Amelia Rosevear is Misc.’s International Editor. She is also the co-host of numerous radio shows on Trinity FM.
Aoibhinn Mitchell Walsh is Deputy Chair of Cumann Gaelach and Treasurer for Trinity TV. She is contributing to Misc. for the first time.
Brian Lennon is Misc's History editor. He is also chair of the Bram Stoker Club, a subcommittee of the Phil.
Conor Healy is Misc's Co-Deputy Editor. He is also Co-News Analysis Editor for Trinity News, and acted as last year's Publications Officer for Trinity Hall JCR.
Eliora Abrams is the Assistant Editor of Misc. and The University Times, as well as Article Editor for The Trinity Journal of Histories.
Monday, September 16th, 2024
CONTRIBUTORS
Ella Smyth is a contributor to Misc. and The University Times. She was based in Paris for Erasmus.
Éle Ní Chonbhui is a Music co-editor for Tn2. She is contributing to Misc. for the first time.
Ellen Duggan is a Senior Fresher English Studies student. She has previously contributed to Evergreen and The University Times.
Eve Smith is Art Editor for JoLT and Film and TV Editor for The University Times. She is contributing to Misc. for the first time.
Hosanna Boulter is Misc's Co-Deputy Editor and the Ireland and Northern Ireland Regional Officer for the Student Publication Association. She is also the founder and presenter of the What It Took podcast. Louise Norris is co-Editor of
Icarus and a sub-editor of Trinity Film Review. She is also a contributor to Misc.
Lucia Orsi is Misc.’s Community Editor. She has also contributed to TN2 and The University Times.
Margot Guilhot Desoldato is Misc.’s Culture Editor. She has also contributed to Tn2, Trinity Film Review, and Trinity News.
Phoebe Pascoe is Misc’s Editor-in-Chief. She was previously the Assistant Editor of Misc and of The University Times. She has written for Trinity News, TN2, Oxygen.ie and Mission Magazine. Stephen Conneely is Misc.’s Political Editor, after having spent last year as the magazine’s Erasmus Co-Editor. He is also the Deputy Editor of Trinity News and has reported for TheJournal.ie
COVER
Creative Direction
Photographer
Models
Clara Potts
Ella O'Brien
Ola Obadina
Kitty Kempwelch
Irena Vukcevic Gonzalez
Rosie Fogarty
Sam Mitchell
Jimena Alvarez
Akshita Hunka
Keeva Byrne
Amelia Ní Thuathail
Sarah McGoldrick
Kate MacNamara
ART AND PHOTOGRAPHY
Jessica Sharkey
Eve Smith
Amelia Rosevear
Louise Norris
Pages 4, 6, 7, 8, 10, 17, 21, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30
Pages 9, 15, 23, 25
Page 31
Pages 34, 35
Phoebe Pascoe
Ellen Duggan
Stephen Conneely
Hosanna Boulter
Ella Smyth
The Misc Matrix
There's No Place Like A Third Place
Overpriced coffee and lack of accomodation: where do we go now?
Eoghan Gilroy Hates Guinness
TCDSU's Education Officer lays out his political (and Pav-related) ambitions
265 and Me
Would you do your dissertation on your family?
Return to Sender
Post-Erasmus blues cast a familiar city in a new light
Freshers' Guide
Lucia Orsi Eve Smith
Margot Guilhot Desoldato
Brian Lennon
Aoibhinn Mitchell Walsh
Amelia Rosevear
Éle Ní Chonbhui
Louise Norris
The Tastemakers of Trinity DU Food and Drink on being Freshers' (unofficial) favourite society
Painting Outside the Lines
What happens when you discard the rules of art - and life?
Meme America Great Again
How posts and politics are becoming worryingly indistinguishable
Lover, You Should've Come to T-Ball
Before Tinie Tempah, there was Jeff Buckley
Pop Culture, Translated Kneecap, ketamine and Keoghan
Changing Pavements
Sometimes going home is the real culture shock
It'll Pass
Lucy Holmes speaks to Misc. about her new show at Dublin Fringe Festival
An Evangelical Christian and a Queer Woman Walk into a Bar Radical beliefs lead to a radical friendship
EDITOR'S LETTER
The‘doorway effect’ is what happens when you walk into a room and forget why you were going in there. You go into the kitchen for a glass of water and end up rifling through your cupboards. You open your bedroom door and can’t figure out why you just traipsed upstairs. “We tend to forget items of recent significance immediately after crossing a boundary”, says the phenomenon’s Wikipedia entry (evidently, we only use the most reliable sources here at Misc.).
As Freshers’ Week rushes into the rest of the semester and new students quickly lose their freshness to long, cold stints in the Ussher –and longer, colder stints at the Pav – it can be easy to forget what exactly one did in that first week. I’m still unsure when precisely I met some of the people who are now my closest friends, and I couldn’t tell you what was spoken about in my first ever tutorial three years ago. But that doesn’t negate the importance of Freshers’ Week.
In those first days at Trin- ity, every conversa - tion, event and class can feel like the cru - cial first
domino in an unimaginable chain of events. The cafés you stumble across might become your regular lunch spot; the person you sit next to in a lecture might be your flatmate this time next year. Or, they might not. It might just be another lecture, another underwhelming sandwich.
This feeling of every event having untold potential importance ebbs as life at college simply becomes life, but there are aspects of it which persist (e.g. "What if this would help me get a job?"). At Misc. we are not so interested in these ‘what if’s. Instead, for the past 129 years, this magazine
en’t home, work or somewhere we’re paying to be. To my mind, it is those inconsequential conversations with someone you bump into outside the Arts Block, or in the space between the Ussher and the Lecky, that really make up the days and years we spend here.
Within these pages, you will also hear from some key campus figures. Lucia Orsi gets a taste of DU Food and Drink Society – before they’re run amok with Freshers eager for discounts – and Eoghan Gilroy (TCDSU’s Education Officer) tells Stephen Conneely why we should
"We tend to forget items of recent significance immediately after crossing a boundary"
has sought to represent the current experience of students at Trinity College Dublin. We care about who you are now, as a Trinity student – whatever that might mean.
Because of this ever-elusive goal, Misc. has undergone various changes since its inception in 1825. One editorial from February 1924 laments the lack of women writers contributing to what was then known as T.C.D: A College Miscellany: “It is now about twenty years since women were admitted to the privileges of this University yet many men still regard them as cuckoos, come to threaten their rights in this ancient home of learning. Such an attitude stands condemned by reason of its unfailing stupidity and inevitable futility”. Though I cannot claim that this issue is without its sprinkling of stupidity and occasional futility, I am pleased to say that Misc. seeks to encompass all students - “cuckoos” included.
But, whilst Misc. has been there to mark plenty of important occasions in Trinity’s history, like the inclusion of women on campus, it also seeks to capture those everyday, ‘normal’ college occurrences that we so often forget. In this issue, Ellen Duggan considers ‘third places’ at college and in Dublin – those spaces that ar-
have X-Lite on tap at the Pav and Cheryl Cole performing at T-Ball. Gilroy’s premonition (here's hoping) is a world away from when Jeff Buckley played Trinity's event of the year, which Brian Lennon chronicles further on in the issue.
And because, despite rumours to the contrary, Trinity students do occasionally leave campus, you can also read considerations of everything we get up to in our spare time within this iteration of Misc. There are ruminations on going away for the year – and coming back, meditations on friendship with unlikely candidates and a good, old-fashioned delve into Twitter discourse.
Plus, we have our Freshers’ Guide, which is full of only the most essential information to help any newcomer survive their first week: where to buy a cheap lunch and how not to piss off the man at the Perch. A student’s life is necessarily – sometimes infuriatingly – made up of the serious and the silly, and I’d like to think the pages in front of you hold a microcosm of what fills the minds and minutes of the people on this campus.
Above all, I hope your Freshers’ Week - and the year ahead – is filled with the gloriously unforgettable and the blissfully forgettable. With any luck, you will find a little of this reflected in Misc.
– Phoebe
THE MISC. MATRIX
Want to contribute to Misc?
We are always on the lookout for new writers and artists. Email us directly at editor@miscmagazine.ie , join our writers' group chats through our Instagram, @tcdmiscmagazine, or head to miscmagazine.ie and fill out our 'contact' form.
THERE’S NO PLACE LIKE A THIRD PLACE
It’s not quite home, it’s not quite work, it’s not always the pub. Ellen Duggan tries to find Dublin's ‘third places’
Apint of Guinness in Chaplin’s has reached an alltime high of six quid. A coffee in town can set you back €4.50, a fiver if you have the audacity to indulge in a plant-based milk. And God forbid you want to have a nice meal with a pal anywhere in Dublin 2 without being willing to sell a kidney. Ladies, gentlemen and those who subscribe to neither binary, students in Dublin have been facing a dearth of spaces for socialisation for quite some time now. The clubs of the boom have died off, community spaces are nowhere to be seen and when the weather is bad (it always is) going for a walk in the park is an invitation for a month-long cold. Which leaves us with one question - where are we supposed to gather?
“The Hamilton Library,” my friend Siofra tells me, her eyes drained of anything resembling joy or hope. Siofra is a fourth-year Theoretical Physics student. “That’s where I’ll be spending my year. Probably the Pav sometimes, so that I can feel like I have a reason to live.” Siofra refers to the basement of Centra on Westland Row, affectionately known by her year group as ‘TP Centra’, as her “home away from home.” There’s a student deal for chicken fillet rolls, and the building is sufficiently close to the Hamilton so as not to lose precious time studying. Her friend Chloe once said that TP Centra was like a ‘third place’. “As in, a place separate from the home or work place that you can go to at certain times where you’re basically guaranteed to be able to socialise with people you know.” Siofra pauses and returns to meditate on this year’s study schedule. “How sad is it that the Hamilton library might actually consti tute a third place? I'm guaran teed to see someone I’m friends with there at any given moment.” The concept of the third place was first defined by Ray Oldenburg in his 1989 book The Great Good Place. The first place is the home, where we go to sleep at night and wake in the morning, where we rest and spend most of our time. The second place is the workplace, where our means of living are provid ed and our hours are structured. Oldenburg mentions that the first and second places were
once a singular place in a pre-industrial era prior to “removing productive work from the home and making it remote in distance, morality, and spirit from family life.” He goes on to clarify that the phenomenon he phrases as “the third place” existed long before the Industrial Revolution divided the lives of people into public and private spheres. “The third place is a generic designation for a great variety of public places that host the regular, voluntary, informal, and happily anticipated gatherings of individuals beyond the realms of home and work,” he writes. It is the pub, the coffee shop, the community centre. It is, at its most essential, a social environment distinct from both the home and the workplace, a social environment without a formal structure. The concept intersects interestingly with the role of the university. Some see college purely as an institution
there are requirements, responsibilities, commitments and little respite. For courses which require placements and internships, a separate workplace is introduced into the equation. Other students work part-time off campus and might see the act of attending lectures and going to the library as a form of socialisation as well as partaking in education. For a few, the college environment is simultaneously a first, second and third place. They live on campus, work on campus and socialise on and around campus.
Tara is a fourth-year Nursing student who lives on campus. She was elected a Scholar in April 2023 and since then Trinity have provided her with free accommodation for nine months of the year, as well as free fees. Her course requires hospital placement, so her workplace is separate to where she lives. She says one of the prob lems in her workplace is that there isn’t a third place for student nurses. They’ve asked for a student nurse hub or room in the hospital, but it hasn’t been ad dressed. Tara tries not to spend money on campus, so when she wants to spend friends, she usually invites them to her flat or sits down outdoors with them. She doesn’t think there are many third places indoors on or around campus. “You’ve got to buy a coffee or book or something to gain access to a seat.”
I’ve done this - bought a coffee in order to sit down for half an hour, then felt guilty when I’ve finished it and am taking up space without a purchase to show for it. Sometimes the coffee costs a reasonable amount. Some times the price makes you question your own sanity. Am I to blame, you wonder, for being willing to spend this much just for the chance to sit down somewhere and read? Maybe you are, maybe you aren’t. Students are constantly faced with an on slaught of advice when they dare to discuss the cost-of-liv ing crisis, advice which some how always contains an under tone of blame. Your groceries are extortionate? Well, why aren’t you shopping around? You are? Well, young peo ple have never had it as good as you have it now, so stop with your complaints. Just go to the pub less, make lunch at home, spend less on coffee. “I never would have gone to Electric Picnic,” my mother remarked when my sister recently spent the weekend in Stradbally. “There wouldn’t have been the money.” She told me about a video she’d seen, young people at EP talking about being unable to afford their rent. “Yet they can afford to go to EP? And they expect us to take them seriously?”
