College Choices

Granted it is indeed that cycle of the year again where hankering and impatient scholars must finally commit to their top ten chosen courses and college preferences in the hope of securing an elite place in late August. Although the majority of applicants will be unpretentious leaving-cert venturers full of impeccable aspirations and desires for their educational and proficient future, there will be a scatter of veterans (like myself) who have given the outright process a quest in the past but for whatever reason are retreating back to stage one in the hope of a better outcome of events.  

After deferring my bachelor of arts degree just over half way through its completion, I am  back to the drawing board and undoubtedly the whole process is twice as startling second time round. This is predominantly down to the comprehensive expense of first year back to education fees which will ultimately require me to market a kidney to the Sicilian Mafia or traffic my bright goldilocks hair into an upper-class weave auction.

My inaugural pursuit into university life involved one eager beaver all transfixed with the opportunities of third-level education (more importantly the social life). Now my endeavour into college life was very much different to the mass of students and I do acknowledge that my issues were for the most part down to my own ignorance or naivety of the difficulty of college. Likewise, I understand that these faults for ninety-nine percent of students wouldn't be a predicament but this is my experience and my story. An arts degree resembled a fair outset to continue with the subjects I enjoyed and thrived in at school. The intention was to acquire my niche and with the monstrous subject variety this wouldn't prove a problem. That was not the case (for me) as I found the overall competitiveness of my degree somewhat diminishing. The huge class size for every lecture and module made me feel like a number not a person. In my own experience it was in essence drilled into you the emphasis to succeed over your fellow academic scholars and the element of opposition didn't dwell well with me.

I disliked the transition from leaving cert subject to college module. I enjoyed English in secondary school but in college it is completely different. All the syllabus focusses on is studied texts meaning you could graduate with a first class English degree without ever writing a short story or freelance/independently themed discussion piece. Similarly although I was bewildered by leaving cert maths, the college curriculum was simply demented and on a different psychopathic wavelength.

What will be my outcome this forthcoming August? Shall I seize my first choice and pocket a career in teaching? Might I even snatch an offer at all? All these questions are unknown, all I hope is that I won't be writing a blog-post similar to this in two years time or else I will unmistakably be joining The Fimbles.
'Fimbly Feelings' make so much more sense as an adult.

Two of a Kind

For those of you in a temperamental state this evening here is an unforeseen fact to activate this post, my fraternal twin sister and I uncommonly occupy separate birthdays. Immediately cease in your attempt to hustle our whereabouts to 'Take a Break' magazine or a Romanian circus and let me briefly explain myself as we aren't as blemished as you'd think (never thought I would say that). Twenty years ago on one dark, grim night in London there was a pair of turkeys both ten minutes before and after midnight. Consequently we are not that Wacko Jacko after all. 

Affirmative, I do undoubtedly inhabit life as a twin however I have always overlooked and disparaged this actuality. To me subjectively the connection with my twin sister is no different to that of my other two siblings. I feel no additional bond or alliance with her than I do with either of the other two branches of our ancestral tribe. In contrast to this long-winded testimony I have drafted a list of misconceptions and drawbacks that subsisting mortal being as a twin shadows.

1. Folk always presuppose it must be superb to get the opportunity to share your birthday with a sibling. Regrettably it's not a godsend but an actual disadvantage. On my birthday I lust for the entire cake not half, I long for a birthday song that doesn't involve an extended dubbed chorus and finally beyond any shred of doubt I did not want five candles on my tenth birthday I needed all ten to celebrate the milestone of transcending into double-digit territory (compliments to Blogger for assisting me in striking that nerve so dramatically).

2. It obviously doesn't happen now but when I was younger it was horrifying to be made wear matching or corresponding outfits to that of my sister's. Years ago the novelty was indeed there to decorate us in identical dungarees and comparable Babybop costumes. The same occurred with the majority of gifts, cards and school supplies. You earn your  originality in this lifetime.

3. Camouflaged to the back of every twin affiliated conversation are several telepathic-empowered suspicions. By virtue of being a twin you are automatically considered the spawns of Mystic Meg capable of gazing aimlessly into a crystal ball through the wonders of a sixth sense.

4. Queries questioning whether or not twins bicker or conflict much are frankly in the words of the honourable playwright Dizzee Rascal 'bonkers'. You try sharing a cramped womb with someone for nine months and then I'll answer that question efficiently.

5. Assumptions that one is good and the other is evil are senseless. In our case, one of us is troublesome and the other one is borderline Emily Rose. In my own personal case I'm my sister's own evil twin and although I do enjoy undertaking endeavours to corrupt her it is upsetting to think that somewhere in the world I don't have an evil duplicate out to extract the poisonous villain within me.
Sistah, Sistah! Apologies but I couldn't resist.

