Dear Belfast, I don't think you recognized me last April, when I arrived on a bus from Dublin. I didn't recognize you either. After all, it had been 11 years since our first meeting, and back then my parents and I left you before I realized where I was. So we barely met in 2008, and I've changed a lot since then, so I don't blame you for not recognizing me. We had to start...
Hills are for climbing. All of my friends know I can't resist a hill when it starts calling my name, whether it's Arthur's Seat in Scotland or an illegal viewpoint in Jordan. Hills need to be climbed, especially if they have a funny name. So Napoleon's Nose in Belfast was exactly the kind of hill I wanted to climb once I'd learned of its existence. It was a sunny day in April, I'd just arrived...
We met in the pouring rain, hiding under our moms' umbrellas at a track meet. We were the same age, but Lisa must have been almost a foot taller than me; at age 11, I was practically a dwarf. I can't speak for Lisa, but back then, I had a clear vision of what my life would be like in my early twenties. I would meet my future husband in high school, write a book...
The HMS Titanic was built in Belfast. It's one of those facts that float around somewhere in my head, on the edge of oblivion. I don't remember learning it, but it's there when I need it. It popped right back up when I was poring over a city map of Belfast with Urška and Žana, two Slovenian girls I'd met through a mutual friend. We quite frankly had no idea about the things we could...
Dear 2019, I'm tired. So unbelievably tired. This morning I didn't think I'd have the energy to write you a letter. But here I am, doing it anyway. In previous years, I found that these open letters on my blog really help me put the past behind me. So here we go, despite exhaustion and sleep deprivation. When I look back on the twelve months we spent together, my dear 2019, I don't see myself...
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