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.
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