The self-martyrdom of middle-aged women aside,
let’s say we do as they say. We stop going for pints with friends, we stop meeting people for coffee and for lunch. We accept that indulging in third places will, rather than fulfil a human desire for an informal social setting, bring us to financial ruin. I would make do. I would reconcile myself to socialisation in the home and only the home. I would cook dinner for my friends in the evening, maybe share a bottle of wine, each ingredient purchased from Aldi’s own-brand range. Of course, that would stipulate my having a home in which to socialWere I living with my parents, they would need to be happy to accommodate this. Visiting friends would need access to public transport to get home, or even to stay the night depending on how far they're coming from. But much cheaper than a night out on the town in Dublin, am I right? Or perhaps, ‘lucky’ girl that I am, my parents live so far from any major city in Ireland that it’s necessary that I live independently in Dublin in order to access third-level education. This gives me the choice of: 1.) attempting to rent in a city where a studio in a Rathmines shared-living complex can be €2,850 a month (and let’s not even start on the housing crisis), 2.) extortionately-priced student accommodation that comes with policies described as ‘paternalistic and dangerous,’ 3.) digs which, as TCDSU/AMLCT President Jenny Maguire recently pointed out on Ireland AM, offer little to no protections for students, or 4.) trying my luck with couch-surfing for eight months. With Option 1, I could probably give a couple of dinner parties. But if I can afford to rent in Dublin I can probably afford the odd pint. The same goes for the second option, where socialisation in the home is given a fun twist by the fact that your landlord has control over who does and doesn’t enter your home. Options 3 and 4, as you can imagine, give little to no opportunities for dinner parties. Back to the drawing board, I guess. I ask Hannah, a Chemistry student, where she goes around campus to socialise. “For the prospective year?” she asks. “Because it’s entirely dependent on if I have somewhere to live.” Hannah has been couch-surfing this summer as she is doing an internship in Dublin and couldn’t find an affordable place to live. She thinks that eight months on a couch could drive her crazy. If she finds somewhere to live in Dublin during the year, she plans on going to the Forum with friends for a cheap coffee, or to just sit down and chat. In the evenings, she hopes
to take advantage of the Lighthouse Cinema’s €5 student tickets. If she doesn’t find a place in Dublin to live, it’s “just the library and then fucking go home to Louth, I guess.”
Proposed blending of first and third places as a means of saving money both assumes that people have access to a home suitable for socialisation (which many don’t) and ignores the vital importance of accessible third spaces in and of themselves. The value of the third place goes beyond its capacity to enable meetings between friends. The third place also facilitates social interactions between acquaintances who happen to run into one another. It reinforces community ties. In
How sad is it that The Hamilton library might actually constitute a third place?
The Great Good Place, Oldenburg assigns certain characteristics to third places. They’re neutral, so occupants are not legally, financially, politically or otherwise obligated to spend time there. They’re accessible to and accommodate the needs of occupants. They act as social levellers and there is no prerequisite for socioeconomic status (in theory, at least). They have regulars, which help to give the space its particular tone. And conversation is the primary activity – third places allow for discussion and banter between occupants, usually witty or lighthearted in tone. They’re spaces which, through the socialisation of occupants, manage to capture and encourage a sense of community. Many students who get involved in societies on campus are passionate about the community they feel their particular society has fostered, especially through the use of society spaces for socialisation. Niamh, an Irish and Sociology student, says she could speak for a thousand years about Seomra na Gaeilge. “It’s been my automatic place to go to between lectures since first year,” she tells me. “It’s quiet enough and the chairs are so comfy, but also so lovely for running into people because all the Gaeilgeoirs know each other. And free tea and biscuits and a microwave, which is so amazing.” Signing up to a society, which usually costs about €2, often offers members access to a range of facilities and events throughout the academic year. But, much like college itself, college societies are technically a formal social setting. You are operating under rules and regulations. You are subject to a hierarchy, whether or not that hierarchy is acknowledged in society settings. Events are planned and organised with a purpose in mind. The people you meet are often there for reasons beyond the purely social - they agree with the society’s goals and commitments and actively work towards them. Whilst groups like this are essential and offer a means of accessing spaces for social gatherings at a reduced cost, they are not third places. The third place is a strictly informal setting. Getting drinks after a society event with pals in your local pub is visiting a third place. The many hours I have spent in the EnviroSoc room, drinking coffee and bemoaning college’s ties to Ryanair to friends, is not. The latter activity is free. The former is very much not. I think certain third places exist in and around Trinity where you don’t need to spend money in order to partake
We stop going for pints with friends. We stop meeting people for lunch
in informal public life. The space between the entrances to the Ussher and Lecky libraries, particularly during exam season. The benches outside the Arts Block, populated by bleary-eyed students rolling tobacco and slouching against walls. The grass by the cricket pitch in the summer, when the sun is shining and you should be worrying about the essay you have due but instead you’re reading or discussing life with your friends. The common room in the Hamilton at lunch where the queue for the microwave will have you waiting forty minutes, during which time you will meet everyone you have ever met in your life. The many museums dotted around Dublin city centre, most free of charge. The National Gallery is a particular favourite of mine. It’s a two minute walk from campus. But, then again, we pay the highest student contribution fees in the EU to be here, with a year of college costing upwards of €3,000 for EU citizens. There seems, to me, to exist insufficient third places on and around campus where occupancy doesn’t hinge on either student status (and hence the money we spend just to be here) or buying coffees and pints and sandwiches – which are steadily increasing in price. Socialisation in the home as an alternative rests on having a suitable home in the first place. Where are we, as students, supposed to gather? Dublin is remarkably hostile to an informal public life. People have been forcibly estranged from third places, estranged by money wants and money needs, estranged by the failures of a succession of governments whose policies have exacerbated the cost of living crisis. The near impossibility of taking part in a social life in Dublin without spending money is reflected in the profit-driven model of TCD itself. Let’s not forget that until September of last year, seating policy in the Buttery forbade people from sitting there with a lunch they’d brought from home. We should be able to access third places without having to spend an arm and a leg. We should not have to worry about being unable to pay rent in order to engage in social relations, in order to hang out with friends, in order to participate in informal public life. Third places are a necessary component of communities and it’s time their crucial role is recognised -- with recognition entailing increased financial support for them at a policy level. In the meantime, people will drink at home instead of going to the pub while the price of a pint continues to rise. And I’ll be getting my coffee in the SU Cafe, where I can be guaranteed to run into casual acquaintances, can sit without worrying about purchasing a product in order to participate in a social setting and get one of Dublin’s cheapest coffees. I’m sure some of those who dispense financial advice to students would probably still disapprove. Back in their day, they would say, there wouldn’t have been that kind of money to spend on socialisation at all. Back in their day, in an Ireland yet to experience the Celtic Tiger and when the price of a pint was equivalent to €3.50 in today’s money, I’m sure that was true.
EOGHAN GILROY HATES
GUINNESS
TCDSU's Education
Officer sat down with Stephen Conneely to prove his ability to field harsh questioning in a serious and effective manner
Disclaimer: Nothing written in this article, nor anything “achieved” by Trinity College Dublin Students’ Union this year, should be taken seriously.
As the saying goes, the last capitalist to be hung will be the one who sold us the rope. Time will tell if Eoghan Gilroy, the recently elected Trinity College Dublin Students’ Union (TCDSU) Education officer and Vice-President, will back a communist revolution in Ireland. But one thing is for sure: he is in steadfast opposition to the crop top fashion trend (what some call a coup de crop) that has swept the West like an Arab Spring this summer.
“No one should wear baby tees”, he said, “except Elizabeth O’Sullivan” - a final year Politics student who Gilroy alleges to “have a Talia one that looks really good on her”. Yet again, Ireland’s political class makes no attempt to hide the fact that it’s one rule
for the masses and another for the ruling elites (and Elizabeth O’Sullivan). This stance can easily summarise Gilroy’s positions on many an issue affecting the student body today. He sat down with Misc. this summer before his reign of terror - I mean term - as TCDSU Education officer began. He fielded questions ranging from cruising on campus and which course has the highest percentage of virgins, to who in the Students’ Union
Identifying as “the token northsider” of his friend group, he states that the ideal Northsider to Southsider ratio is 1:6.
he would invite to a dinner party and why there are so many DJs living in that one flat on Fade Street. Like any experienced politician, he dodged many of these questions, afraid of the social ramifications of his answers or of the prospect of them being used against him in a future Leaders’ Questions in the Dáil. However, the answers that he did provide allow us to paint a picture of his utopia, a plan for Trinity, and a vision for Ireland more broadly.
This vision begins with gloryholes. Okay, maybe that’s an unfair characterisation - my first question was about gloryholes. But nonetheless, TCDSU is pro-gloryholes, with Gilroy detailing to me his plan to publicise this stance during Freshers’ Week.
“We are making these stickers for Freshers’ Week - they’re blue duck tape (for the Union) with a little black spot in the middle which says ‘glory to the Union’”, he boasted. Perhaps these gloryholes serve as an ode to the Union’s inclusive nature. “It’s open to anyone. We’re a union but we’re also a service provider. So we’ll provide that service to anyone, we’re happy to service”. It should be noted, however, that it remains unclear if this ‘service’ is the physical gloryhole itself or, well, [redacted].
Trinity College Dublin was founded in 1592 and has for most of its history been a stark representation of British colonialism on the island of Ireland, which as recently as 70 odd
years ago, almost exclusively admitted Anglo-Irish or Protestant men. The remnants of these problematic policies inform Gilroy’s opinions today. Identifying as “the token northsider” of his friend group, he states that the ideal Northsider to Southsider ratio is 1:6 – a truly shocking statistic that does nothing but cement the idea that Trinity is an inherently exclusive educational institution. This figure does not account for people from Westport, county Mayo, for whom Gilroy has some choice words. “They say they’re from Mayo, but they’re from Westport. It’s the Dalkey of Mayo. They all claim to be ‘rural’ and everything, but if you get into the nitty gritty - they’re townies”. Possibly the only person of Mayo origin that Gilroy has time for is TCDSU Ents officer Peadar Walsh, from Belmutted (real Mayo). Walsh is the first person from the Students’ Union multiverse that Gilroy would invite to a dinner party, followed by Communications Officer Beth Strahan “because you need some representation from Northern Ireland - or so I’m told”. He would not invite TCDSU President Jenny Maguire. Gilroy labels her as a “just a nasty person. I don’t accept the front she puts up and it’s really upsetting to see so many people fall into the same trap I fell into.” He further added that he would not invite her to his hypothetical dinner party because “when Jenny isn’t involved I’m technically the President, and I love that authority”. One may think that Gilroy has a problem with women in positions of power, and although this could be a fair observation as he simply has that vibe, he actually has nothing but compliments for the Provost, Linda Doyle. Discussing her affection for the modern, chic corporate clothing store COS, Gilroy said that “Linda has done the most out of any Provost in terms of
promoting COS. But also highlighting the issues facing Trinity and Ireland with regards to climate change”. COS has been rated 3 out of 5 for its commitment to environmental impact by Good On You, and 2 out of 5 for its labour practices. In their defence, however, where else would we go to buy clothes that make us look like we’re working from home in the Hunger Games’ District 13? The 21st century workers’ revolt will be fully remote.
Gilroy’s environmentally authoritarian traits are no better represented than when our conversation approached the age-old issue of Dublin’s seagulls. Unashamedly proseagull, he opts to victim-blame students in the sad cases of a stolen lunch.
"When Jenny isn't involved I'm technically the President, and I love that authority."
“You should be aware that seagulls are out there. Don’t be eating your shitty perch sandwich or your Xian outside the Arts Block”, he exclaimed. This prompted him to further set the world to rights: “I don’t think Xian is that good. I’m moving away from it - Charlie’s is where it’s at”.
