The very tip of Ireland is my happiest place in the world

The sand was dense and chilling under my bare feet. The wind was like tiny daggers against my face as I sprinted. Slowly picking up speed, my toes hardly touched the ground. Another wave crashed. Only one foot away from him. Another crash. Now a few inches apart. The wind pushed me back as my heart pounded faster than my feet could touch the ground. “I won!” he yelled into the wind.

Just 10 years old and he had defeated me. My heartbeat still echoed in my ears, my lungs begged for air, but there my little brother stood. Calm, cool, relaxed, and ready for round two. I was unable to retort.

We stood in silence as the lonely beach continued its orchestra of waves and wind, leaving only us to appreciate its symphonies. We were at the very tip of Ireland, at my happiest place in the world. I visited the small town where the beach was every year since I was six years old. This is where I belong. Not according to my citizenship, but my soul. Yeah, New York buzzes with life, but the commotion, chaos, and concrete can be distracting.

Getting away from the crowds and going to the “middle of nowhere” makes everything you discover more special. The small population highlights the differences in people, making them stand out.

We jogged towards our favourite spot on the sand dunes, which gave the perfect view. The whole beach on the right and the fields leading to the cottages and our grandparents house on the left. In New York, your differences make you blend in. In this town being different makes you unique.

“Bet I can beat you on the race back,” I yelled to Conor over the roaring wind. We took off.

This article was written as part of a school assignment two years ago, when Niamh was 16. Her grandmother Isobel Foley is from Falcarragh, Co Donegal. Niamh lives in Manhattan with her parents Fiona and Gerard Hoban and brothers Sean and Conor

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