Home: Home
by lessthanangelic1
A/N: ummm....yeah there's some gaelic in here and from what I know from my friend it's not really spoken much anymore in Ireland and if it is I'm sorry with how terrible I put the sentances together. The translations for every wanna-be phrase is at the bottom in the order they appear in. BTW lemme know how I did in writing because I was extremly pissed with the grade I got.


Of all the places he could’ve met me, he had to pick a museum. Not only was it a museum- that alone made me wonder if it was such a good idea to come here- it had to be one that had confusing directions to get to from the airport. How I managed to get lost within an hour of arriving here I will never know. Maybe it’s because of all of the people, maybe it’s because of the beautiful architecture, maybe it’s just because of all these damned confusing streets, but I know for certain that the street I am on is a far cry from where I’m supposed to be. I sigh deeply and look up and down the street at the colorful houses. Unlike the houses in America, the ones here are bold with their colors, using ones such as turquoise and emerald. That was one of my first thoughts when I got off the plane here, that it was very green. I glance up from my position on the street corner, to the sign above me and try to understand what it says. Eventually I give up trying to decipher it and walk down the street to find someone who could help me. Finally I see an old woman walking through the front gate of her house and stop to ask her for directions.

“Excuse me?” I say, and she turns around only to give me a strange look. Which is when it dawns on me that she didn’t speak English. She turns around to continue her way home and I finally summon the courage to speak to her in her language, no matter how “made in America” I may sound.

“Gabh mo leithscéal?” I ask her, only this time, she responds with

“Is ea anois, an bhféadaim cúnamh leat iníon?”
It takes me a minute to translate what she’s said to me, and then another minute to figure out how to tell her what’s wrong. She waits patiently, with a smile on her face before I finally respond.

“Caillte duine mé. Céard an tsráid músaem ar?” I ask, fully aware of how horrible I sounded speaking her language. I half expect her to spit in my face and then run the rest of the way to her house. Instead she speaks slowly and gives me directions to the museum. Turns out, I was only a few blocks off. After writing down what she told me on a gum wrapper I pulled out of my pocket, I turn and smile at her, and say the one thing I know for sure won’t sound horribly awkward coming out of my mouth.

“Go raibh míle maith agat,” to which she replies

“Níla bhuíochas ort, caìlín,” before she turns and walks to her front door. I watch her as she walks into her brightly colored home, and then I turn and walk back the way I came.
At last I reach the museum, “Ionùin” he says with the biggest smile on his face. He grabs my hand before leading me back down the stairs towards the street and I know that everything- the plane ticket, the expensive hotel room, even getting lost- was worth it.





Excuse Me
Yes, can I help you miss?
I am lost, what street is the museum on?
Thank-you very much
You’re Welcome, lass
Beloved






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