Asshole on the Outside, Irish by Surprise

Ireland was never my dream. It never even made the list.

It was the last resort. The “just-fill-in-the-blank” choice at the bottom of the form.

Every other university abroad had said no. No surprise there. I was used to rejection—that “you’re not what we’re looking for” that always felt like “you’re not enough” back home.

I didn’t belong anywhere. And I was fine with that.

But Ireland said yes. Maybe by accident. Or maybe because no one else had applied.

It didn’t matter. I just wanted to get away.

I said yes without any real excitement.

Better that than staying home, stuck playing the role of the perfect daughter.

And so I landed in Galway.

Rain. Wind. Strangers saying hi like they knew you. Grey skies and smiles far too warm for my taste.

People kept asking if I liked it there. I never answered. I didn’t care—and neither did they, really.

But that kindness... it seeped in, like the light rain that clings to your skin before you even notice it.

And it annoyed the hell out of me.

One day at the supermarket, this guy in a grey hat smiled at me.

“Here to get a breath of fresh air, huh?”

He looked at me, waiting for a reaction.

“Yeah. Something like that.”

My usual response—short, cold, wearing that “don’t bother me” face.

But he didn’t seem to care.

“This city’s different. You’ll see. You’ll be happy here, if you let things in.”

I looked at him like he’d just spoken in code.

“I don’t want anything getting in.”

He didn’t say a word. Just walked off, left me there with my empty cart and my resting bitch face.

Sometimes I thought I should find a way to leave. Maybe I really didn’t belong.

But the thought of going back home made me sick.

One day, in a café where no one knew me, a woman in a green coat smiled at me.

“Oh, you’re Greta, right? I’ve seen you at the university.”

I had no idea who she was.

“Yeah. So?”

“You look around like everything annoys you. The city hasn’t won you over, huh?”

She paused. She looked old, but her eyes were young.

“I’m not here to be won over. I’m here to stop thinking.”

She stared at me, puzzled.

“No one comes to Ireland to stop thinking, girl. This land challenges you, but then it gives you things you didn’t even know you were looking for.”

I laughed out loud.

“I don’t change. I’m not that kind of person.”

She nodded like someone who’s seen it all.

“You’ll change your mind.”

I didn’t say anything. But those words stuck in my head.

Like the wind that seeps into your bones, even when your jacket’s zipped up to your chin.

In that quiet calm, everything got on my nerves.

Their kindness, their slowness, the total lack of cynicism.

I wanted to scream. But no one seemed ready to scream back.

And yet, something was shifting. I didn’t ask for it. I didn’t want it.

Every gesture, every smile, every unfinished sentence — they clung to me.

The unsaid words burrowed deep.

And I hated them for it.

But deep down, I was starting to see things differently.

My anger, always by my side, began to melt under the weight of their stubborn kindness.

And it was disarming, how simple it all was.

One afternoon, before heading out, I looked at myself in the mirror.

Messy hair, tired face, pale skin.

The nose ring — something I’d gotten years ago to look tougher — suddenly looked ridiculous.

I took it out.

Then I stepped outside, into the rain.

I stopped on the sidewalk.

Watched the street, the people walking slowly, like they belonged there without even trying.

A man came up to me.

“Where are you going without an umbrella in this weather? Here, take mine.”

“No, thanks. You need it more. I’m not really going anywhere.”

He smiled. Didn’t push.

Like that answer made perfect sense.

He let me go.

That simple gesture caught me off guard.

There was no expectation. Just kindness.

And I’d spent my whole life rejecting it.

In that moment, standing there in the rain,

I looked inward — really looked — for the first time.

The change wasn’t in what I was looking for.

It was in what I was starting to see.

And maybe… it wasn’t so bad after all.

The wind messed up my hair.

And for the first time, I started to feel at home.

Even if I’d never asked for one.

The next day, I decided to do something different.

I’d heard about a festival just outside the city — no tourists, just locals, food, music.

The woman at the café had mentioned it without pushing, the way they do here.

It was the kind of event I would’ve normally avoided without a second thought.

But I didn’t feel like staying home with my notes.

I threw on my jacket, expecting nothing. And I left.

As soon as I got there, I knew it was something else entirely.

Green fields full of people, colourful stalls, tents, kids running around.

