Kelvingrove Gallery and Museum

During my weekend in Glasgow, I got out of the bus and saw the Kelvingrove Gallery and Museum. It was a huge building with a beautiful Baroque architectural style. I walked into the central hall and saw a pipe organ. A gentleman handed me the programme, as there was to be an organ recital that afternoon.

I did not really know what to expect from this place. I was not sure whether to go left or right, but it certainly appeared to be the kind of place that I could freely explore. There were 22 galleries with a vast range of exhibits, from Renaissance art to Ancient Egyptian artefacts. The environment had a typical Sunday atmosphere, with lively families enjoying the learning experience and taking the time out to spend their day together. I, too, found myself enjoying my own company and the opportunity to freely take my time and explore.

I saw a dark room on the second floor of the gallery, and I did not really know what to expect. As I walked in, I was taken aback by a Salvador Dali oil painting. I was mesmerized by a depiction of Jesus Christ on the cross, where he floats above a lake with a fisherman and a boat.

There was something so hypnotic about the extreme angle, and the way that Christ was depicted without the thorns, blood and nails. I stood there for a while. People came and left, equally as inspired by Christ of St John of the Cross as I was. But I stayed for a long time because I had nowhere else to be and I liked the emotions that this painting evoked in me. It amazed me that a day which I had not expected anything from ended up bringing me so much peace.

I went downstairs just before the organ recital to buy myself a white-hot chocolate at the café. The hot chocolate was exactly what I needed at that moment, something warm and sweet. I sat down in a crowd of elderly ladies and gentlemen and listened. I listened to the organ recital and the way that the sounds resonated in the massive central hall. It was truly beautiful and a very special moment for me. I thought about how strange it is that I often try to find special things, but as soon as I stop looking then they find me.

It was quite late when I left the Kelvingrove Gallery and Museum. I had not kept track of time whilst I was there, but perhaps there was no reason for me to do so. I had given myself the day to just relax in Glasgow, and that is exactly what I did. I took a walk afterwards along River Kelvin and went to the botanical gardens. Whilst walking I thought to myself, "This is exactly where I want to be right now."

Lessons from The Boy Downstairs

With a cheesy title and storyline that sounds overdone, I did not have high expectations for The Boy Downstairs. Starring Zosia Mamet (from Girls), this movie is about a young aspiring writer, Diana, who unintentionally moves into the same New York apartment block as her ex-boyfriend after she just finished her studies in London. The understated comedy element comes through in similar awkward moments to those you would find in Annie Hall. The set up seems like a cliché movie plot, but I found Diana to be one of the most relatable characters I have seen in a long time and I was pleasantly surprised with how the movie unfolded.

Diana is constantly questioning the decisions she made in the past, from her break up with the boy downstairs to the career path she chose. It oscillates back and forth between the time she was together with her boyfriend Ben, and the present awkward situation where they are living in the same apartment block, but he has a new girlfriend now. Those of us who have been in good relationships which ended will connect well with those painful flashbacks of happiness with our significant other, that ultimately make one question why it ended. I have also swayed between moments of certainty in my decision-making process, and then forgotten the rationality behind what I was so sure of before. It is a constant battle between the person I am now looking retrospectively, and the person who was actually in that situation at that time.

I have found that most movies tend to focus on the woman as being so sure about wanting to be in a relationship, but this one shows the ambivalence that a woman can have when it comes to commitment and settling into a long-term relationship, especially when she wants to explore the world and focus on her own development freely. Although Diana clearly loves Ben, she did not want to enter the chapter of her life in Europe with the distractions and commitment that comes with a long-distance relationship.

I won’t carry on spoiling the movie plot for you as this is not meant to be a review, but there was a powerful scene which unexpectedly led to a lot of reflection in my life. I paused the screen and found myself rewinding to listen and absorb what had just been said. Diana is discussing her fears and doubts of writing career with her landlady Amy, who is also a creative and becomes like a motherly figure to her. The conversation went something like this:

Diana: Yeah, but, uh, what if it doesn't work out? What if I'm not any good?

Amy: I know. But you can't not go for what you really want because you're scared of not getting it. And listen. Things might not work out. You might not succeed. You might get rejected. Those things might happen, or they might not. But they are things worth knowing. I know. You're trying to protect yourself but you're doing it to a fault, and I don't want you to regret not trying. Be brave.

I loved the part where she tells Diana to be brave. As a former actress with a lot of life experience, Amy was the perfect person to say that to Diana that at that stage in her life. The conversation could be put into a lot of different contexts, from love to careers to relocating abroad but no matter the context, it resonates with the uncertainties and fears that a lot of us in our twenties face.

