When I listen to people talk about emigrating from Ireland, there is often a tone of disbelief that a person such as myself would stay here. It isn’t something that should be embarrassing, but often it can feel like you have to justify to people why you’re staying.
When I’m asked ‘Why stay?’ my answer is simple: I don’t have a choice. Many of us don’t.
Whether it is family commitments, illness or relationships, not all of us can emigrate – or want to. There is also the simple fact that I love Ireland deeply. I love the people, the sense of humour, the camaraderie. But when you love something, you must also be able to recognise its faults and the flaws. Ireland certainly has those.
Even if, at 28 years old, I don’t have it in me to leave, there are many good reasons to go, and 59,600 people did so in 2022, a 10 per cent increase on 2021.
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New Irish citizens: ‘I hear the racist and xenophobic slurs on the streets. Everything is blamed on immigrants’
Jack Reynor: ‘We were in two minds between eloping or going the whole hog but we got married in Wicklow with about 220 people’
‘I could have gone to California. At this rate, I probably would have raised about half a billion dollars’
Ireland does not seem like a country for young people. There is a widening gap between homeowners and renters. Between 2016 and 2022 the average rent rose by 37 per cent while home ownership dropped by 4 per cent. Though inflation is falling slowly, it remains high at 6.6 per cent. Dublin seems to be losing its cultural heart, making it feel soulless and empty. Up go the hotels while nightlife suffers.
Things seem harder than they should be. I pay €800 a month in rent. The lending rules make it extremely difficult to get a mortgage. The cost-of-living crisis has led to huge increases in the price of energy, fuel and food. When I meet my friends for a pint I’m plagued with guilt afterwards. That money could be saved rather than “wasted”. But what is the point of life without being able to enjoy the little things?
Then there’s the Fomo (fear of missing out). My Instagram feed is filled with pictures of friends who have emigrated to the UK, Australia and Canada. While I can’t judge someone’s entire life based on an Instagram story from Bondi Beach, the Fomo I feel hits me right in the gut. There is jealousy but there is also an odd form of grief for a life I could have had, even if I never intended to leave. I listen to my friends’ stories of travel and worry I’ve missed out.
I’ve sacrificed so much brain space too. I’ve spent many sleepless nights wondering and worrying. What if I can’t buy a house at all? Will I ever be able to have kids? Will there be social care and healthcare for my dad as he gets older? Will there be something worth coming back to for my brother? Was it always supposed to be this hard? These thoughts plague my mind on a daily basis, making it hard to stay in the present and enjoy the good things.
I was always pretty sure that I wanted to build my life in Ireland. One semester abroad in Germany during my final year of college was enough to teach me that. I was so homesick that I didn’t settle at all and struggled to mix with people. I felt completely out of my depth and isolated. My mother commented at the time that it was a wonder I wasn’t dehydrated from the amount of crying I did.
Unfortunately, her death in February 2020 removed the possibility of emigration for me. I didn’t want to be too far away from my grandparents or my Dad. My friends and my partner are here. I have a job in HR. My whole life is here. It didn’t make sense for me to move away even if I felt that it might make more economic sense.
Yet there are days when I wonder if I made the right decision. Earlier this year my younger brother moved to London so there is quite a direct comparison to my life here. Though London is experiencing its own rental and housing crisis, I listen to his tales of his life in London with growing jealousy. Going out to eat is much cheaper and the nightlife there is far more vibrant. There’s more to do and to see. London feels like a city where young people can thrive.
Ireland has fundamental problems. Yet I have built a life here. Yes, like many Irish people, I complain about it all the time but that’s the beauty of it. I have built something here that I have to care about. And if I care about it, it means that I want to fight to make it better.
I am hopeful that things can improve. I want young people to be able to thrive rather than just survive. While some may roll their eyes at my romanticism (and I understand why), I think it’s important that we don’t become immune to the idea that things won’t always be this way.
If we want things to be better, then we have to ask ourselves what we can do to improve things. We have to take part in society rather than just talk about it. We have to campaign for policies that improve our lives. We have to take part in the democratic processes that are available to us – be that public consultations, elections or protests. That is the way our voices get heard.
That is the way we build an Ireland that loves us back.