I’m 9, I’m sitting in the hut I’ve built with my best friend Nuala in Poppintree Park.
There’s a large wooden door leaning against a tree: the entrance to our haven. In the centre lies our ‘kitchen’: a small camp stove. We’re eating beans on toast, I can’t quite recall the conversation but it’s probably about who is better-looking: George Michael or Andrew Ridgley? Later, other friends arrive. We head out to play squares on the road and maybe after swing from the branches of The Delaneys' tree. I’ve no awareness of time, just the content feeling of being around my best friends. My call to head home is judged by the fading light of day; ‘see yiz tomorrow’ and I always do. This is my life: Finglas in the 80’s, my Dublin, my Ireland; I don’t have much, but I love every single minute of it.
Cut to Dublin in 2018 and it’s a very different place; life changes, it’s has to; I realise that. So many of those changes have been for the better. In my lifetime I’ve witnessed two of the biggest things historically to ever happen to this country: the yes votes for same sex marriage and to end the ban on abortion. I will never forget those days, the sun beaming on both, the feeling of love in the air, of community, of ‘We’re in this together’. The people did that, WE did that. What hasn’t changed I’m afraid is the ability of those in power to shaft their own people.
I’m a financially independent, strong woman who makes a pretty decent living doing a job that I love but suddenly I began to question it all; where had I gone wrong?
Last March, I received a notice from my landlord to terminate my lease after four years. The letter was slyly put under my door after I had received a new lease the week before from the estate agent to renew for another year. To say I was confused by the appearance of this letter is an understatement. When I took it up with the landlord, I was told the estate agent had made a mistake. I had three months to get out; what followed was beyond grim.
Day in, day out, I was on Daft, at 4am after DJ gigs, a knot in my stomach at the lack of availability, exorbitant prices and generally what I can only refer to as shitholes being advertised. Few people answered my mails, when they did, I was met with a patronising tone about my job, where was my partner? I’m a financially independent, strong woman who makes a pretty decent living doing a job that I love but suddenly I began to question it all; where had I gone wrong? Did I make enough money? Why was I not with someone? I should’ve used those high points from my Leaving Cert to become a doctor, not a radio presenter/DJ. To be honest; I felt my life was crumbling. It wasn’t until I got out that I realised it wasn’t me, it was a rotten system permeated by greed.
Ireland is a beautiful country, its people so full of love and kindness, but they are being crushed by the system.
I live in Glasgow now. I got on a plane during all that madness and began looking at places here. The friendliness I was met with by estate agents astounded me; I had a place within two days for a third of what I would pay back home. I fly back every week for my radio show and to DJ to the fun-loving people of Dublin that I love so much, sometimes my heart aches thinking about it all.
Ireland is a beautiful country, its people so full of love and kindness, but they are being crushed by the system. The slap on the wrist that has always existed, initially from the Catholic Church and now with the government, still prevails; the people don’t matter. If my grandmother, a Ringsend native, knew what was happening, she would be rolling in her grave. I don’t have the heart to tell my grandfather whose mind is failing that I’ve moved: a true Dub with an overwhelming love for his city, it would probably kill him.
The housing crisis in Dublin is real and frightening and something needs to be done. I still believe in the people, look at what we achieved in the last few years when we took the streets? It needs to happen again. Having a home in your own country is a basic human right; we all deserve that security, but the Irish government has created its own famine, that’s the worst part, it’s killing its own people.
So, Dublin I love you, but I had to get out, you were bringing me down.
The views expressed here are those of the author and do not represent or reflect the views of RTÉ