Infancy with Miss Hannigan

The Irish summer has been in force all weekend hence instead of being my usual doom and gloom self I've gracefully converted to being a youthful happy chappie.  This has regrettably left me with little to whine and grumble over (always one for outlining the negative in everything). For this reason I have commenced reminiscing summers and long weekends at our malicious aunt's shambles of a house and as the title suggests you can rightfully guess that she wasn't exactly the most nurturing matron. Here's five features worth reading that were always a prominent part of our stopover. Furthermore, if you were immersed in by the musical accredited headline then I do apologise if I deceived you but the only thing this passage has in common with that tuneful film is an array of inconsolable children singing in hope about a figurative brighter 'tomorrow'.  
1. Eighty percent of our stay we were padlocked out of her house and out of her way. She deposited us into her wasteland of a back garden which resembled an oppressive prison yard. Where she had formulated a simple-minded rota where two of us were continuously shielding her turf (which was just mounded aimlessly in the middle of the yard). She even armed us with wedges of timber, as her embezzling neighbours considered her a manageable target for theft.
2. We were fed once a day therefore starvation and malnourishment were standard characteristics to retain. When nourished it was substantial that we were overloaded with leek themed everything. Yes, leek cereal, leek soup and our favourite leek spaghetti bolognese. Occasionally she had one delicacy to submit in our direction~ the exquisite plain and hollow burger bun (beef burgers were merely too extravagant). Needless to say regularly we found ourselves collectively battling rats for the cheese on the mousetraps. 
3. Sleeping arrangements were liable to change every night. If you snoozed under the dinning room table one night you were revamped the following bedtime to slumbering in a bathtub or hallway landing. Those fortunate enough of us to secure a bed were violated into sleeping alongside a dirty hairy teddy-bear or auntie Hannigan's novelty pig replicated sex toy. 
4. Señorita Hannigan had this ridiculous love interest. He owned this humiliating washing machine engined car. Repeatedly this complete stranger would escort us in his wagon of a vehicle to random fast-food restaurants throughout the country and make us focus on his pursuits into grazing on different kebabs. He also possessed this beard that amazingly always had Cheese-Puffs submerged into it. 
5. Lastly madame worked as a cleaner in an undersized rural school (she proclaimed to us that she was in fact a teacher). She would usher us into the establishment and while we were contrived into operating her duties she would lounge in the staffroom feasting on the employees' biscuits, slurping their tea and seemingly photocopying her individual body parts.

Nay, just the groans of despairing children.

Abortion in Ireland

Firstly I recognise topics like this can provoke a lot of trouble or debate and that's not what I'm trying to do. Furthermore through this passage I am not in any means attempting to influence anyone's opinion or thoughts on this whole predicament. I have simply witnessed various discussions, quarrels and rants about the issue and fancy getting my own viewpoint across. Perfect, now that I'm done being all politically correct here are my theories on the controversy of legalizing abortion in Ireland.
This debate has manifested several times in the past but with our miniature nation fundamentally governed by state law Roman-Catholic principles the concept of legalised abortion in this country never really had a chance to even have its benefits understood. The unjustified tragedy of Savita Halappanavar's death really propelled this issue into the paramount of media and national attention and for the first time it seemed probable that our society was ready to accept change. Yet despite the commotion and uproar generated by this unwarranted example the entire republic are still torn over what stance to take.        

     Legislating abortion to me personally is a no-brainer. Even if abortion was constituted it doesn't denote that every single unplanned pregnancy shall result in a termination. Each woman will still evaluate her options and ultimately decide which one is best for all parties involved. The point I'm trying to make is there should be a choice, some people are for abortion and others are against it. Just because certain individuals don't agree with it does not allow them the excuse to dictate what anyone else feels is the ethical solution to follow. 'Pro-Life' petitioners can still remain firmly against the notion  but just give other citizens the same chance to allow their option heard. If I perhaps got my girlfriend or any other girl unexpectedly pregnant I don't think abortion would be an option I would go for, but nevertheless I cannot make that assumption until I'm faced with that dilemma and if I ever was I'd favour to rightfully have all options available to me.
Lastly the whole suggestion of fetching psychologists to analyse each woman and foresee if she would be mentally eligible for an abortion is one outrageous middle-fingered salute to first-world Europe. How is it acceptable to allow a woman fake a mental disorder to get through the channels hindering her basic privileges? It is against all human rights an individual is entitled to on this planet. Everyone should have the right to decide what he/she wish to transact with their own body. If someone intends to tattoo a symbol on their arm are they required to seek/suffice a psychological assessment? What's the difference from the case I've demonstrated to this abortion taboo? Not everyone in this country believes tattoos are conventional but I don't see a referendum in the pipeline to decommission subsequent ones occurring. 
The majority of the Emerald Isle are still pondering on which of the first two boxes to tick.
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