Who knows what “Ireland Is…”? These people think they have the answer.
For those of us in the know, the OMGWACA (OH MY GOD WHAT A COMPLETE AISLING) Facebook group is a daily source of inspiration, joy, and stress relief. This online community come together to share the trials and tribulations of being Irish, living in Ireland, or just having to put up with someone who hails from the Emerald Isle. Everyone is welcome, and everyone will be force-fed tea. As they say, there is an inner-Aisling in all of us.
This year, the group came together to write a glorious poem about what Ireland means to them. And the results were truly wonderful. Then, came the brainwave. Under the watchful eye of Aidan Strangeman, members were asked to record and submit lines from the poem. With submissions from across the length of the country, as well as from OMGWACA-ers in far flung places, this video will pull at the heart strings. But the feels don’t end there. Since the idea of home was the heart of the video, it was decided that the poem should be put to good use.
Viewers are encouraged to donate to Focus Ireland to help end homelessness in Ireland. You can donate here. Make sure you give this great initiative some social love too, by sharing the video using #IrelandIs
Read the full poem below.
“Léigh anois go cúramach ar do scrúdpháipéar
na treoracha agus na ceisteanna a ghabhann le cuid A, BOOOOP.” Ireland is fluent in Irish, as long it’s just two people asking to go to the loo. Ireland is a Mammy shouting, ”Close the door, you’ll leave the heat out,” every time you walk in or out of a room.
Ireland is a Daddy who can’t say how much he misses you.
Where it rains in the front garden, and it’s a rainbow out the back. Beautiful, but terrible at handling her cash. Ireland is a press, full of plastic bags. Ireland is a family, walking in for a chat,
when you’re sleeping next to your shocked foreign spouse
and you’re not really sure if you’re going out or “out out”? It’s a seven letter word but no use in Scrabble, (as it’s a proper noun.) It’s an anagram of “dire anal” (if you add in an “A”, and wash out your filthy mouth!)
It’s bacon, it’s cabbage, it’s acting the maggot, the official home of rainbow marriage…
…and also the home of chicken fillet rolls Where warms hearts send blood to numb toes while we listen to the death notices on our radios, and give single finger waves on country roads. Where a hug means you’re safe now, you’re home, or “home home.”
It’s a woman whose body and choices are not her own
It’s a fictional priest with a quote for every occasion Where atheists baptise children, so they can get an education Ireland is midnight mass at 9 o’ clock It’s opening a Roses’ tin to find it’s a sewing box
Where “craic” is good and “bold” is bad. A place you’re allowed slag off if you’re Irish, but woe betide anyone else who slags.
It’s thousands of people on a Facebook forum taking the piss out of themselves Where the wit is dry but the weather is wet Ireland is agreeing, except on the “in” breath… y’know, like yeah, yeah, yeah, *yeahyeahyeahyeah*
yeah, yeah, yeah, *yeahyeahyeahyeah*
Ireland is moist.
It’s a land where rain defies the laws of physics. Where loving yourself is seen as being too big for your boots, contributing to crippling mental illness. a soggy little rock, onto which our dreams cling like limpets.
Where every child of any faith is welcome to come along and be Catholic. Where “Pennys” is an acceptable response to a compliment on your outfit.
Ireland is a Tayto sandwich.
Ireland puts clothes on the line in November, because using the tumble dryer would be fierce extravagance altogether!
It’s a damp-eyed tune with a wooden spoon, and worrying about that person you gave directions to.
Where “few naggins?” is the answer to all problems. Ireland is home, even for yer wan who is “forrin.”
A mam waking ya up saying it’s 8am
when it’s only 7.15 A Mammy offering you a sandwich even though she’s not your Mammy.
Ireland is my home, my heart and my blood. and Mammy not answering the phone to about 10 calls then having a conniption when you miss one!
Ireland is not using the good room
GAA in September, no drinks in November Where a potato in a suit is a national treasure
It’s the squint on a loch against the cold autumn sun and the fog of glorious stories condensing on the pub’s window pane it’s easy to leave, but impossible to escape Ireland is thanking the bus driver for getting us there, safe. Ireland is where NO UNNECESSARY JOURNEYS should take place!
Ireland is a box of fancy biscuits no one is allowed to eat, just in case
Ireland is like your mother, it drives you mad but you love it. And thinking that stuff people from literally every country do is uniquely Irish even though everybody does it.
Ireland is green fields and laughter. Ireland is politicially a disaster When your Memmeh says “We’re not made of money” as an answer to almost everything even though the answer is usually Sudocrem.
Ireland is cutting the garden because the neighbours did theirs. Your Memmeh saying ”tis far from (insert notiony, notion thing here) ye were reared’ every time you express an idea that’s not hers.
Ireland is the tinny sound of Mícheál Ó Muircheartaigh rattling through the wireless on a Sunday in late September
Ireland is giving directions by describing a pub Ireland is stuck between Brexit and Trump And yet, a story so big mere borders cannot contain her and she’s told around the world by her daughters and her sons
Ireland is a street where people sleep under Christmas Lights.
Ireland is solving the entire world’s problems a cup of tae at a time
Ireland is not being able to say goodbye…
Okay, bye now. Bye, bye. Good luck.
Bye bye bye. Bye bye. Bye bye bye.
Bye Bye bye, okay, I’ll see you later,
bye bye bye bye bye…
Now that you’ve wrung out your hanky, make sure you donate. Click here to help this great cause.
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