It is no coincidence that the Charlie’s on George’s Street was famously gentrified this summer, mere weeks before Gilroy made these comments. “As Vice-President of TCDSU I will be starting a hate campaign and starting a push towards Charlie’s”, he said in a devastating blow to the South Anne Street staple.
ion that Gilroy spouts is that “Guinness is over rated and shouldn’t be in the Pav. We need X-li te on draft instead”. What can one conclude from this stance? That he hates Irish people, naturally.
showcase his personality and preferences, and towards ones that truly teach us about his vision for the world, there is only one answer that the students of Trinity College Dublin deserve to know more than anything.
headline Trinity Ball next year, according to Gilroy, and more specifically their yet-to-be-seen rendition of Joseph and the Technicolour Dreamcoat. “But if I did have to pick a real artist”, he said, leading one to think that he doesn’t view TMT as real artists, “it would be Cheryl Cole”. And finally, the be-all-end-all political question of our time: Fuck, Marry, Kill. The suspects? Linda Doyle, first female Provost of Trinity College Dublin; David Kenny, head of TCD Law School; and the angry man who works at the Perch Café in the Arts Block. “Kill him”, Gilroy quips without hesitation when I mention the Perch man. “Actually, no. Fuck him. You know it’d be good”, he quickly corrected himself - showcasing an aptitude at decisive decision making while also portraying a willingness to accept change and growth. He would marry Linda Doyle, crediting her taste in clothes and interior design. “You know life with her on 1 Grafton Street would be nice, and everything would be done so tastefully”. He then said that he would “unfortunately have to kill David Wolfe”. Wolfe, the current editor-in-chief of Trinity News, was not an option in this Fuck, Marry, Kill scenario - and although he does share a first name with David Kenny, who was an option, perhaps Gilroy suffered from a Freudian slip. One can only naturally conclude from this slip up that Gilroy plans to diminish the freedom of the press on campus. However, should we really be surprised by this? After all, Gilroy has now revealed himself to be a Guinness hating, southside favouring, defender of COS (and therefore Linda Doyle). After many years and continuous attempts to radicalise TCDSU from the inside out, perhaps Trinity leftists have met their final boss in the form of a LawPol grad who’s partial to a button up and jeans as his uniform.
265 AND ME
Would you do your dissertation on your family? Hosanna Boulter wonders: should you?
Inever thought I would be faced with the details of how my grandmother was conceived. Yet there I was, sitting in a stuffy mili tary archive, reading intimate details about how my grandmother came into being. Surrounded by sombre academics researching battle tactics and troops movements, I wondered how I would ever be able to look my grandmother in the eye again.
There has long been talk in my family about the papers that my great-grandfather left to some ar chive. Over the years the story about which archive they had been given to and the precise nature of those documents had become increasingly confused. As a History student curi ous about my family’s past, I decided to try and find these papers to see if they contained anything interesting.
Unsure of where to begin, I did what any other member of my generation would do – went to Google. All it took was a quick search of my great-grandfather’s name to find the archive that held these papers: the Lid dell Hart Centre for Military Archives at King’s College London. Navigating archive websites is not easy but luckily this was not my first rodeo, so I quick ly found what papers they had of his.
When I did, I stared at my laptop screen in complete amaze ment – the archive held two hundred and sixty-five letters that my great-grandfather (Rex) had written to my great-grandmother (Rosemary) during the Second World War, when he spent four years in various German prisoner of war camps. So, that was how I eventually found myself sat in that archive, reading a letter in which my great-grandfather reminisced about the place where he had “initiated” my grandmother.
A few months later I had to decide what I wanted to do for my dissertation. I had an idea for a topic, but quickly dismissed it. It felt
self-aggrandising. I had no idea how I would even go about writing a dissertation on sources that no historian had ever analysed. And besides, surely Trinity’s History department would not allow me to do my dissertation on my great grandparents? There was another issue with the letters: where were the ones that Rosemary, my great-grandmother, had written? Nobody knows. As she did not have an ‘important’ career, nobody at the time had cared to preserve them. Nevertheless, with the encouragement of a professor who argued the benefits of bringing original source material to my dissertation, I decided to go for it. I submitted my dissertation proposal from my room in the Netherlands where I was on Erasmus, convinced my proposal would be soundly rejected by the history subject co-ordinator. To my great surprise, it was accepted. So what is it like to approach my great-grandparents as a historian? In a word, complicated. Complicated because Rex, at times, wrote things that I find quite offensive. But, sometimes within the same letter, he would express the torture of being away from those he loved – my family. There are letters that I know will bring me to tears whenever I read them, no matter how many times I have read them before. My grandmother was Rex’s only child. When he was captured, she was two; when he returned, she was six. A large part of his letters are devoted to his despair at how much of his daughter’s childhood he is missing. In one particularly devastating passage he writes that reading a book about children the same age as his daughter makes him realise how much of her young life he is missing. Rex has also always cast a long shadow over my family – my brother is called Rex after him. My grandmother still uses many of the terms and phras-
es that he used in the letters, like saying “sucks-eggs” instead of success and calling everyone Popsy as a term of endearment. Popsy, consequently, is the name of our family dog.
Initially when reading through these letters I felt the weight of all this history and lore clouding the cold analytic skills that one should approach a source with. I found myself irrationally trying to defend my great-grand father whenever he said or did something offensive. It crossed my mind that I could just, perhaps, leave out the bits of the letters that I found the most offensive? After all, this was the man who held my mother’s hand as she took her first clumsy steps, who had taught my aunt how to swim, who had told my grandmother that she could be whatever she wanted to be and had never judged her for marrying my grandfather (a divorced man) when many people did. Surely, there must be an excuse for the hideously offensive things he said? Of course, deep down, I knew.
There are letters that bring me to tears
I knew I would not grant someone I was not related to the grace I was trying to give him. I knew it would be unethical not to discuss and evaluate every relevant part of the letters in my dissertation, even if I desperately wanted to caveat every derogatory thing my great-grandfather had written.
Fundamentally, having to approach my great-grandparents analytically means having to face up to every aspect of their personalities. My great-grandfather was the man who I have just described but he was also someone who used slurs when referring to Chinese and Japanese people; insisted that “Land Girls” (women who stepped up to farm the land in the place of men who were at war, often for little or no money) were just there to keep the troops cheerful and made jokes at the expense of Jewish people. The jokes about Jewish people were particularly hurtful considering how his beloved daughter would marry a man who was related to at least twenty victims of the holocaust and his
I knew I wouldn't grant someone I wasn't related to the grace I was trying to give him
granddaughter too would marry a man whose Sephardic Jewish family had to flee Portugal in fear of their lives.
I think that often when we love people, we try to only see the best parts of them. When relationships end or break down, we tend to blame ourselves, thinking, “How did I not see that part of them all along?” With family –and those relationships we hope never end or break down – we spend our lives focusing on the good in the people life has thrown our way. Having to look at the writings of my great-grandfather as a historian has meant that I have had to accept him for the complicated person he actually was, rather than the idealised figure my relatives remember him as.
RETURN TO SENDER
Sometimes learning to live away from home is easier than learning to come back, finds Ella Smyth
Iwason Erasmus for less than four months. Eight months later, I still haven’t recovered. Not everyone has a good Erasmus experience but, for me, my term in Paris was the happiest period of my life so far. One step outside my door and I was in the heart of a vibrant city. My mornings were spent indulging in pastries from my local bakery before hopping on the Metro to go to class. I drank cheap wine by the Seine, danced in jazz clubs and wandered through the Louvre on quiet nights. I had expected to be homesick. Instead, I was intoxicated by the freedom of city life. I was a giddy tourist with the immensity of Paris at my fingertips. After evenings spent with friends at Erasmus events, I would walk home alone. On these chilly autumn nights, I felt the thrill of being by myself in a big city. The world seemed to be filled with possibility. Living in the centre of a bustling city meant I was busy all the time, constantly outside of my apartment and involved in different activities. Liberated from the constraints of my normal environment, I became a different person. I was too busy to sit around overthinking, so I grew less anxious. I gained more confidence in myself as a result of living alone. Adapting to a new culture wasn’t always easy, but these difficulties were nothing compared to the happiness I felt.
Like thousands of Erasmus students before me, I did
Like thousands of Erasmus students before me, I did not want to go home
not want to go home. I felt that I had found my happy place and it seemed unreasonable to be torn away from it so soon. But my term abroad had come to an abrupt end.The comforts of home and the excitement of Christmas lay ahead. I had missed my family and friends. Yes I would be sad, I reasoned, but after a few weeks, I would settle back in again. Right? Ireland in the depths of winter had never seemed so bleak. Returning home felt like being crammed back into a routine I had outgrown. After experiencing the freedom of city life my days were once again contained by the limits of a train schedule. Over the course of a few weeks, I felt my jaw slowly tightening as the daily stresses of everyday life returned. Long commutes, Irish weather, Dublin prices – little things seemed to be more exhausting to deal with than usual. I had missed my classes and social life while abroad. Now, finally home, I was underwhelmed by the things I had longed for. Compared to the busyness of city life, my days seemed strangely empty. Daily questions about how it felt to come home became a scripted performance. I couldn't face looking the people I loved in the eye and telling them that I did not want to be home. I lied con-
tinuously; yes it was difficult, but I was happy to be back. “Why aren’t I happy?” I asked myself. I couldn’t understand why the life I used to enjoy was suddenly so mun-
I drank cheap wine by the Seine, danced in jazz clubs and wandered through the Louvre on quiet nights
dane. In college, I tried desperately to avoid being a stereotypical Erasmus student (talking incessantly about my life abroad). I tried and failed to avoid making nineteen daily comparisons between Dublin and Paris where, shockingly enough, I believed Paris came out on top every time. I didn’t want to appear as if I hated my home even though deep down I was growing angry and dissatisfied with everything. Post-Erasmus depression is difficult to talk about because it is a privilege to experience it in the first place. What was I ple? “Life in Ireland just isn’t the same as living in my own apartment in the centre of Paris.” “Of course it ined they would say, “Wise up.” Yet, by choosing not to talk about it, my grief grew visible barrier between me and my friends.
I felt like poster in my old cause I couldn’t
enjoy anything anymore. Paris remained in my head like a fever dream while I stumbled through the motions of college only half present.
Erasmus takes longer to process than people think. You can’t be fully present in your current life until
just a matter of figuring out how to get there. With the possibility of this future in front of me it became easier to focus on the present. I couldn’t replicate my Paris life in my home country – drinking by the Liffey would never be the same as sitting next to the Seine – but I could find new ways to integrate the things I had learned to
I couldn't replicate my life in Paris in my home countrydrinking by the Liffey would never be the same as sitting by the Seine
come a tourist in my own country. Having realised el, I planned trips far
gan to get involved in the Erasmus society so I could stay connected to a meaningful part
justments allowed me to feel like I was taking back control. It was only ate the beauty of my life again – at least
Recently, my mother asked me whether I regretted going on Erasmus. Would it have been easier to have never experienced this? She knew the answer already: of course not. I would never change that time in my life. I realised that I was only struggling to readjust because I was lucky
thing so great that it had blown my world wide open. Erasmus taught me what I want my life to be. That is
FRESHERS' GUIDE INSIDE
Starting as a fresher at Trinity will likely be one of the more daunting things you have undertaken in your life, not least because of the levels of complexities and practices that make up the way College works.
If you’re in luck, you might have an older sibling who’s survived the battle against Trinity IT, or maybe even an alumni parent who can offer guidance in the way that only a seasoned Trinity student can. But whether you do have this bit of insider knowledge, or you – like most First Years – have just started here completely afresh, your path forward for the first semester (aka Michaelmas, thank me later) will undoubtedly find a way to produce a myriad of obstacles that not even the most foresightful of older siblings could predict.
Luckily enough, we’ve had the opportunity to hear from some of Trinity’s most knowledgeable points of contact for their top pieces of advice for those stepping through Front Gate for the first time. Read on for more!
- Conor
Eliora Abrams asks the stars WHAT SOCIETIES YOU SHOULD JOIN
Conor Healy reports on THE PERCH'S ADVICE FOR FRESHERS
Hosanna Boulter has found WHERE TO EAT LUNCH ON AND AROUND CAMPUS Plus THE ULTIMATE FRESHERS'
SCHEDULE
TRINITY COLLEGE ESTATES AND FACILITIES
By now you’ve probably been on the receiving end of an email from Estates and Facilities, whether for securing your accommodation or for other miscellaneous administrative purposes. When I approached their desk at the Nassau St entrance to the Arts Block, they were extremely willing to share their most integral piece of advice for Freshers.
“Read your emails before approaching the desk,” they said with a knowing look.“99.5% of answers students need from us can be gotten from their emails.”
Probing further about this, the team explained how at such a busy time of the year, students can access a lot more information than they think by perusing their inbox, saving themselves the hassle of approaching the desk for help.
Indeed, the resounding message from the team was that if students read “half their emails”, a lot more time would be saved for everyone involved.
THE PERCH
I also had a word with the team working at the Perch cafe, up there with the Campanile as one of Trinity’s most popular rendezvous spots, but also a convenient place to get your oat latte in the morning. As I approached their counter on a busy morning towards the end of the summer, they were happy to share some of their own insights for incoming students.
“Put money in your student card to get 10% [off]”, the team said, “also, you can bring your own reusable coffee cups for 10% off”. Reusable coffee cups can be purchased from the Perch itself to get on top of this discount.