Folk music in the air, laughter, the smell of fresh bread.

Unfamiliar faces that didn’t judge me.

No one tried to figure me out. No one made me feel like I didn’t belong.

I walked up to a woman in a floral dress. She was selling cakes.

“What are you selling?” I asked, with the flat tone of someone who’s not looking to chat.

She smiled.

“Fruit tarts, made with fresh butter from Murtagh Farm. You’ve got to try them — it’s our tradition.”

I sighed, like I was about to say no.

But that day, I said,

“One slice, please.”

Walking through the crowd, I noticed that their way of living no longer scared me. The people were happy, for no particular reason. There were no obligatory answers to questions, just an endless willingness to be present, without expecting anything in return. I wondered why they needed to be so kind. To me, it seemed like a world to stay away from, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized it wasn’t a world that was pushing me away. It was me pulling away, afraid of feeling vulnerable.

A group of young people, sitting on a nearby lawn, were laughing and chatting among themselves. They weren’t anything special, but they were enjoying themselves in a way that seemed almost impossible to replicate. I walked closer, wanting to see if they could really have fun without a reason. I was there by chance, to feel that atmosphere I’d never experienced before.

One of them, with blonde hair and blue eyes, looked up and waved at me.

“Come on, Greta, sit with us.”

“How do you know my name?” I replied, not trying to sound rude, but curious.

“I met you at university, remember? You asked me where room 13 was.”

I paused for a moment. I didn’t even know how to respond, but in the end, I let go.

“I’m not here to make new friends.”

“We’re not here to make friends, we’re just chatting. Want to join us?”

I stayed silent for a while, looking around, that feeling creeping in that something was different. Then I sat down, not paying too much attention to it.

And I spoke. I talked about things I would never have told anyone, things I had kept inside for far too long.

It was strange. That conversation, that evening, made me feel closer to them than I had ever imagined. Closer than I had ever been to anyone in my entire life. It was as if they were showing me something I had always ignored: the essence of this place, of its people. And for the first time since I arrived, I felt like I was part of something, even though I hadn’t been looking for it.

The evening passed quickly, and I didn't even notice it. When I got up to leave, I felt different. I wasn’t saying it out loud, I wasn’t even admitting it to myself, but I could feel that I was starting to see things with different eyes. And even though I wasn’t ready to change, I realized something was happening inside me, as if Ireland was doing its work without asking for my permission.

I walked home under the gray sky and light rain, no longer feeling alone. I wasn’t the angry girl who had arrived a few weeks ago. And, strangely enough, I didn’t mind it at all.

The next day, I woke up with a different feeling, as if the cold morning air had taken away some of the poison that had been inside me. Not that I had suddenly become a new person, but I felt something had changed. I no longer had the urge to stay locked inside studying or staring out the window like usual. I decided to go out, wander around the city, walk without any particular destination in mind.

People kept greeting me on the street, and, strangely enough, it didn’t bother me like it used to. It didn’t seem forced anymore. Every time someone smiled at me or asked how I was, I responded without the usual indifference. I was more aware of myself, more aware of the beauty of the place I was in.

That morning, I decided to stop by a small bookstore I had noticed several times, but never had the courage to explore. It was a strange place, a bit old, with shelves full of dusty books and signs I had never seen before. The lady who worked there, an elderly woman with gray hair, barely glanced at me as I walked in, but said nothing. Just a welcoming smile, and then she went back to folding a sheet of paper.

"Can I help you?" she asked, with that calm I was slowly learning to appreciate.

"I'm just browsing, thanks," I replied, but I realized my voice wasn't the same as it had been a few weeks ago. It wasn’t so harsh, so bitter anymore. I could even say "thank you."

I lost myself among the books. I spent an hour, maybe two, flipping through pages aimlessly. The books, those words written on paper, felt more real in that store than in any big-city bookstore. There were stories of life, of nature, of people I had never known, yet they all seemed to be a part of this world I was slowly starting to understand.

When I left, the sky had turned gray, but it wasn’t raining. The city seemed even more alive, as if that rain I had always hated had given a new light to things. As I walked home, a man selling flowers gave me a nod. I had noticed his stand before, but I had never stopped, until today.

