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AgoraphobiaTimes Square / Agoraphobia
I'm blinded by the lights. A coca-cola can the size of my body flashes overhead. Ten-foot-tall letters spell out the Nike slogan, the brainchild of a faceless PR employee. "Just do it." Suddenly, it is just wiped away, replaced by another slogan, this one yellow and red. "I'm lovin' it"
I'm not loving it. The putrid stench of traffic and smog. Every person smells different, but cologne does not mix well with exhaust fumes, so everyone carries around a disgusting mixture of sweat and Eau de voiture.
People are not meant to co-exist in this proximity. We are too close to each other. Jostled by every passer-by. It's impossible to stop walking. In fact, if you do somehow manage to break free of the mob mentality, you are peered at like some sort of endangered animal in a cage. People don't see you. You seem invisible, but not invulnerable. The crowd tries to walk through you.
Your shoulders are at war with everyone else. Your knees are pushed away by a lady pushi
The Sense Of Being IrishAsk any Irish citizen, anywhere in the world, if they're proud to be Irish, and the answer you'll probably get is a resounding yes, or - if you happen to be in Cork - an affirmative grunt. Ask why, and you'd get an evasive answer, or in the case of Cork, grievous bodily harm. The Irish have no idea why they're proud to be Irish.
The Irish stereotype is partly to blame for this. We feel compelled to become alcoholic, whisky-swilling, pot-bellied, bearded lunatics with a flair for violence. Even within Ireland, there are stereotypes. As my previous jabs at Cork indicate, Corkonians are incomprehensible, brutal, and to be avoided. They're not, really. Or so I would hope. I could be wrong.
But I haven't even started on the question. "The Sense Of Being Irish". What a lovely, multi-faceted question.
What do you call a sense? Do the Irish have six? Sight, hearing, touch, smell, taste and Irish? I don't think so.
It's more to do with attachment to where you were raised, isn't it? A Cavan farm
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