“The coffee is cheaper,” the team said when asked about the coffee itself “and the oat milk is free”. Indeed, the price point of the coffee served at the Perch falls a level below many of the coffee shops that surround Trinity and is another selling point of the cafe.
Finally and perhaps most relevantly, the workers were happy to caution students from lingering around the stand where you add milk to your coffee, for fear of a reprimand from the “The Perch Man” or, as he is less commonly known, Simon.
“Don’t annoy Simon”, the team said cheerfully. “If you’re coming in groups, don’t all wait by the counter, just the person who’s paying”.
STUDENT COUNSELLING SERVICES
At this stage of your college journey, you might not be aware of the various support services available to you as a student. Whilst there are probably a million and one things pacing through your mind to remember and take care of right now, you also have to take care of yourself. I reached out to Chuck at the Student Counselling Services, who shared some wisdom that the team there had to offer.
“Trinity has a great range of supports to help you thrive while you’re studying here, the team said, “Get to know what services are available to you! Go to https://www.tcd. ie/students/supports-services/ to find out more.”
“Don’t put too much pressure on yourself academically right away,” the team continued. “Not everybody finds it easy to make friends right away in college. It takes time. Ask a fellow student out for a coffee. Join a society or a club. Try something you haven’t before.”
Finally, the team advised not to “be afraid to ask for help if you need it.” And, when asking for help, “the earlier the better”, they said.“ Student 2 Student provide peer support where you can chat to a fellow student confidentially.”
S2S SERVICES
Another aspect of Trinity that might sound familiar is the S2S mentoring and peer support programme, as you will have been assigned a mentor from an older year to help guide you through the first year of studies. You’ll recognise S2S representatives from their bright red hoodies, but a whole team exists behind this programme, and they were more than happy to share reams of advice for incoming students.
“When it comes to advice on starting at Trinity,” the team said, “we went straight to the source! We collated some frequently asked questions that our very own S2S Mentors said they had when they joined Trinity. When you start at Trinity you will be introduced to your own S2S Mentors, who are trained and ready to share their college wisdom with you!”
How do I find places on campus?
“To locate your lecture theatres or classrooms we recommend using the ‘Finder’ feature on the Trinity Live App. Printable and interactive maps of campus are also available, along with directions to and from the College from various transport hubs and locations around the city.”
“The TCD Sense Map provides information about the sensory environments in different areas of Trinity, as well as physical access information for buildings
across campus.”
How do I make friends at college?
“It can be overwhelming making the transition to college,” the team explained, “especially for students that have moved internationally or moved out of home for the first time.”
“Going to your S2S orientation session is the perfect place to start, as you will be placed with other students from your course. Also make sure to look into the array of societies and clubs on offer at Trinity.”
Who can I chat to if I’m feeling a bit lonely or confused?
“S2S Peer Supporters are students trained in 1-to-1 listening. They are available for any student in the College and are there for anything you might want to talk through with them.”
“You don’t need to be in distress or crisis to talk to a Peer Supporter, but they can help with smaller issues, as well as the larger problems. Sometimes you just need a chat with a peer, that gets it! You can have a look through our Peer Support profiles on the S2S website and request someone specific or whoever is next available.”
Due to their strong drive and competitive natures, Aries often find themselves in leadership positions. Home of the famous BESS ball, information sessions and speaker events, Trinity’s Business and Economics Society (DUBES) is the perfect society for Aries and their ambition.
Hard-working, determined and dedicated Tauruses would benefit immensely from joining DU Yoga. With classes for all levels almost every day of the week - at only €4 for members - this society is ideal for reducing stress and holding off burnout for the busy Taurus.
Geminis are known for their creativity and curiosity as well as strong communication skills. This makes the Literary Society a great place for Geminis to showcase these skills. Lit Soc is the perfect creative outlet with no shortage of coffee hours, workshops and bookstore crawls.
Known as the most caring, nurturing, and kind sign, Cancers will likely be most at home in Environmental Society, where they can learn all there is to know about sustainability, the climate, and biodiversity.
SOCIETIES: YOUR ASTROLOGICAL ANSWER
Societies are an integral part of Trinity’s social fabric. You can tell everything you need to know about a person by peeking at their email and seeing which society has been sending them a weekly agenda. Because of this, it can be a little tough to know where to plant your flag. This completely fool-proof guide discusses the science behind finding the perfect society – based on your astrological sign.
- Eliora
Trinity’s Visual Arts Society (VisArts) is the perfect place for Leos, known for their organisation, confidence, and enterprising spirit. A society focused on promoting and exhibiting the arts at Trinity, Leos can attend workshops and shows with like minded creatives.
Sagitarius are known for their honesty and passion as well as their philosophical nature, making them perfect for The Phil. 'Leaders in debates and discourse' and entrenched in history (Oscar Wilde was a member) - the Phil's debates and guests are sure to interest this sign.
As one of the most logical, practical, and intellectual signs, Virgos will undoubtedly find themselves drawn to The Hist. Virgos can flex their cognitive muscles and have a blast by attending guest speaker events and participating in debates with their peers.
Analytic, diligent and detail-oriented Capricorns will find their place in the Student Managed Fund. A society that operates a real financial portfolio, Capricorns' ears will perk up at the opportunity to gain real-world experience in an interesting field.
The Law Society is a perfect society for the balanced and fair Libra. It is no surprise that the sign with the scales as their symbol would fit perfectly in a society focused on justice, where Libras can hear all sides of every argument in the Law Socs famous debates.
DU Amnesty is surely the ideal society for any Aquarius. A society focused on human rights and justice across the globe is perfect for this altruistic, optimistic and problem solving group of people. All Aquariuses can do good and find a sense of purpose within this society.
Any Scorpio will undoubtedly feel at home at Trinity’s Gender Equality Society (DUGES). Known as determined, devoted and intuitive, Scorpios can participate in coffee hours, book clubs and panel discussions all focused on the pursuit of a more equal and equitable society.
Trinity's student-run radio society, Trinity FM, is perfect for the artistic, innovative and imaginative Pisces. This sign can show off their innovative spirit with their own radio show or simply surround themselves with like-minded creatives at society parties and events.
5 PLACES TO BUY LUNCH
(+ 5 PLACES TO EAT IT)
Are you completely overwhelmed by the many choices of places to grab lunch around campus? Do you want to find places to eat that won’t take your entire student loan? Look no further! Whether you want to avoid cooking and buy food out or find a spot to consume your packed lunch without having to buy an overpriced coffee, we’ve got you covered.
- Hosanna
Centra – are you feeling a bit homesick, hungover or both? Then the Centra on Pearse Street is the place for you! Grab a chicken fillet roll and a drink for under €5 with the student meal deal. They also do salads, other hot sandwiches, coffee machine coffee and have places to sit to eat in.
Yum Thai – a favourite among the arts block girlies, this takeaway Thai restaurant on Duke Street, (just off Dawson), will give you a large helping of noodles or rice for under €10. Whilst the inhouse dining experience might have some room for improvement (the restaurant only sits four) the value for money keeps hungry students going back.
Carluccio’s – have you wondered why people queue outside Carluccio’s on Dawson Street every weekday from 12-1? Well, their takeaway pasta is the reason; for about €6 you can get a delicious box of pasta. If you're feeling fancy you can always add some fo- caccia on the side.
Sprout & Co – if your body is begging you for some nutrients and you feel like spending an arm and a leg, Sprout is the lunch spot for you. The salads and wraps are genuinely delicious - not the cheapest option, but here's hoping their Freshers 2-for-1 deal returns this year.
– Though on the pricier side, Tang’s middle eastern spired flavoursome wraps, boxes and soups will fill you up without making you sleep through your afternoon lecture (and they have a student discount!). There are three locations in central Dublin, with the closest to campus being at end of Dawson Street. The queue for food at peak time often extends outside the café, but it's always worth the wait.
The Rose Garden – whenever I want a quiet moment to myself the rose garden is my go-to place. Though it is nestled in the heart of campus, the lush greenery gives this spot a secluded feel. Just watch out for the guided tours going past, lest you be come a feature.
The Floor – it’s not glamor ous or at-all comfortable but I can guarantee that you will at some point have to sit anywhere you can in the academic building of your choice to eat lunch. The Hamilton or the Arts Block are the usual suspects. Enjoy.
College Green – this is definitely the best space on campus for people-watching. Grab a seat on one of the benches or on the edge of the cricket pitch itself and enjoy the spectacle of people performatively playing catch and frisbee. It might not be the place for a rainy day, but even in the winter it's a great place to something warm.
Sixth Floor of the Arts Block – on a rainy day there is nothing better than sitting up on the sixth floor of the Arts Block and watching the world go by. There are two big rooms - one has desks and the other has comfy seats, with the Classics Library in-between. Some areas advise against eating there, so student discre tion is advised.
The Buttery – after perhaps the most low-key set of student protests ever, you can now bring food that was not purchased in the Buttery to the canteen to eat. Eating lunch in what some have described as a windowless dungeon with hospital grade lighting might not be for everyone, but you will always find a seat here, and if your lunch didn’t hit the spot you can pick up a snack.
YOUR FRESHERS' WEEK TIMETABLE
10am, Tbc
Yoga Soc x Phil Maidens Free Yoga
11am, Hist Convo Room
10 - 11am, GMB UDOMA Coffee Morning
11am - 1pm, Pav Marquee
Fashion Soc x The Hist Jane Birken-ify Your Bag / Charm Making Workshop
12 - 2pm, Hist Convo Room Vis Arts x The Phil Tote Bag Painting
10am - 11am, GMB
The Phil x The Hist Speed Friending
10:30am - 12pm, Pav Marquee
Yoga Soc x Joli Soc Free Yoga
2 - 4pm, Pav Marquee TFM Radio Jeopardy
5:30 - 8pm, Hist Convo Room
The Hist x Film Soc Film Screening
6pm, Doyle's Korean Soc (and other language & culture societies) Pub Quiz
6 - 8pm, Pav Marquee
Fashion Soc x The Phil Pub Quiz
8pm, Chaplins Misc. Magazine Launch Party
11pm, Wigwam TMT x Ents x
Fashion Soc x VDP Western themed night out
1 - 3pm, Hist Convo Room The Hist x Food and Drink Mediterranean
2 - 4pm, The Atrium DU History Roundtable Coffee Hour
3pm, Fellows' Square
Yoga Soc x Vegan Soc Vegan Picnic
4 - 6pm, The Eliz Room DUGES x DUDJ DJ Tutorial for Women and Gender Minorities
5 - 6pm, Chamber Sofia x The Phil Wine Tasting
6pm, Tbc
Law Soc x FLAC x The Hist Pub Crawl
7pm, O'Reilly's DU History
Social Mixer
11pm, The Academy Ents Freshers' Ball
Yoga Soc x Phil Maidens
Coffee Morning
1pm, Tbc DUPA Photomuseum Trip
2pm, GMB ENTS GMB Tour
2pm, Tbc Lit Soc Bookshop Crawl
4pm, Tbc
The Hist x Circus Soc Field Day
4 - 6pm, The Atrium
Korean Soc x DUSEAS x FiloSoc x TSAS x JSoc Speed Friending
4:30pm, The Atrium Trinity FM Top Floor Music Gig
5:30pm, Tbc
Trinity Publications Pub Quiz
7pm, The Wine Pair DU Food and Drink Wine Tasting (limited places)
7:30pm, Mary's PolSoc x SOFIA x Europa x DU History Pub Quiz
11pm, The Grand Social Ents x DU Snow
Sports x Trinity Surf Club
Slopes vs. Swells
9:30 - 11am, Tbc The Bram Stoker Club Phil Review Launch
12am - 1:30pm, The Campanile DU History Dublin Walking Tour
10:30 pm, Hist Convo Room The Hist x Food and Drink Mediterranean Food
2 - 4pm, The Atrium DU History Roundtable Coffee Hour
8pm, Workman's DUGES Chappell R oan Club Night
8 - 11pm, Trinity Bar & Venue Lit Soc Pub Quiz
10:30pm, Workman's Ents x DU Music x DUAMS Student Band Night
10am - 2pm, Tbc Fashion Soc Depop Pop-Up
11am - 12pm, Tbc
Yoga Soc x The Phil Hungover Yoga and Brunch (free acai bowls)
It is the butt of endless jokes and the object of many parental concerns; students and their food. We are the incapable cooks, the takeaway tyrants, the kitchen health hazards. We burn toast daily, wield salt as our only seasoning and maintain that iced coffee is a sufficient breakfast meal. From social scrutiny at the lack of our culinary skills to the widespread accusations of our Pot Noodle indulgences, students tend to have a poor reputation when it comes to food. However, one Trinity student society is here to prove the sceptics wrong… DU Food and Drink takes the title of Trinity’s most delicious society, catering to the student body’s craving for all things food and fun. With the commencement of Freshers’ Week, first-year students will have the joy of being introduced to Trinity’s culinary community via the free goody bags handed out by society members or the large crowd amassed around their stand in the Front Square. However, in the midst of the maze of society stands including the notorious Phil and the infamous DUDJ, Trinity’s Food and Drink society may perhaps be overlooked, hidden in the shadows of bigger societies with more prominent reputations and celebrated histories. Where does Du Food and Drink find its place?
