A Big Lens on My Little World

I took the leap of living in the city this year. For the past eight months, Stoneybatter has been my home. It’s a cozy, bustling district north of the River Liffey, in the heart of Dublin. The streets are flanked by cute cafes, inviting pubs, and one-of-a-kind shops. With every step I take, I am greeted by a new sensation. Across the street from my room, Jamaican hip-hop blasts from a barbershop. I bop my head as I walk past it and skirt the corner beer garden. The heady smell of Guinness fills my nose. It’s soon joined by the garlic and cheese of the local Italian restaurant.

The sights of the town are equally brilliant. During the day, window flowers explode like fireworks of colour as they reach for the sun. Street lamps and fairy lights robe the clay-coloured sidewalks in a warm glow at night. The air thrums with life. In this ancient capital, my little corner feels fresh and young.

There is an adorable bakery just a few metres from my building. It sells a variety of fresh bread and pastries. Just walking past their displays is enough to make my mouth water. But the smell of warm marmalade and rising yeast definitely helps, too. Named the Green Door Bakery, it serves a variety of customers. From hungry students to chittering old ladies, you never enter its door without seeing an interesting character.

I make trips to Phoenix Park almost every day. It’s a massive expanse of green in the city, with lakes and plains checkering its gardens. There are ancient trees as far as the eye can see, twisting into the air like arthritic fingers. Entering its gates, I feel like a child. A small girl nuzzling her face into the soft fleece of a beloved pet. The blades of grass leave angry red tattoos on my skin.

I spread my equipment out around me. Two journals, three pens, a book, a water bottle, a camera, and a phone. I must look like a hoarder whose family have dumped her junk out onto the yard, hoping some passersby will steal the loot. I breathe in. The air is thick with sea salt and pansies. The park scratches an itch in my brain and suddenly I am free to begin writing, like a mad scientist re-animating past sensations and events. Occasionally, I pick up the camera to rapidly click off some snapshots or browse my cache of photos. A few ducks lazily waddle past me. They’re used to a few crazies.

I’m a new soul in an ancient city, but I feel as though this place has always been nestled within me. Stoneybatter has become my home.