Limbo

DIARY EXTRACTS

 

Friday, November 13^th  Paris Orly Airport, 9:36am 2015

Dear reader,

I’m sitting in the airport lounge right now, waiting for my flight to London Heathrow. That’s right, I’m flying on Friday the 13^th, oooohhhh. (That was supposed to be the sound of a ghost)

Well, the Friday the 13^th thing doesn’t scare me, but airplanes are scary every day of the year. I’d say I’m mildly afraid of flying on a good day, but it’s always weather dependant, or just completely sporadic other times. Sometimes I can get very anxious, like today.

I wasn’t always like this, but then remember Malaysian Airlines and Air Asia? A lot of plane crashes have been brought to our attention in the media this past year and a half, and it scares the living daylights out of me. I know, I know, airplane crashes are so unlikely but I can’t help but feel anxious when there’s turbulence or when the plane does that dip, leaving moths swarming in my tummy; Not butterflies, but moths, because the butterfly feeling tends to have positive undertones. (although I’m not too fond of butterflies either)

It’s ironic because I hate to travel; Airports are stressful and too crowded, and flying is so uncomfortable. But then I love to travel; Seeing new, beautiful places and writing about them afterwards.

Ugh, I wish teleportation existed.

I was only in this airport two weeks ago when I was coming back to Paris from Dublin after the Oireachtas Festival. God, was that two weeks ago? It really doesn’t feel like it. It feels like two days ago!

I’m off to Oxford today for my sister Bríd’s graduation, so it’s sure to be lovely. Anyway, this was a very quick chat with you because now I have a headache and I have to go and board my plane.

Ciao,

Madame Mayreed. xxx

P.S Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. I have this completely under control and I’m worrying about nothing.

It’s all in my head.

Sunday, November 15^th 5:40pm, A Train in the United Kingdom, 2015.

Dear Reader,

I should be in Paris right now, but instead I’m on a train to Sheffield with my sister Bríd. On Friday evening, we were just in the door of the hotel in Oxford after we had all had dinner in a restaurant. That’s when I got a FaceTime call from my best friend Caoimhe back home, asking me if I was okay after what had just happened. I didn’t know what she was talking about.

When I looked at my phone properly, I finally saw that it was as good as frozen; Chopping and changing and unable to cope with the bombardment of caring messages flashing through to inquire about my safety.

There were terrorist attacks in Paris; One of them in The Bataclan in District 11. I’ve walked by there before, and it’s awful to think that it was peaceful then but it will never be peaceful now. I can’t even say ISIS without wanting to gag, and I hold my breath so I won’t cry, but I don’t think I will. There is something calming about trains, and switching between connecting trains so that your mind is always wandering to different places. I’m on a train in the UK, so I can just pretend I’m going to Hogwarts, and not entering limbo in Sheffield, where I’ll wait around, deciding on which step to take next; Not that there’s anything wrong with Sheffield, home to Arctic Monkeys and my lovely sister. It just feels wrong and I shouldn’t be here. I should be there.

I detach myself from the situation like I often do, and pretend it’s not the 11^th arrondissement of Paris that’s in the papers, but the 11^th district of Panem rather, from The Hunger Games. It’s just a part of the books I missed; The pages that had to have been missing from my copy. Fiction. That’s what it is.

But then I think that’s total BS, and I should stop being so ignorant. This happened, and it’s heinous, but there’s no point in pretending it didn’t happen. What an insult that would be to all of the people who have died. If I’m going to make a Hunger Games comparison, then let it centre around the fact that I live around District 13 of Paris – The Hunger Games’ rebel district; Parisiennes pledging to continue eating out at cafés without fear. That’s what we all like to hear. Don’t let the terrorists win – Isn’t that what the papers say?

I’m not concerned for my own safety, but I’m heartbroken for Paris and France, because it feels like my home now. I can’t imagine being French and having this happen to my country, landing it in a state of emergency. Ireland hasn’t even been in a state of emergency, not even when times were dire up North.

I’ve been in touch with the school where I work, and everyone is safe and okay, although ‘okay’ doesn’t seem like a suitable word. A teacher from a neighbouring school was among the dead, and I didn’t know her, but it must mean that I know people who knew her and that scares me.

We, as everyday people, watch things like Game of Thrones, because when the credits roll on screen we can remind ourselves that it’s just fantasy and we can detach ourselves from the violence and bloodshed. Such distractions are fine and healthy in small doses. That detachment doesn’t last very long with real life though, but maybe that’s not such a bad thing. Maybe we shouldn’t detach ourselves from real life situations like I so often try to do. It’s okay to feel… feelings! Why else do we watch the 6:01 news? It’s so we won’t live in ignorance, and so that when the time comes to deal with these situations head on, we won’t shrug off helping loved ones who could be hurting right in front of us.

So, you might be wondering what the deal is with Sheffield. Well, I didn’t feel right about going back to Paris today. Not only that, but that would’ve meant going back empty handed, not a lesson plan to my name. The lesson plans I had planned for my students this week were all centred on the poetry of Séamus Heaney - a wizard with words. That would be perfect any other week, but there’s no way I could stand up in front of my classes, presenting them with Heaney’s themes of death and the afterlife, no matter how magical his words truly were. There is no page in the Language Assistants’ Handbook telling you how to deal with your classes after something like this has happened.

So I have to enter limbo in Sheffield,

for the sake of my students, and for the sake of my parents who worry about me.

I’m very proud of my sister for graduating! Although Friday night was a scary, sad occasion, Saturday was a great day for Bríd and for us. Admittedly, it was so hard to keep my mind off the attacks, as I concentrated all of my energy on not crying. I didn’t mind a few tears slipping out though, because people are supposed to cry at graduations anyway.

It’s crazy to think that on the morning of Friday, November 13^th, I was sitting in the airport lounge and writing to you about my fear of flying, when all along I was actually leaving behind a city in grave danger, and my worries were obsolete. People were murdered that evening and it’s disgusting. It’s like the headache that teased my brain as I boarded my flight with British Airways, was a warning of the tears to come. It really puts life into perspective. There’s no point in worrying when the plane takes off. It makes more sense to cherish life, and to embrace the world around you, be it Paris or elsewhere. Be hopeful about what’s left to discover in the world. Be hopeful that someday it will be better, or at least, not as cruel as it is right now.

I hope to be back in Paris soon even though I know it won’t be normal, but right now, I miss it. And I hope that at some point, I’ll convince my teenage students that poetry really is cool, and we’ll talk about Séamus Heaney ‘till the school bell rings.

We should be in Sheffield shortly, so this is where I leave you.

Here’s to my limbo, home to Arctic Monkeys and my lovely sister who’s letting me stay there. I can’t wait to meet her housemate’s cats.

Ciao,

Madame Mayreed.