Described as “open and inclusive” by chairperson Mollie Lloyd, the appeal of DU Food and Drink lies in the simplicity of its message – it’s all about food! It’s a no-brainer that this particular Trinity society has a wide audience; its chief concern is with some of the fundamental elements of human life. In the wise words of its chairperson, “Eating, cooking, and drinking are facets of life that everyone gets to be involved in.” So fear not if your culinary skills aren’t on par with Gordon Ramsey's; all abil-
ities and tastes are welcome in F&D Soc. If you prefer your coffee specially brewed by the Lavazza machine instead of Drury Street’s Kaph (controversial but economical), your sandwich buttered not mayo-ed (strange but defensible) or your spice bag solely from Charlie’s (utterly wrong and very concerning), DU Food and Drink will welcome you with open arms and a handful of treats to satisfy your every craving. However, with a message that appeals to all, there begs the question of how DU Food and Drink stands out amongst other societies. Can a society be unique when its focus is, quite literally, our daily bread? Or does relatability degenerate into redundancy in this case? Members of DU Food and Drink firmly disagree with this notion. From innovative events, appetising collaborations with other societies, and joint get-togethers with some of Dublin’s finest food establishments, DU Food and Drink has the creativity aspect well and truly covered. For a small membership fee, those who decide to subscribe to this society can join the community of “the biggest snacks on campus” and avail of events specifically constructed to satiate all their dietary needs. While examples of DU Food and Drink’s originality abound, there remains one personal favourite amongst the others: the Pickling Workshop. If, like me, you happen to be in the unfortunate situation that your flatmate has decided to take up the hobby of pickling and subsequently stink up your whole apartment, send them over
Can a society be unique when its focus is, quite literally, our daily bread?
to DU Food and Drink where they can pickle to their heart’s delight! However, as their Instagram @dufoodanddrink will tell you, it’s a BYOJ event (Bring Your Own Jar). It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single student in possession of essay deadlines and impending exams must be in want of some holiday cheer. Luckily for them, they need not look any further than Trinity’s resident culinary enthusiasts, who regularly organise seasonal events that revolve around your favourite festive delicacies. Whether it be crafting gingerbread houses for Christmas, handing out Valentine’s Day heart-shaped lollipops, or a beer-filled Oktoberfest celebration, DU Food and Drink has the holiday festivities covered. With tickets for events available on their linktree, and typically under €5, it is only a matter of snagging a ticket before they inevitably sell-out! The breadth of DU Food and Drink’s appeal lends itself well to collaborations with Trinity’s other societies, providing its members with the opportunity to meet other students whilst enjoying delicious food and drinks. In the
process of cultivating a closer campus community, students have the opportunity to eat, drink, and chat with new friends at F&D get-togethers after completing another hard day of playing Wordle in lectures and looking at Ryanair flights in tutorials. Having previously collaborated with Korean Soc, the Botanical Society and even Trinity’s business society, DUBES, there is quite literally an event for everyone. However, if you’d understandably rather not spend your time conspiring with the enemy (i.e. BESS students) and consider yourself more of a DU Food and Drink purist, the frequently held Coffee Mornings reserved only for F&D Society members may be more your cup of tea (pun intended).
The society’s contribution to the on-campus community is clear, but some recognition for Food and Drink’s contribution to Dublin’s culinary scene is also due. Throughout every academic year, multiple events are hosted in conjunction with various Dublin-based restaurants, takeaways and bars, providing students with the opportunity to get a taste of our city with little to no expenses lost. With events like their Mocktails and Tapas night, held at Astopia, or their Too Good To Go Feast at the Pav, members can enjoy local cuisine both on and off-campus, encouraging students to get involved with their nearest eateries whilst supporting Dublin-based businesses. It wouldn’t be presumptuous to say that few other societies contribute so notably to life beyond campus walls as DU Food and Drink, nor are as beneficial to the pockets and bellies of its members.
While the speakers blared another New Order song, my friend pulled out her phone and revealed an email containing the greatest treasure: a discount for drinks, provided by Food and Drink Society.
Money saved and stomachs full, what else does this mouth-watering society have to offer to its members? Well first, I must return to one of those hazy nights of first year, where I once again unfortunately found myself under the bright lights of the Workmans’ smoking area. While the speakers blared another New Order song, my friend pulled out her phone and revealed to me an email that contained the greatest treasure: a discount for drinks, provided by our very own Food and Drink Society. With F&D membership, discount codes for multiple bars, pubs and clubs across Dublin are sent to students, meaning they can skip their cheap pre-drinks and enjoy their local nightlife without worrying about the state of their bank account the next day.
Food-based jokes aside, the impact of the current cost of living crisis has been sorely felt by students, particularly when it comes to their eating and drinking habits. Eating together has always formed an integral part of community and food continues to act as a manifestation of our desire to meet, to give and to enjoy. It defines the way that humans love. Families reunite for Christmas dinner, friends bake each other sweet goods, flatmates offer one other tea. We make food to love and we love to make food. However, as the price of these goods rise and more of the establishments that provide them in Dublin begin
to close, students in particular are forced to recede. Nights out with friends are exchanged for lonely nights in and the stereotype of the Unhealthy Student Diet is reluctantly embraced because, unfortunately, Pot Noodles are actually much cheaper than an organic, homemade meal. But, while they cannot solve the cost of living crisis or financially support students on a budget, DU Food and Drink offers students the opportunity to get a taste of Dublin and reinhabit their city once again. With their drink discounts and collaborations with local food establishments, the financial burden of nights out and eating well is somewhat lifted. The student social scene may again begin to boom. The topic of food cannot be discussed without addressing the specific tastes, preferences and requirements that we each possess when it comes to our diet. After speaking with a member of DU Food and Drink, it is clear that a top priority of this society is student inclusion. When asked about catering to different dietary requirements, chairperson Mollie said, “We always make sure to provide for anyone with a gluten intolerance or vegans and vegetarians and we have held non-alcoholic events in the past!” There’s no need to worry if drinking just isn’t your thing, or vegetables really are your thing; this society will have something for you. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to state that many Trinity societies are a little daunting in their initial appearances. The charming confidence of DuPlayers or the cool couture of Trinity Fashion Society can be a little intimidating on first impression (I’m still a little intimidated). This problem isn’t so relevant to DU Food and Drink. Across the world, food and drink act as cultural signifiers of one’s welcome into a new place, situation, or position. As a Trinity society whose very concern is these manifestations of hospitality, I can safely assume that the majority of students can find little to feel discouraged by. Few other societies can boast a message that appeals to such masses. You would certainly be hard done by to find a student who would refuse free goody bags and cheap food. The specificity of other societies certainly has its time, place, and value, but DU Food and Drink should not be disregarded merely for its relatability. A society whose focus is relevant to every student on campus should be celebrated. Instead of spending your euros on overpriced coffee or another half-stale almond croissant, perhaps you will now be tempted to treat yourself to the delights that DU Food and Drink has to offer. Forgo the sight of an empty fridge. Leave those soggy leftovers in the past. Nothing tastes sweeter than food on a budget, especially after a long day of studying/socialising in the library. However, as I’m not being paid by them to write this, I will advertise their appeal no further and allow the readers to take their tummies…
PAINTING OUTSIDE THE LINES
Eve Smith faces the terrors - and joys - of a blank canvas
Ifirst learned the rules of art at an atelier while I worked as an au pair in Barcelona. Growing up, I would dream about the control I’d have once
I was an adult, and I’d spent the years leading up to it knuckling down in school and getting lightly bullied at my café job to make it happen. The
atelier worked in the traditional sight size method, a 19th century pre-camera approach to reproduce real-life objects by standing far enough away that
they could be translated onto your easel at exactly the same size. It was a way of mechanising the process of art, and restricted its production to those with this specific skill. The process was gruelling, but in the face of the anxiety of a blank canvas, it offered a soothingly rigid way out of it.
I spent my mornings on my feet, tasked with producing an exact copy of a printed-out drawing and my afternoons flicking my eyes back and forth between the naked model and my page. Over a series of weeks, we were to block-in lines, then shapes and shadow lines, and eventually fill in subtle detail with light strokes of sharpened charcoal to produce one drawing at the end of it. The idea was that the more information you added, the harder it became for the lines on your paper not to join together and convince you that their distorted shape was true to life. The tutors made their way disapprovingly around the semi-circle of students, taking us by the shoulders to encourage us to step further back from our easels, to stretch our plumb lines between our thumbs across what we were seeing, and what we thought we were seeing, and implored us to really look.
Though I believe in the maxim that 'not everything is as good as it seems', sometimes it absolutely is
where I would never quite feel good enough. After class, I put the two Catalan boys to bed and found myself staring at the wall, my body aching but my brain still whirring away, missing feeling like I was useful for more than just what I could approximate with my body.
It was my first introduction to looking at the world as an adult, and navigating a foreign country, another language and a group of people who were almost exclusively ten years older than me made me feel like I was the one standing naked in front of an audience of gawking students. It seemed clear to me then that art and life would be a constant pursuit of trying impossibly hard to defer to an ever-expanding set of rules, in a series of increasingly daunting new starts,
As a result, as soon as I got to Trinity, I concentrated all my creative efforts on writing, filled with relief about how relatively effortless the student experience could actually be. I ended second year all set to spend the next one in an old student town just outside Madrid, while running one of the campus magazines at a distance. But although I was excited to go back to Spain, I struggled to see beyond my sense of imminent ending. Most of the friends I’d made here would be gone by the time I came back, and were already making worried attempts to plan what they would do after they graduated. My friends from school, having already started jobs, didn’t come back to our hometown anymore. I felt untethered. In the face of uncertainty, I forced myself to paint every day that summer, getting into a painful rhythm of spending hours at the table, never quite satisfied because I couldn’t replicate exactly what I saw.
My sketches got lighter and my strokes looser
The same handful of bars felt seedy the second time around, filled with a new set of faces looking to go out and see what I'd already seen
Erasmus is one of those things that looks like people are pretending to be having a nice time online. But even though I believe in the maxim that not everything you see is as good as it seems, sometimes it absolutely is. A whirlpool of little responsibility, new people, cheap trips, grant cash and more vitamin D than I’d ever experienced in my life meant
that this time around, my first semester in Spain felt like a three-month long party. I had no time to paint anymore. I bashed out the organisation for the magazine when I could scrabble together enough time alone, and went straight back out again. There was a whole new world to see. But where there is life, there is loss, and I went into second semester feeling like I had less friends than the none I’d started the year with. In December my friendship group had splintered in two, and almost all of the people I saw every day were due to leave. In the new year, there were no societies or new people in my classes, and my once five-person flat was now down to just two. I went to events jumpy, walking around like a gaping open wound. The same handful of bars felt seedy the second time around, filled with a whole new set of faces looking to go out and see what I’d already seen. I felt apprehensive about the magazine coming to an end. I couldn’t bear another new beginning. Now left with far too much time to spend on my own, most evenings I took the cercanías to the capital, which dropped me a short walk away from one of the city’s grandest buildings, Círculo de Bellas Artes. At the top of this high-security, high-ceiled, marble-paved vestibule was a small wooden art studio. For a monthly fee less than the price of going to one life drawing class in Dublin, I could come whenever I liked to a quiet bright space and draw. Without the pressure of having to follow someone else’s rules or make the most of an expensive class, I had room to experiment. I didn’t need to fall back on the traditional approach by panicked default. I no longer boxed people in, but cast gestural circles around with my pen and carved into them. Instead of spelling everything out for the viewer, I learned to trust them to interpret what the drawing left unsaid. My sketches got lighter and my strokes got looser as a result, and for the first time, the world didn’t implode when I broke the rules of what I felt I should do. It got bigger. Halfway through the term,
and no new friendship group to travel with having emerged, I booked a solo trip to Seville for Semana Santa.
For the week of Easter, most cities in Spain put processions on every day to commemorate what Jesus is supposed to have given up for people’s sin. And the South of Spain goes all out.
