Irish Luck

by Elisa Peirano

I'm pacing out of the Dublin airport. Wind is blowing in my hair and raindrops make my jacket damp. Here I am, finally In the Anglo-saxon capital of literature and playwriting. 

The flight from New York was long, I could not sit still. I feel nostalgic about leaving my home town. 

Last month, Julie, my editor, screamed from her office "Sarah, we need to talk!”

I raced into her office, "You wanted to see me?”

She stared at me, showing no satisfaction, “I am going to be very blunt here, but you aren’t an asset to our newspaper anymore, I just can’t keep someone who isn't useful. Why don't you take some time off, and get inspired?” Julie took a long and deep breath, “And maybe we’ll take you back.”

I understand what Julie was taking about: all my columns have involved yellow cabs and tall buildings. I decided that I needed a change in pace, a story that would define who I really am.

Before moving here, I spent nights sitting in front of my computer, typing the words ‘Dublin’ and ‘literature’ into Google, I really wanted to be prepared for my trip. 

And then I find myself here, racing through the city of Dublin. I can’t get enough of the pubs, libraries are theaters. I have been looking into James Joyce and W.B Yeats the most. I had studied them in high school but I had never noticed how grand their work was until I moved here. 

I am walking thought the streets of Dublin and I am pulled into peaceful tune a young woman is playing on her violin. I turn around and an old man is smoothly moving a long paintbrush on a small canvas. I am mesmerized by the amount of art in one street, in one town.

The Irish people have been raised with a belief: they either want Ireland to be free from the UK or they wanted to be one united country. This quality allows Irish people to be unique and this is what I needed to learn from them. I needed to believe in something, something that defines me.

As I am watching ‘The Risen People,’ I feel suffocated in the amount of passion people have in their own country. I usually sit back, take notes and sometimes I get a few ideas for a future column or short story I might write. 

I look to my right and an interesting young man is watching the play as if he truly believed it.

The curtains close. “Hello, are you enjoying the play?” I ask.

“I’m loving it, I’m Jacob, nice to meet you.”

I hold out my hand, “Sarah, Sarah Oakley.” 

Jacob stares down at my green notebook I’ve been scribbling down on all night on and says, “What is it you’ve been writing?”

“Nothing, unless you’re interested in a very boring idea for a story I might write.”

“Well, who says I’m not interested? May I take a look?”

I am startled that someone would want to read my notebook, but I gently pass it to him. 

The curtains open and I whisper, “You better not read too much!”

After the play, we go to a pub and discuss our careers. We stay up until 3 o’clock in the morning and I show him my portfolio. It turns out he is an aspiring editor and is fascinated by my New Yorker point of view on Ireland. He takes a few pieces of my writing and wants me to turn them into a column for his newspaper: ‘The Dublin Times.’

        As of now, I am not sure if I will have a future in Dublin, but all I know is that I have leased my apartment for another month.