digs I got to enjoy for parties and sleepovers, and this is where I saw what I was missing out on. Simple things seemed romantic to me, grocery shopping with friends, coming and going at all hours, rowdy late nights with only the fear of disturbing your roommates. For a moment I would inhabit this life but it always felt insincere in the face of a call from my parents asking what I’d like for dinner. And the return to my house always felt a little like I was coming back from a slumber party in primary school, dirty laundry and gossip in tow. Living at home was comfortable for me, but I didn’t want to coast through university comfortably; I wanted the leaky taps, the forgetting to wash my favourite dress right before a night out, and most of all I wanted independence.

 

Since Covid had everyone stuck in their homes, my boyfriend and I have become acutely aware of the pains of still living at home. Seeing friends of ours who got to share spaces which were uniquely theirs was lovely, but of course we were a little envious. We would dream up cosy apartment scenarios, with unending dates, terribly thought out interior design, and romanticising menial household chores. For us, living together was, and is, an inevitable future event. I look forward to the day when we get to cook meals together, wash dishes in the evenings and argue over banal things. This idea of moving right out of home into a space with someone else worried me. From one comfort to another without challenge or independence. Always at the back of my mind was the nagging fear, are you really growing if you are always living with someone else?

 

I digress! This article isn’t about the minimal pains of living at home. Oh woe is me, someone to do my laundry! The horror. This is really a love letter to living alone, to learning to be alone in a space and the new – and old – connections which are able to flourish from it. The highs and lows of independence.

 

Practically since I learned the meaning of Erasmus I knew I wanted to go. Through all the meetings and talks about the process for applying I was determined to get a place. Erasmus was my opportunity to get out of Ireland, even for a short while. This was a chance for a taste of what so many of my friends in college had: the independence of a new country and living alone. And so I found myself, 2500 kilometres from home, living in Bologna with an Italian couple and their two cats (who didn’t like me very much; the cats that is, not the couple). I practically had the apartment to myself as Sara and Maria lived in the converted attic upstairs. High ceilings and huge windows with old wooden shutters, a balcony filled with plants and plenty of natural light, what more could one want?! 

 

Of course the pandemic had loomed over my decision, but I was determined to move out. I wasn’t going to let this opportunity pass me by and as long as restrictions allowed for student travel, no one could stop me and my overstuffed suitcases from getting on a flight to Bologna (or Milan because of all the regional airports closing during Covid). I had a lot of incredulous friends, asking ‘why Italy?’, ‘why now?’, and ‘you’re going to be studying English?’ But these fears were not my own. I was excited about the unfamiliar, and all the new experiences Erasmus would bring. The chance to study abroad, immerse myself in a new culture and meet new people. I would expand my university experience, and Italy seemed the perfect place to do it. After four months of nothing but family time, living by myself was an exciting prospect and a little daunting. We were all going a bit stir crazy, not used to so much time spent together, and, as they say, ‘Distance makes the heart grow fonder’. There were moments when everything seemed uncertain, and still I assured everyone that I was going on Erasmus. Now my worries had shifted from simply being a little homesick to being a lot homesick. Going from everyday with my family to being completely alone. Who was I going to use as a soundboard for my thoughts and ideas? Now I was here, in a new country, knowing no one, and no idea how the year was going to turn out.

 

Not to be incredibly cliché, although perhaps it’s a little late for me there (don’t you stop reading on me), but, for me, home is not a space so much as  wherever the people I love most are. My family moved around a lot when I was younger, and so I have little attachment to physical spaces. My only real remaining link to the houses I once lived in would be pointing them out to friends if we came across them whilst travelling. My family is very close because of our quasi-nomadic existence. Our bond is strengthened by the fact that the four of us are usually a continent away from the rest of our family in South Africa. 

As I anticipated going on Erasmus, I was afraid that living away from home would be difficult on my bond with my family. However, this bond only evolved to find new ways of expression. As the days ended and warm evening light filtered into my quaint but tiny Italian kitchen, I would begin cooking and chatting with my mom. For forty minutes most evenings, I had a window into the kitchen back home. I could watch the light fade all the way back in Dublin along with the Italian sun, and for a while my mom and I  were reunited in the shared act of preparing a meal. My dad and brother would congregate in the kitchen, and we would all potter away at our tasks, sharing the events of our day, plans for the next, or ‘discussing’ (arguing) about something that had happened in the wider world. For us, this time preparing dinner became an unspoken ritual. It was the perfect way to see one another and not disrupt the flow of our individual evenings. My family and I never organised our dinner-time calls, but I knew that when I stepped into my kitchen my mom would undoubtedly be waiting for me.