I took the high-speed train from Atocha early in the morning at the start of the holiday. By the time I got there, the sun was high in the sky and the wet streets were empty. Everyone spilled off the city tram two stops before the end of the line. I asked an older woman in a brown fur coat what was going on. Hay una procesión, she said before trotting off the carriage as fast as she could. Outside the cathedral, the road was blocked off and with rows and rows of chairs laid out for mass. In the distance, there was the sound of people, and the funereal throb of a brass band.
I made my way in the direction of my hostel, but kept losing myself, every road I needed to turn down blocked off. I eventually escaped through a scattered gap in the hoards of people in their Sunday best, but when I got to the winding 12th century streets, I couldn’t squeeze through anymore. People were pressed to both sides of it, eagerly awaiting the procession to pass through or trapped in the middle of it. I stood wedged between a panicked Portuguese family and two Andalucían men standing on their tip toes on the corner.
The anticipatory chatter fell to a hush as an impenetrable stream of faceless hooded men started to file through the middle of the street, walking in slow march. After a while, more shuffled behind them carrying an intricately gold-encrusted shrine to Jesus’s birth over their heads. Complete silence fell over the crowd as the churchmen manoeuvred the ten-footlong jangling statue around the corner, their biceps slightly shaking under the weight of it. All ages and types of people, religious and not, were pressed together as the churchmen passed, with no choice to be anywhere but there, standing in
The things I enjoyed doing were no longer stricken with rules
reverence for the spectacle that the city and its people spent all year preparing for. Eventually, people clapped as the last of the hooded men peeled away, and the procession snaked around to a different part of the city, for a new set of people to be forced to pause and consider that life is a series of resurrections, and it’s up to us whether we choose to see that as a blessing or not. I came back to my Spanish student town and, after interviewing dozens of student journalists over
Zoom, I handed the magazine that I’d spent all three years at college involved with over to a new team. Suddenly the control I’d dreaded losing (even if it was to a talented group of people) came
back to me as a gift. For the first time in forever, the things I enjoyed doing, like writing and painting, were no longer an obligation or stricken with rules, but a freeing choice to do the things that I loved about being alive. My training in traditional art allowed me to learn to step back, and really see exactly what I had in front of me. By this point, the people I’d slightly known from first term had become my genuine friends. As the days got longer and the city started to sweat, we planned trips to the city’s pools and spent long afternoons together in the courtyard of their student accommodation. More often than not, we shifted our plastic chairs along and invited the new students to come and sit with us. And dizzy from tobacco smoke and sipping from big cups of homemade tinto de verano, starting over came to taste sweet again.
Scrolling on X, I find a picture of US presidential candidate Kamala Harris’ face, expertly photoshopped onto an outtake from Lana Del Rey’s Lust for Life album cover shoot, while a reverbed version of her viral coconut tree soundbite plays over the intro to 13 Beaches. Following Joe Biden’s gaffes in which he mistakenly called Ukrainian president Zelensky “Putin” and referred to Harris as “Vice President Trump”, tweets like the one posted by internet personality @blizzy_mcguire, which reads "Joe Biden just called me Bella Hadid omg", gained millions of views and thousands of retweets. This summer, anyone still using X and under the age of 60 found their feed turned into a smorgasbord of memes about the American election (which, I’ll admit, undeniably lent itself to ridicule). While a few of the jokes could be considered plain old political satire, the majority were completely absurd, almost detached from reality. Are we dissociated from politics?
Don’t get me wrong, I am not above the memes. My friends and I spent days exchanging screenshots of the official document shared by Biden to announce he was dropping out of the race edited to read excerpts from Azealia Banks’ infamous Instagram stories. We say ‘it’s Joever’ at every minor inconvenience. We might break into Carrie Bradshaw-inspired monologue to make every new piece of information more palatable. “So when they missed the shot aimed at Trump’s head I couldn’t help but wonder… had I missed my shot with Big?” (wistfully take a drag from a Marl-
boro Light and look out your window). There is, however, something sinister to this brand of political humour, in the nihilism it seems to face major world events with. Constantly making light of a dire situation can help the wrong people, potentially dismissing the threat to democracy that someone like Trump poses. In our day and age of Tik-Tok brain-rot, this might look like politicians becoming virtually indistinguishable from celebrities and being held less to account as a result.
Once the internet turns a political figure into a meme, it’s hard to revert to ever taking them seriously again. This has been the case for Harris. When an edit of various clips of Harris laughing and dancing to Charli XCX’s hit 'Von Dutch' went viral, an inextricable link was created between the politician and the singer’s chart-topping album, Brat. This was further solidified when Charli herself tweeted ‘kamala IS brat’ on July 22nd, accumulating over fifty-four million views. Noticing how much attention this was attracting on social media platforms, Harris’ team were quick to jump on the bandwagon and rebrand their official accounts to be Bratthemed in an attempt to garner support from young voters. On X, the official Harris/Walz campaign page profile photo is a minimalist ‘kamala hq’ in lowercase Arial over a lime-green background, just like the album cover, and the bio simply reads ‘Providing context’: another reference to her coconut tree meme. The equivalent Instagram page has a pinned carousel post which
includes a screenshot of Charli’s tweet and is captioned ‘And when we put this to bed, the internet will go crazy’, a lyric from one of the album’s most popular songs.
Though it is less than ideal for Harris to have to piggyback off memes and a techno-pop album to win the election, if this is what it takes to beat Trump, so be it. It is disconcerting, however, how this meme-ification inevitably leads to a familiarised image of a down-to-earth, ultimately likeable character (Harris has secured affectionate nicknames such as ‘Momala’ and ‘auntie’ among her supporters) who will be often mistaken as progressive, when some of Harris’ policies leave a lot to be desired – her national security adviser recently reiterated that she would not support an arms embargo on Israel, for example.
Even more dystopian than the popularisation of misleading caricatures of political figures (which isn’t new), is the total apathy of these memes’ tone. In a 2019 essay published in BuzzFeed News, Emmeline Clein poignantly identified this ironic, deadpan attitude in the context of feminism, but I think it applicable to our relationship to politics at large. According to Clein, we have come to interiorise “our existential aches and angst, smirking knowingly at them, and numbing ourselves to maintain our nonchalance”, with platforms like X or TikTok providing the perfect avenues to do so. Perhaps the inexorable rise of the far right across the world or the relentless flow of graphic images of political violence in our feeds have left us desensitised. Why care when voting is almost always a matter of picking the lesser evil? When we don’t feel appropriately represented by any candidate with a chance of winning? The urge to sit back and tweet as the world burns is, in the current political climate, understandable, but it also means taking the easy route.
Constantly making light of a dire situation can help the wrong people
had been protesting against Trinity’s failure to divest from Israeli companies on the UN Blacklist as well as proposed fee hikes for master’s students – a right which they reiterated in response to the college’s threats of disciplinary proceedings. An even more extensive operation was carried out with the Trinity BDS (Boycott, Divestment & Sanctions) encampment, which followed similar initiatives by students across the US and saw pro-Palestinian protesters set up tents in Fellows’ Square. The encampment continued for five days, until an agreement was reached with college’s senior management and Trinity announced the cutting of its ties with Israeli companies that have activities in the Occupied Palestinian Territory as well as plans to support Palestinian scholars. It also received international attention, support, and praise. Taking to social media platforms to better understand political issues feels like looking into a black hole. Well-meaning sentiments of wanting to stay engaged easily wane in the face of genuinely disheartening news; but if untreated, disillusionment can curdle into a numbness that is perhaps more dangerous and isolating than misplaced hope. Political satire is only useful so long as it spurs people to push their governments for what they deserve, not if it becomes an outlet for us to detach from reality when it gets too uncomfortable. In the same way, social media is also a double-edged sword: it can amplify the impact of initiatives like the BDS encampment but also allow entire joke candidacies for important positions in the SU, if we’re looking at Trinity for examples. It’s important to be mindful about when and how we choose to use either when it comes to politics. If you ask me, I would encourage holding on to your hope until the last possible second. If it doesn’t work out, you’ll always have your cynicism to fall back on.
While it might once have been convenient to use social media platforms to keep in the loop with current events, nowadays algorithms are so fast-paced and oversaturated that having them as our primary source of information could only alienate us. They have become too overwhelming and dispersive to allow space for meaningful political discussion. Turning to different sources would not only mean restricting the quantity of information to a digestible amount (and most likely increasing the quality), but also getting a better sense of what we as individuals have the power to do. Especially when there have recently been such inspirational examples of seemingly hopeless situations where the tide was turned by young people’s collective action. In June, extreme right party Rassemblement National was set to win France’s snap elections after the first round of votes but, thanks to the creation of a broad coalition of the left-wing parties and voters turning out in full force to defeat the far right, the Nouveau Front Populaire was the shock winner, with 48% of 18–24-year-olds’ votes.
We needn’t look further than our own campus to find similarly impactful examples: after College hit the TCDSU with a €214k fee for financial losses caused by their blockades of the Book of Kells back in May, the SU refused to be intimidated, and the fee was dropped. They
LOVER, YOU SHOULD'VE COME TO T-BALL
Brian Lennon chronicles Jeff Buckley's 1992 performance at Trinity
Trinity Ball is a college institution. Though its reputation wavers each year depending on the line-up and the exorbitant prices of food and beverages, all can agree that it is a unique social phenomenon in Ireland – one that seems more like a celebration that an Oxbridge college would hold than an Irish one. The experience of being ostentatiously attired under the campanile as music booms from the centre stage and tattered students fall willy-nilly around is singularly unique.
In recent years, we’ve seen both Irish and international acts play at Trinity Ball. Two Door Cinema Club were the big names on the 2023 lineup, while British artist Bakar headlined in 2024. In the 80s and 90s, international names were much more common. From the Smiths to the Clash, the Trinity Ball days of yore were immersed in rosy stardom. Jeff Buckley is not a name most Trinity students of today would associate with our annual ball. His name is now so shrouded in myth and renown that to think he could ever have headlined Trinity Ball beggars belief.
Well, that’s because he didn’t. Attendees of the ball that night surely didn't guess that the young, soft-spoken guitarist who came on around midnight to a diminished crowd would go on to become one of the most soulful, lambent voices of the 1990s.
Jeff Buckley was born to the folk musician Tim Buckley in 1966. On his father’s side he was descended from the Buckleys of County Cork, who emigrated to the US in the nineteenth century. It is perhaps no coincidence, then, that Buckley began his music career in a venue with a distinctively Irish name. Sin-é was a café opened by Irish immigrant Shane Doyle in 1989. Situated in the trendy East Village neighbourhood of Manhattan, it quickly became a popular music venue for independent singer-songwriters. Among the future stars who performed there were Sinead O’Connor and the Waterboys. Buckley’s first commercial album, Live at Sin-é, launched his career, and his subsequent album, Grace – though at first met with mixed
reviews –tually apult - ed him to perstar dom, and re one of the pieces of ry of the 1990s.
ley honed his music, playing sets that would last for two or three hours. Few who attended those early gigs knew what fame awaited the young musician.
An Irish talent scout, Michael Murphy, who was then working for the label Imago, took to Buckley’s musical talent while seeing him play at Sin-é in early 1992. Murphy eventually convinced the young Buckley to play at that year’s Trinity Ball, a special occasion which celebrated the 400th anniversary of the founding of the college. It was to be Buckley’s first international gig. He was struggling for cash at the time and the deal was too good to pass up. So, Buckley arrived at Dublin airport, clad in a Sex Pistols t-shirt, on Thursday May 14th May 1992, the day before the ball. Murphy met him there and brought him into the city. Buckley was tired from the flight and rested for most of the evening of the 14th. On the 15th, the day of the ball, Murphy drove Buckley to Newgrange and several monastic sites. They later dined together in Murphy’s family home in the southern Dublin suburb of Deansgrange. Buckley knew he had to be onstage just after midnight. Yet, that evening, Buckley opted to stay in with Murphy’s parents rather than meet the local music managers and scouts who were hounding the streets of Dublin for new talent. Murphy, who had organised a dinner with some of the local talent and several music producers, was understandably confused, but let Buckley retire for the evening as he headed out.
The entertainment? For Murphy’s parents, it was of course the Late Late Show, presented at that time by the late Gay Byrne. After some rummaging, Murphy’s parents brought out an array of biscuits and several cups of tea. The three of them spent the evening in front of the television.
Buckley left around an hour before his performance, having depleted the store
Buckley left about an hour before his performance, having depleted the biscuits considerably
of biscuits at the house considerably. It is probably the first Jeff Buckley performance to be filmed, and until very recently was gathering dust in Murphy’s house in Deansgrange. At that time, Buckley had no agent nor label: he was almost entirely unknown.