Twentysomethings often feel like we are trying so hard to move forward but struggle to see the progress that we are already making. I think we were sold the idea that things are meant to suddenly fall into place in this linear progression of us studying, getting a job, getting married, having children and then living happily ever after. But life is so much more complex than that. We stumble, we fail, we succeed, then stumble again and we question whether we are doing the right thing. As we weave our way through uncertainty and self-doubt, this is all part of our journey and we grow through the challenges, with all the exciting fluctuations that we individually have the honour of living through.

The best we can do is be brave, accept ourselves as we change, and trust that wherever we are in life is where we are supposed to be. It may not be the best place, but it may provide the best lessons.

I came across this excerpt from a poem by Irish poet Derek Mahon, which relates to how I wish to view my journey:

The sun rises in spite of everything

and the far cities are beautiful and bright.

I lie here in a riot of sunlight

watching the day break and the clouds flying.

Everything is going to be all right.

(Derek Mahon).

Bittersweet Arrival

Diary Entry: 25/08/2020

"I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet." Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar.

I am sitting on the floor at OR Tambo thinking about that prose after a phone call with my newly-ex boyfriend, who called to tell me he understands the decision that we made. I wipe a few tears, grab a cappuccino and make my way to the airplane.

When I reach Doha, my battery is dead so I can no longer listen to melancholic playlists, and instead, I start to pay attention to my surroundings. A woman in her mid-40s sees me looking confused at the airport and we start to talk. It turns out, she is also en route to Dublin from South Africa. I go and get an overpriced hot chocolate at McDonalds while she goes into the smoking room to light an e-cigarette. It turns out, she is from Cape Town and moved to Ireland where she met her husband. They have been living there for 15 years and she loves it there. She reassures me that my opportunity to study there is a great one, and that I will have an incredible time. I smile and we carry on chatting about family, e-cigarettes and hot chocolate.

The flight to Dublin feels long so I take a brief nap and when I wake up, I saw the sky open up as we were landing. The sea fell behind the wing and suddenly clouds cleared, and I could see this island for what it is, nothing I had ever seen before. This moment is a relief. The landing is smooth and as I exhale, I feel my shoulders relax and body loosen. This is it. This is the fig you chose.

The lady I had been speaking to gives me her number and says that I must let her know when I have arrived safely. Her kindness could not have been more appreciated. I give her a hug and we part ways. Jessica. Her fig was a husband and a happy home and children.

I get onto a bus and find myself fascinated by the accents I hear. People speak so fast that I cannot understand them. I notice that clouds have suddenly cast over the sky that looked so vast from the plane. There is graffiti on some of the grey walls I pass and everything from road names to trees looks unfamiliar. I get to my stop and must walk with about 40 kilograms of luggage to my temporary residence, Trinity College’s Goldsmith Hall. The walk was long, and it was a confusing process to register a card and find my way to the room.

When I got there, I sighed again. It was a similar exhale to the landing, but this one had a bit more fear than relief. The room is small and there is a window which is next to the Dart train station. The noise of the train starts to bother me, so I close the window. I can no longer hear the noise, but the lack of air starts to suffocate me, so I open it again. I have a quick call with my mother to tell her that I have arrived safely. She does not feel that far away. I sit on the bed after the call and feel scared to open my suitcase. It is almost like there is no going back after that suitcase has opened. Be happy. Be excited. This is what you wanted; I tell myself. Everything you have ever done has led you to this moment.

A tear falls down my face again. This does not usually happen randomly. Perhaps it is knowing that none of the people I love are here to celebrate a significant moment with me. Perhaps it is that I just broke up with a man whom I love. Perhaps it is realising that nothing will ever be the same, that I will never be the same. Did I choose the right fig? Was there another riper one that I overlooked?

I decide to leave the dull room and go to have dinner at Camille. It is the best Thai food I have had in my life. I feel warm and energetic, and ready to walk around Temple Bar. As I walked along unknown cobble streets and heard the bustling Irish music and life, so much life, I felt better and knew that I am exactly where I am supposed to be.

Later that evening, I opened my suitcase and thought about the page which follows the fig tree story which says, "I don't know what I ate, but I felt immensely better after the first mouthful. It occurred to me that my vision of the fig tree and all the fat figs that withered and fell to earth might well have arisen from the profound void of an empty stomach." (Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar.)

I, too, will find my feet.