 

Outside of the forty minute dinner-time calls, I was typically alone in the apartment. The only interruptions being from Sara or Maria coming down to use the oven or the washing machine, and the week where a French girl moved into the spare room, cooked me the best melanzane alla parmigiana I’ve ever had, and left, citing multiple issues with the apartment, all of which I treasured because this was my space, alone, without the interruption of familiarity. The stove required a lighter to ignite the gas, the wifi was spotty between the hours of 12pm and 4pm, and the shoe box freezer often required defrosting. These were my issues and I loved them because they were all  a part of the joy of getting to live alone. And besides, I had a balcony! And sun! And an array of plants which I had to defend from two very hungry cats.

 

Living alone in Italy allowed me to meet new people and find more family. In a rickety blue van, full to the brim with students, from all over Europe, we were a mishmash group and it couldn’t have been a better crowd. Rowdy dinners in dingy flats, with lots of wine and good food. Outings to new cities, learning about the buildings and relying on Google searches and the knowledge of friends. Impromptu brunches to share stories and spill secrets, learning about one another a sentence at a time. Lunches which spilled over into dinners which spilled into bar hopping which led to crashing in each other’s flats.

 

Of course living alone comes with real challenges and dangers, especially as a young woman alone. I have always felt safe in Dublin getting the bus back after babysitting, something I attribute to the familiarity I feel in Dublin. However, moving to a new city with the tips of G.I. Dad in my head I didn’t feel a sense of unease in the streets. I was lucky that Bologna is relatively similar in size to Dublin and the population is largely students. There is one night which stands out to me, however — towards the end when I was getting the bus home from an outdoor film screening in Piazza Maggiore. I felt like two men were paying particular attention to me at the bus stop and so, as I got onto my bus and as they followed me on, I got off just before the doors closed. I then took another bus which would also take me home, however three stops into the journey, one of the men got on the bus. I had a moment of panic, collected my thoughts, and, of course, called my Dad. Sitting there, with this man making it known he was watching me, I held my phone up and made it clear to him that I was also watching him, and I was not alone in this. Before going on Erasmus there were lots of jokes that my Dad would go full Liam Neeson in ‘Taken’ for me if something happened. I was lucky here, because I had him with me in a way, but I also knew how to deal with the situation in the best way I could. Just last night, I had a conversation with friends about what ‘Help’ is in their language, and one of my girlfriends said that it’s better to yell ‘Fire’ as someone will be more likely to come. These moments remind me how lucky I am to have people around me who care and look after me, but also how scary it can be for a young woman alone.

 

Before going on Erasmus I felt listless, and stuck in my ways in Dublin. And I’m sure many stuck at home for the duration of the pandemic felt similarly. I wasn’t taking advantage of my life in Trinity because I was taking Dublin for granted. I was comfortable at home, unchallenged by the future, but also detached from my life. In Dublin I was known, I didn’t have to put in much effort, or I thought I didn’t. Living alone in Bologna during a global pandemic opened me up to new experiences and people. I remembered how I love to be outgoing, to meet new people and do things with them. The joy of initial connection, of building familiarity, and finally in leaving, the bittersweet of missing someone. Sweet to know that this is all the good of knowing someone and being lucky enough to miss someone at all. Bitter to miss them, to feel sad at the loss of their usual presence. The silver lining of missing someone is the thought that missing will be temporary, that in the same breath that I say ‘I miss you,’ I will also say, ‘I can’t wait to see you’. Missing is not the end, it is the beginning, and the middle, a relationship which is ongoing. I miss you because we have something together, and because you mean something to me.

 

 

Things about myself which I took for granted in Dublin were given space. Moving away allowed me to strengthen my relationships at home because I felt the pain of missing my family, my boyfriend, and my friends. I missed them and it reminded me of how much I love them, how much I could really feel for these people, especially from so far away. Live alone. That is all. That is my message to you. Live alone so that you can flourish on your own and give the best of yourself to others, so that you have a chance to exhale and realise who you really are without those around you. So that when you return to those you love you are yourself, through and through.