The tape that survives of his performance shows the young musician playing to a crowd of under a thousand. Seeing him play that night, all baggy t-shirt and foppish hair, to a crowd of dinner jackets and frilly dresses, gives the performance a rather comic side. Unfortunately, Murphy does not plan on releasing the tape to the public in the near future.
Buckley’s performance at T-Ball consisted almost entirely of covers – mostly Bob Dylan and Van Morrison classics. At that point, it was the largest crowd Buckley had ever performed in front of, and Murphy remarked that it must have been tremendously important
for him, especially given his claim that his and his father’s vocal quality came from their Irish roots. Michael Murphy was not to be Buckley’s agent in the end. Shortly after the T-Ball performance, in October 1992, he signed on to Sony Columbia records.
The verdict from that night? A detailed documentary of the night shows hundreds of people leaving through the front gate after dawn. One middle-aged looking man, seemingly unbothered by the fact that he has no idea where his wife is, exclaims that he “thoroughly enjoyed” the experience. Two young attendees, who came from work overseas, complain that the music wasn’t catered for the ball-goers at all, and that they “would not come here again.” One wonders if they would rescind that view in retrospect. Buckley returned to Ireland three more times, and played Whelan’s (the popular music venue) the night Grace was released. His last performance was in 1995, and he died tragically two years later, in May 1997. Buckley’s most famous album, Grace, turns 30 this year. On September 15th, a special anniversary program is being released on the BBC, featuring a wide range of artists paying homage to the late musician. His legacy today is monumental, and he remains perhaps the last great musician in the American folk movement which originated in the 1960s. From Trinity Ball debutant to international folk icon, Buckley’s brief career was one characterised by luck, talent, but above all his willingness to explore new possibilities with his music and performances. Coming to a small college in the west of Europe with no financial security for the foreseeable future was a bold move, sure, but it might just have emboldened him to persist in an occasionally unforgiving industry.
POP CULTURE, TRANSLATED
Kneecap, ket and Keoghan: Aoibhinn Mitchell Walsh breaks down the latest Gaelic Revival
There has been a noticeable shift in what the cool kids are wearing and doing on our Emerald Isle. Where other trends have been fading in and out at a Shein-like speed, a fixation on cultúr Gaelach has been creeping in slowly but surely, indicating that it will be with us longer than frilly bloomers and biker boots (long may they reign). A surge in Celtic design jewellery and ‘sláinte’ tattoos spotted on Drury Street as of late can be attributed to a melting pot of artists, movements and trends in the media.
The Irish music scene has produced a variety of exciting new sounds and faces in recent years - and this success is not contained to the homeland. CMAT was recently nominated for the prestigious Mercury Prize, while her beautiful, bum-revealing Brit Awards dress made front page news in the British tabloids. Bambie Thug’s bizarre but brilliant stage presence at Eurovision is an inspiration for the next generation of pagan witchcraft enthusiasts. We have Fontaines D.C. and the hope they give BIMM students. Kojaque, another noteworthy member of the Irish music scene, is also noteworthy in his hotness, says I with journalistic integrity. Kneecap’s provocative rap and hip hop stylings as Gaeilge not only thrill the ket-head Gaelgeoirs of Ireland, but the release of their Oscar-hopeful part-biographical film has also taken hold of the American psyche. Not only have they dramatised what it means to speak Irish in post-Troubles Northern Ireland in a humorous and digestible way for the uninformed viewer, but to the delight of drug dealers nationwide, they have depicted ketamine intake as a worthy pastime. But in all seriousness, Kneecap are doing more than promoting drug use; they’re promoting drug use as Gaeilge. The Irish they use in their music and in their film is colloquial and conversational, the Irish that people actually use go laethúil. They’ve disproved the tired rhetoric that Irish is a ‘dead language’ that isn’t used outside of classrooms or in the Gaeltacht, and this is causing a noticeable shift in how Irish is discussed in the media. There is a rise in bilingual musicians, poets, artists, writers and influencers showcasing its versatility without compromising the vigour the language holds. Kneecap and these other prominent Gaelgeoirs have reminded those of us who left Irish be-
hind the moment the Leaving Cert Paper 2 was finished that speaking Irish is a radical anti-colonial act. Referring to it as a “dead” language or the persistent “My Irish teacher in school was really shit” cop-out constitute undeserved dismissals of a rich heritage, one that young people are working to reclaim. Every handpoked ‘grá’ in a wonky love heart on your forearm is a knife in the side of England and a tribute to our Fenian forefathers.
Irish patriotism is evident in more than just the exploration of our language as an artistic and political means… and no, I’m not referring to the ‘Ireland is full’ crowd and their fixation with fire. The current devastating war on Gaza and the colonial forces enacting it provokes the Irish conscience and collective memory in a way that it doesn’t for our Western neighbours. Israel’s brutal attack on the Palestinian people supported by overseas funding and enabled by nearly a century of colonial occupation has a familiar ring to Irish ears. The outspoken condemnation of Israel’s actions and wholehearted support for Palestinians and their resistance in Ireland is rooted in our shared cultural experience of occupation. That sense of justice and compassion is a national ideology worth taking pride in.
Now language and patriotism aren’t the only reasons Irish culture is experiencing an aesthetic appreciation as of late. There is, of course, the Paul Mescal and his tiny O’Neills shorts of it all. Ireland in recent years has produced some talent ed, dare I say it, hotties
Adeleke at the Paris Olympics as proof). The world thought Jamie Dornan in the Fifty Shades franchise was all we had to give and we, as a nation who hate to disappoint, outdid ourselves. Paul Mescal Scott (aka the of Ireland) won the hearts of derwhelmed
All of Us Strangers audienc es with
giddy and infectious press interviews. Nicola Coughlan was undoubtedly the sole heartthrob of the latest season of Bridgerton while her work in Derry Girls is beloved abroad by Americans with subtitles turned on. Barry Keoghan grafted his way to Sabrina Carpenter (?!) while, though arguably less impressively, Cillian Murphy went and won himself an Oscar. Hollywood is so enthralled by our Cillian they manage to interpret his blatant disinterest in interviews as mysterious stoicism. He’ll soon star in the film adaptation of Claire Keegan’s critically acclaimed novella Small Things Like These, following the success of the adaptation of Foster into An Cailín Ciúin. This obsession with Irish actors, such as our beloved Ayo Edebiri, is but one aspect of the focus on Irish storytelling and drama. Martin McDonagh’s award-winning The Banshees of Inisherin and the Booker-nominated novels The Bee Sting by Paul Murray and Prophet Song by Paul Lynch encapsulate the darkness and depth of the Irish imagination but also the humanity and humour with which these themes are conveyed. The Irish psyche is greatly informed by our cultural inheritance, often imparted by the oral tradition and through other storytelling mediums, sean nós songs for instance. There is so much cultural and artistic output to celebrate in Ireland and I don’t think it too far-fetched to correlate that with the amount of Claddagh rings on display in Smithfield beer gardens on any given Saturday night. How does one
ing a wonky harp onto one’s person? It couldn’t hurt to engage with our cultural and historical inheritance or to invest in one’s relationship with ár dteanga be sure, I plan Ayahuasca with and listen to the land speak the answers to my questions.
CHANGING PAVEMENTS
Amelia Rosevear
goes home
Attending university abroad was never really on my radar. Although I planned to travel on my own, that was a prospect shrouded in a far-off version of who I could someday be. What felt closer as I was applying to colleges was remaining in the States – where I’m from – prioritizing the outdoors and rooting myself on familiar soil. Yet, I soon accepted a random offer for a random application to a random Irish university and realised my winds had changed. Even then, I only gained awareness of my decision in the turbulent backseat of a Dublin Taxi, winding through cobbled streets that I now can’t believe were once foreign. Despite my trepidation at moving so far from home, any ‘culture shock’ I had expected was minimal. That first year, most grievances were softened by great company in the warmth of Mother Reilly’s. Amidst the frenzy of laughter, music and shockingly little university, an alien, surprising feeling lurked: that of coming home. Reverse culture shock, similar to its original cousin, strikes upon the absence of predictability and familiarity in one’s geographical or cultural location (or so my reliable sources, U.S. Department of State and Reddit, tell me). Scientific-ish definitions can be found across the web, most entailing some linear u-shaped process in which you too can self-diagnose yourself as afflicted with cultural disorientation. The shock of returning home entails grappling with multi-faceted change; change of oneself and change of one’s home, especially after having adapted into an entirely new cultural setting.
Whilst I can imagine American reassimilation in any state is a feat, as a Nevadan I can only speak to one. The peculiarities of Nevada have played a role in my reverse culture shock, but mostly in a satirical, desensitised way. It wasn’t until this summer that I grasped the extent of the obscenity of the Nevadan way, bearing witness to a visiting Irish friend whose jaw dropped at our unconventional state. Nevada has a few oddities. For instance, an economy propelled by legalised gambling and prostitution. From steakhouses to arcades, my childhood is no stranger to the casino (at least one guards every block). But my friend, the foreigner, was taken aback by the reality of the floor and the trance it cast upon gamblers. He was equally troubled by the recurring casual references to brothels and men’s clubs, though many locals flock to one joint’s bar solely for the best burger in town. Observing my friend’s disorientation encouraged me to allow myself grace; maybe Nevada isn’t the simplest place to readapt to. Even so, it was clear that my uncertainty in coming home stemmed more from the social conditions of my birthplace. I found myself returning with an infantile taste of freedom, a taste of a life I had chosen. Now, I stood in a place that was in my fibre; its curvature memorised, its every feature memorialized by nostalgia. It was not the biscuits n’ gravy, strip malls or gun violence that shocked me the most, but the pure familiarity of my ‘hometown’ and reminders of how I existed in it when it was just my ‘town.’ Associating with my past-self felt like associating with a life I didn’t know how to live.The shock of this rocked my core. Coping with readaptation fostered resistance and resentment towards my home. I was so overwhelmed by familiarity that I fell into a philosophy of self-centred angst. Suddenly, I overthought my sense of style, my confidence, my vocabulary. It was as if I felt that familiarity inevitably led to regression. My relationship with coming home began in a place of denial – denial of my home as being a place that grows with me. Now, I sit, clattering my keyboard in my neighbourhood coffee shop, where I clattered just like this many years ago. My shock has changed. I am no longer dissatisfied with stagnancy, nor do I underestimate my home’s ability for variation. My discomfort previously brought me scorn for my home, sitting with the conviction that my return represented an intermediate pause from the rest of my life.
My reverse culture shock is now comparble to grabbing coffee with an old friend
I have felt a plethora of shocks every time I return to my home country, consistently having to readapt to a society I am no longer desensitized to. With practice, I now expect to readapt to tokens of American charm: inquisitive and friendly strangers, impractically large vehicles, colossal portions of creamy, cheesy, and greasy food enjoyed in your quintessential downtown diner. I similarly (with more gripes) readapt to American imperfections - non-existent public transport, rampant homelessness, and mental illness - issues that are no stranger to Irish society as well. During my most recent visit, the most draining aspect of coming home was the migraine-inducing media, most of which was political, slanderous and constant.
After many summers and winters spent within walls, streets, and shops entangled with my local story, I have had far too many opportunities to sulk in my discontent, that was so obviously never about my beautiful home. Especially now, having returned from study abroad (the ultimate test of culture shock tolerance) my hometown of Reno, Nevada is as fluid as ever. Due to beautiful friends who have settled where we were raised, I have been exposed to the many scenes that I am not a part of but so intrigued by. My past returns have been ripe with shock in forms of musical and artistic communities, as well as political and culinary opportunities. To come home is to plunge into a world that I am connected to by association, but involved in through passions. Simply, my reverse culture shock now, versus when I was gaining my bearings abroad, is comparable to grabbing coffee with an old friend. There are few things that strike as hard as the context you have with friends who have observed your evolution, both actively and from a distance. To be open to myself and my home changing simultaneously is not accepting defeat in two things that no longer correspond. Rather, it is an acceptance of friends who have grown in different, but complimentary ways; their roots undeniably intertwined by the same neon arches and flickering streetlamps.
IT'LL PASS
Lucy Holmes speaks to Éle Ní Chonbhuí about FILTH! theatre collective and their new show at the Fringe
WhenI first started college, Lucy Holmes was one of those older students who seemed to be everywhere interesting I went. This July, she greeted me at the door to the FringeLab with open arms and offers of tea. I was interviewing her as the creator of THIS TOO SHALL PASS, an immersive installation piece running in the Pearse Centre this September as part of the Dublin Fringe Festival.
