“Níl gach uile fhánaí caillte” (“Not all who wander are lost”) and “Slán abhaile” (“Safe home”) were the two phrases written on the cake at my going away party when I first moved abroad. Both are nice sentiments to wish to people. However, “safe home” is not the typical phrase for a going away party when you are leaving your physical home and family; unless you are me.
I’m not an Irish emigrant. I’m an American who lost her heart to the old country as a young child. Growing up in America and only dreaming of visiting Ireland for years was a painful blessing. I yearned for the day I would have the Garda National Immigration Bureau stamp in my passport.
My childhood provided me with lots of years to learn about Ireland; the people, the landscape, the history. I became a well-learned American with an Irish heart. I had built up Ireland so much that I began to worry if some of the magic I learned about would not be real when I finally made the journey across the pond.
I was able to visit for a week and then eventually live for two years where my heart had always been. When I first arrived, everything I dreamed was true. It was green; it was beyond beautiful; I was mesmerised. I felt my heart, my soul, and my physical being were all finally in the same place. I felt a freedom and a peace that I had never experienced before. I awoke each day feeling fully alive and ready to see what adventures the day held for me.
Unfortunately my time in Ireland has ended and I’ve returned to my other home in America. I didn’t think it was possible, but the longer I am away from Ireland the more I love it.
As many Americans have done, I have traced my Irish heritage to those that came to America during the famine. I’m not an Irish person living abroad, but the country still has my heart and is my true home.