"Do you like flowers?" he asked, with his sweet, calm accent.

"Not really, but I’ve never given them much thought," I replied, trying to sound indifferent, but without realizing that my response didn’t sound so automatic anymore.

"Take these, they’re a gift from me. They’re wildflowers, like the ones my mother used to grow. There’s nothing more real."

I looked at the flowers, and suddenly I felt guilty. I don’t know why, but there was something in that simplicity that struck me. His offering, that spontaneous gesture, made me feel as though I had taken something without ever asking. Yet, his smile wasn’t one of someone expecting something in return. There was nothing forced, nothing obligatory. Just kindness.

"Thank you, but... why?" I asked without thinking too much, while I handed him the money.

"I don't want anything, it's a gift. Every woman deserves to receive a flower, and you, darling, seem sad and alone. You need it."

I wasn’t sure if it was the flowers or the gesture itself, but I felt that, for once, accepting something without feeling the weight of it wasn’t a sacrifice.

With the flowers in my hand, I walked slowly toward home, lost in thought. That kindness, which I had always seen as something unnecessary, almost annoying, now seemed like the reflection of a way of life I had never known but was slowly beginning to see. Every small gesture, every kind word, was slowly tearing down the wall I had built around myself. I didn’t know what was happening to me, but I didn’t mind it at all.

I arrived home and glanced at myself in the mirror for a moment. I hadn’t changed physically, I hadn’t become someone else, but there was something in my eyes that was different. I was no longer the angry girl who had arrived just a short time ago. And even though I didn’t know if it was Ireland that was changing me or if I was finally learning how to change, I didn’t mind. I wasn’t in a rush, but I decided that the next day, I would return to my natural hair color. All that black made me look so dark, and I didn’t want to be that way anymore.

For the first time since I had arrived, I felt like everything could be different. And maybe, right at that moment, I was beginning to want it to be.

The next morning, the sky was clearer, but the wind showed no signs of calming down. I found myself walking the streets of Galway again, but something had changed. After going to the hairdresser and returning to my ash blonde, I felt less alone, less angry, less unhappy. Every step I took seemed more mindful, more in tune with the rhythm of the city and the people who lived there. It was as if, somehow, I had finally started to breathe a different kind of air. Air that gave me permission not to always be fighting, not to always be on the defensive.

As I walked, I stopped in front of a small pub. The door was open, and I could hear the Irish music from inside, the kind that had started making me smile without me even realizing it. I decided to go in. There was never a specific reason for the things I did, but in that moment, in that instant, I felt like all I had to do was enter.

Inside, the atmosphere was warm and welcoming. A group of people was singing, laughing, exchanging light smiles. No one looked at me with curiosity, no one seemed to notice that I was a foreigner. They were simply there, immersed in their lives.

I approached the bar and ordered a beer, taking my time. The waitress, a young woman with red hair, gave me a kind smile.

"Do you need anything?" she asked.

"No, thank you," I replied, trying to appear casual. But inside, something was changing.

For the first time, I felt like I was in a place where I didn’t have to hide. Where my solitude wasn’t a burden but a space that found its place in the world.

I sat at a table and began to observe. People moved with spontaneity, talking to each other, listening. No one judged, no one asked questions. There was nothing to explain, nothing to prove.

It felt like I was experiencing something that didn’t have to be won through struggle. A simple, real moment. A step back from my usual inner battle.

Then the music changed. A softer, deeper sound, one that spoke of the sea and hills, of ancient stories, of whispered dreams.

I realized that, since I had arrived, Ireland had never asked me to be someone else.

It had simply opened a door, without expecting anything in return.

The people around me weren’t judging me. They were welcoming me.

I didn’t have to do anything special, I didn’t have to seem better, stronger, or more interesting.

And in that moment, I felt light.

When I left the pub, the wind hit my face with force, but it didn’t bother me. I breathed it in deeply, as if I had finally been given permission to do so.

It was as if everything – the city, the people, the wind – had entered me without me even realizing it.

I don’t know what will happen next, nor if this peace will last.

But for the first time, I didn’t care.

I just needed to live that moment.

To accept the change without questions.

And perhaps, even though I hadn’t come to Ireland to find something or someone, I had found myself.

In a place I never imagined could welcome me like this.

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