After graduating from Trinity in 2023, Lucy went on to do a masters in Playwriting at the Lir. It was during her masters that she founded the theatre and arts collective FILTH!. Vanessa, in charge of publicity, warmly welcomed me into a wide studio with mirrored walls opposite windows overlooking Meeting House Square. There was something exciting about the room – our interview was even interrupted by musicians below the open window. We laughed about our history with Fringe Festivals: as spectators, volunteers, or parts of a production team. The joy in being involved in small ways has not been overshadowed by the amazement at now having their own show. Lucy beamed as she opened the Fringe brochure to a photo of her own face and a description of her work.
continues to impact her personhood and identity. The audience follows Erin through a series of interactive spaces: a waiting room, a bedroom, an outdoor alleyway and a rave. The narrative is told through the installation, so audiences are encouraged to explore the spaces themselves: “I describe the feeling as when you're at someone's house and you're in their bathroom, you know you shouldn't open that medicine cupboard or that cupboard under their sink. But you want to look, and you just do.”
After an installation at Electric Picnic last year, THIS TOO SHALL PASS is FILTH!’s second production. Holmes’ intention with the multidisciplinary theatre company is to ask “how do we tell stories in different ways?” And FILTH! doesn’t just tell stories differently – it sheds light on untold ones. THIS TOO SHALL PASS follows Erin (Holmes), whose childhood as part of the Child and Adult Mental Health System (CAMHS)
In February last year THIS TOO SHALL PASS ran in the Samuel Beckett Theatre predominantly as a soundscape with choreography by Molly Hazzard. At the Fringe, Holmes combines these preexisting elements with a more direct telling of the narrative. “This iteration of it is about bringing the story into a space that's live, that's right next to you”, says Holmes. Powerful theatre is distinguished by its liveness, its unavoidable presence. THIS TOO SHALL PASS harnesses this urgent aspect of theatre to call attention to a pressing current issue: our mental health system is failing. Holmes was honest with me about how her personal experiences of mental health care, and the shame she has previously felt around her own mental health, influenced the play. “Growing up, I went through the Child and Adolescent Mental Health System. I very openly can say now that I am still in the Adult Mental Health System. If you'd asked me that two, three years ago, I wouldn't have even been able to admit that to you.” What she didn’t know growing up was that she was not alone. In 2021 the Seán
Maskey Report conducted in South Ker ry found that CAMHS procedures harmed 46 children and 227 other children at risk. startling findings prompted a nation wide audit. A 2023 interim report revealed that these issues were occurring across the country. Recurrent issues included short-staffing, poor reporting, and lack of governance. Many of the patients coming out of CAMHS felt lost, having been scrutinised with repetitive questionnaires and sessions with little to no continuity of care: “When the report came out, my mom sent it to me saying ‘this is exactly what you've experienced.’”
When the report came out, my mum sent it to me, saying, "This is exactly what you've experienced"
For Holmes and those with similar experiences, facts and figures – however shocking –were never going to be enough: “I want to focus on the people that are at the centre of those statistics. That's the story I want to tell.” Crucially, THIS TOO SHALL PASS is not meant as a morbid reflection on the individual difficulties of the mental health patient, nor is it an admonishment of those who work within it. Holmes strongly empathises with the practitioners but insists that the “spark of the show” comes from the “child at the centre of it that suffers”. Holmes includes moments of levity to introduce an integral part of the show, hope: “life isn't all just misery or all just joy. It's about balancing and capturing those different shades of life”. Lucy was clear that she is not rehashing her person-
al experience, but rather exploring the failures of the system at large: “We can talk forever about the epidemic that is mental illness in Ireland, but if we don't acknowledge that the systems put in place to help those things aren't working, then we're just completely missing the mark.”
Lucy makes an important point; we often focus too closely on individual harms and forget that the very position of the individual is shaped by a larger, broken system. As an immersive theatre piece, THIS TOO SHALL PASS both comments on and incorporates how spaces and systems influence personhood. The team at FILTH! purposefully designed spaces to encourage freedom of movement while restricting interference with the performance, creating a position for the audience member as something more than a spectator but not quite a performer. This material choreography best serves the storytelling within the play: “Everything within the creative part of this process is considered,” Holmes explains, “When you first come into the space, you get a very clear sense of the rules of what you can and can't do. Being clear also empowers people to experience it to a fuller extent. […] Go find, discover, rummage, go through that cabinet in someone's bathroom, do it.”.
There is something to be learned from this approach to design. Badly structured systems fail to serve anybody involved, both patient and practitioner. Attempts to be innovative still require considered and facilitating structures. This is as relevant to the health sector as it is to the creation of good art: “You could do the most "out there" things. You could reimagine how stories are told forever, but if you don't have the people that are experiencing it on board with that, what was the point?”
longer exist.” The production was also chosen for a Fringe x field:arts mentorship programme. As part of this, the team at field:arts consult with Holmes as a creative producer to help develop the show and her skills. The quality of the shows that the Dublin Fringe produces, and the successes of many shows after the festival, is a direct result of this scaffolding that safeguards new theatre and emerging artists.
When you're at someone's house and you're in their bathroom - you know you shouldn't open that medicine cupboard or that cupboard under the sink. But you want to look, and you just do.
This careful balance of experimentation and consideration is key to the Dublin Fringe. Each year a hotbed of madness and creativity floods the stages of the city. In 2023, the Fringe was host to 77 shows by over 560 artists. This September is no different, with an eclectic lineup including a musical cabaret about sperm donation, an aerial dance piece about chemotherapy and an adaptation of Sontag’s Illness as Metaphor. However, the Fringe does not magically appear as a slab of clay for theatre-makers to stick their cookie-cutter shows into each September. It is a year-long process involving development schemes, grants and funds for new artists, a space (not just physical) of support for theatre making and innovation. As a part of the FRINGELAB, the development and mentorship hub of the festival, THIS TOO SHALL PASS received a week in the studio for free. With more than 27 studios closing in Dublin in the last ten years, the importance of these spaces is not lost on Holmes: “Having loads of people in the room, having actors, having the crew in talking about everything, throwing out ideas, it's such an exciting, beautiful space to be in and [so many of these] small theatre spaces just no
One of Holmes’ main pieces of advice for prospective theatre-makers is to respect these development processes: “I've realised that there is no shortcut. That was a hard piece of advice I had to reckon with. My advice is don't dismiss any part of your practice and don't dismiss anything you've created just because it's not on a big stage […] Doing those applications, putting those things forward, advocating for yourself, is hard.” Holmes urges aspiring artists to be brave and “put it out there”, in whatever way you can: “Even if it's just on social media, a couple of friends with a script to record. Let people know that you're doing things.” More importantly, these smaller projects often come to open a lot of bigger doors: “I thought ‘no one's going to care about this’. People do care.” Although we spent most of the interview talking about mental health crises and the difficulties of surviving as an artist in Dublin, I walked away with renewed hopes about the future. Holmes – and everybody involved in FILTH! are determined to continue to do good work. It was lovely to see a group of people who are so passionate and curious, who want to ask big questions and try to answer them, despite everything.
In College, it can be easy to take for granted that there are places for us to experiment and make mistakes with little consequences. Players, FilmSoc, TFM - how lucky are we that we can have our own radio show, make films and put on plays? We should all be advocating for that to continue outside of university. This requires structures that help us become better people, and better artists. Acknowledging that issues are often structural and not only individual helps us to understand where meaningful solutions can be realised. Everyone deserves the opportunity to figure things out properly, whether it be in a doctor’s office or on a stage. As students cosy in the bubble of Trinity life, the future can feel very daunting. Seeing the Fringe support people like Holmes serves as a reminder that there are exciting avenues ahead that many of us might not even be aware of. Our anxieties about what we will do next can distract us from enjoying college in the present moment. Remembering that this, too, shall pass might just make you love it even more.
THIS TOO SHALL PASS runs from September 19th - 22nd at Pearse Centre. Tickets from €12, available at www.fringefest.com
AN EVANGELICAL CHRISTIAN AND A QUEER WOMAN WALK INTO A BAR
Louise Norris on radical beliefs and radical friendship
My friendship with an Evangelical Christian who believes gay people are going to hell has made me a better person. We met at the beginning of my semester abroad. I immediately pegged him as a player – he asked for my number with easy charm while maintaining intense eye contact. Not for me, I thought. However, the situational nature of friendships while abroad – with a finite amount of time to form connections – did not permit my snap judgements. We ate with our mutual friends each evening in the dining hall, we went hiking, we played cards. We became friends. I knew he was an Evangelical Christian but I didn’t know what his stance on homosexuality was until a mutual friend informed me. Evangelicals interpret the Bible directly, as inerrant and sacred. Whilst other denominations interpret the Bible as metaphorical or parabolic, Evangelical Christians view the Bible as a historical source. There-
fore, my friend believes that anyone who acts on sexual impulse before marriage will go to hell. Acting on gay impulse is a sin and he believes that Christians who are gay should go to conversion therapy. I should note that all of these stances have been relayed to me by a mutual friend. I have never engaged in a conversation about his views on homosexuality (although we have discussed and disagreed on other beliefs he holds) nor do I want to. The news arrived like a punch to the gut. I had only just settled into a new environment and the group of friends I had made represented solace in the unknown of living on a different continent. This tether to comfort felt like it was shredding. How could I maintain my own values and morals when I was friends with someone who believed queerness was a sin, a one-way route to damnation? What would my friends back home think? My friendships with queer people at Trinity have
brought me star-blooming joy. There is an unexpected but logical shorthand built into these friendships: I have a place with them, they have a place with me. Before attending college, I was not out to the majority of people in my life. I had one close queer friend; I was not yet sewn into queerness. I was fortunate that coming out was not a particularly strenuous ordeal barring the occasional hiccup (such as my mum lamenting she could not give me sex advice now). I have also been fortunate in the respect that I cannot recall any instance of political disagreement with my friends at college. This made the experience of facing so much divergence in political opinion during my semester abroad all the more jarring. My instinct was to lean away. The finite nature of the time I would be spending with this new friend rationalised this decision: he was a fair-weather person, situational and easily avoidable after I left this strange, transient life.
Though there will always be a limit to our friendship, I don't think this limit negates the value of our relationship
Fairweather or not, I am grateful for our friendship. Although we have divergent ways of seeing the world, we both approach our friendship from places of love. He has gently invited me to join him at mass on Sunday and I have gently refused. For him, salvation is not guaran-
teed, and he wants his friends to be with him in Heaven. He is coming from a place of love and he has never overstepped in terms of projecting his religious beliefs onto me. If he had, I am sure I would feel differently. Although I do not respect or agree with many of his views or beliefs, they have never negatively impacted my mental health. Our friendship is possible because of that, as well as the boundaries we have in place – such as not directly discussing his views on homosexuality. The intentionality of this grey area (via lack of direct communication) has created the space necessary for a functional friendship. While our differing views cannot be ignored, foregoing hyperfixation on these differences has been necessary for the friendship to be more than a social experiment of sorts. Though there will always be a limit in our friendship, I don’t think this limit negates the value of our relationship; rather, it enables its existence. Over the past couple of years, I have found that compartmentalising friendships - with this friend abroad as well as others at home – has helped me maintain them. I have stopped trying to make certain friendships into everything, inadvertently rendering them nothing. Different friends serve different purposes. I do not have a lower standard, I simply have different standards for each person. Since this adjustment I have been more open to having – and keeping – people in my life. While we will never be as close as I am with other friends, our friendship is still meaningful. There is still value in friendships that cannot offer you the world. While abroad, I was told repeatedly – and was forced – to get out of my so-called “echo-chamber”, meaning an environment that operates as a hollow mirror within which opinions and information function solely to reinforce your own. An echo-chamber is essentially a catastrophic failure at openness. I found that the accusatory echo-chamber thrown my way was an attempt at unravelling the validity of my own views and opinions. Whilst I (clearly) think that remaining open to people and information is important and beneficial, this openness is not interchangeable with compromise. Disagreement is useful and friendships can – and should – be navigated around them. Concrete settlement of disagreements where one person admits they are wrong and the other is crowned as right are unrealistic. Though I disagree with many of my friend’s beliefs, they are his own. I do not have to respect or agree with them, but equally, I do not have a right to tell him to get out of his echo-chamber. My friendship with an Evangelical Christian has expanded my capacity for tolerance and setting boundaries – I am a better person and friend for it. While stepping outside of your echo-chamber is essential every now and then, openness doesn’t require agreement. Friendships do not require complete alignment to be meaningful. The limitations in our friendship and a willingness to navigate the grey areas, were ironically what allowed it to thrive. Even if our friendship is forecast as fairweathered, it has enabled a solidification around the edges of my identity and has allowed for meaning in my quieter friendships.
