Aiteach Zine #7
Accessible version beneath the issuu slides
Holiday edition: Happy Holli-gays!
Also bi, poetry, parenting, spirituality, and so much more!
Wexford Pride committee report inside.
Contributors Veronica Victor (she/her), Rían Browne (he/him), Vic Kelly (they/them), CC Darlington (they/them), Andrei Boyd (he/him), Dorn Simon (she/her).
CONTENTS
Report - Vic Kelly-Victor
Sojourn - Veronica Victor
Bi - Dorn Simon
Poetry - Dorn Simon
Parenting - CC Darlington
Spirituality - Andrei Boyd
Opinion - Rían Browne
Reclaimed
Position Available
Monthly Events
Fortnightly Events
Music - Dorn Simon
Proudly LGBT
Please send all inquiries to Aiteach.wexford.pride@gmail.com
COMMITTEE REPORT
VIC KELLY-VICTOR
October was relatively quiet for your committee. Our regular events (the two support groups, Tea on the Quay, Art Club, and Board Game Night) are at a stage where there isn't too much to talk about: we've had the discussions about times, venues, and promotion, so it's just a case of making sure everything runs as planned and that we have the budget to cover everything.
The one discussion we needed to have was at the beginning of the month, regarding the venue for Tea on the Quay. Some members were finding The Trough less than welcoming, citing a lack of space, high prices, and other issues. We decided to move Tea on the Quay to The Crown Bar after finding that they have an indoor space that's away from the bar proper — important, because we still want to keep the event sober and family-friendly.
On October 29, we attempted a Halloween event again, with a trip to Ballycross Apple Farm for pumpkin picking, then back to Veronica and Vic's for carving. However, much like last year, in the end, only a few people could make it. It seems that the end of October may be a difficult time for our members, and we will probably forgo a Halloween event next year, unless something particularly appropriate comes up!
Novermber was much busier because we had our annual general meeting (AGM) to organise. The AGM is such an important day for the committee: it's when we can hear from you about how we've been doing: what you've liked and disliked, what you want more of, and so on. It's also of course when we elect our committee for the next year.
This year's AGM was hosted by Clayton Whites Hotel. We live-streamed the event as well. Each committee member gave a short report about their activities in 2023 and the plans for 2024.
Veronica (she/her) talked about the events we held for the LGBTQIA+ community across the year: over 70, including peer support groups, Pride in the Park, social meetups, and political actions. Vic (they/them) gave the financial report, allowing the members to see how money was raised and what it was used for. We did come out ahead in 2023, with a net value of ~€7200 and a total cost of ~€5400 (as of November 16). The final numbers will be given in January's issue.
The membership (as always, defined as those present at the event in-person or online, since we don't keep a register of members for obvious reasons!) voted on two financial resolutions for 2024 (Should we continue to ask for discretionary funds from politicians? Response: No; Should we pay a facilitator for peer support group? Response: Yes).
Rían (he/him) reported on Wexford Pride in the media, showing how we'd made headlines in Wexford People, Slaney News, and Gay Community News, as well as putting out Aiteach six times in 2023. He also showed how our Instagram following has grown while engagement on Facebook is falling, and outlined the social media policy that he's working on.
John (he/him) talked about Pride in the Park 2024 and how the call for volunteers would go out in January to make sure our tentpole event goes smoothly. He also ran the election of the 2024 committee. All the 2023 board stood for re-election and were approved by the membership. And we're delighted to welcome CC Darlington (they/them) as our fifth committee member!
The new committee has big plans for 2024 and we're looking forward to supporting you, our community, throughout the year.
Wishing you all the best for the Holiday Season and the New Year. May it be peaceful, joyful, and restful, with plenty of space for you to be yourself. Remember that the committee will be reachable in the community chats if you need us and that we're having a get-together on December 28 in the Riverbank House Hotel in Wexford. Take care and here's to a wonderfully queer 2024!
- Vic Kelly-Victor
COOKIE CRUMBS
VERONICA VICTOR
CW/TW: Death, cancer, loss, alcohol abuse, addiction
“I love you. Don’t cry.” Or was it, “I love you so much. Please don’t cry.”? No, I’m sure it was the former… I think. It’s a lot of pressure, storing a person’s last words in your brain. Until you write them down, as I have for the first time just now, they exist absolutely nowhere else, and sometimes, I have a hard time remembering them exactly.
Final words are important to us. I’m not sure why though. It’s the same for first and last lines of a book. “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times” and all that. The last line I like the most is from Dune but I still have to look it up to make sure I get it right “… we who carry the name of concubine—history will call us wives.” I’ve only recently read Dune. Perhaps that’s why it’s my favourite. It’s fresh. Maybe I’ve forgotten my real favourite. It’s a fitting quote here, actually.
Karen, my stepmom, started out as a sort of modern concubine, unbeknownst to either of the women in the equation, and I do remember her as the wife she eventually became. And as a mother, having far surpassed the abilities of my birth mother. It is Karen’s last words I was remembering. She said them to me moments before her last breath. It was only her and me and a young nurse, so young it made for an uneasy juxtaposition to all the death.
We were in a hospice in a rural town about an hour outside Chicago and I was on the floor holding her hand as she lay in a hospital-style bed. We were both strangers there in Illinois. She had only moved there a year prior after retiring in Miami and moving north. Reverse snowbird. It was November, just before Thanksgiving, but the stores were already getting fired up for Christmas. Shocking how we never quite get used to that and each year we forfeit our small talk to complaints about the ever-encroaching line between not-Christmas and definitely-Christmas.
Karen loved Christmas. Her memory looms heaviest over me at this time of year. Fragments of her love for Christmas are now housed here as part of our annual exhibition of festivity. They shouldn’t be here. They should be in her house. With her. I get annoyed with them every year.
When she went into the hospice, her body more cancer cells than not, we dug out her favourite Christmas decorations and put them up in her room. It was too early to see them and it added to the timeless surreality of it all. But it made her smile. We knew she wouldn’t make it until Christmas and she wasn’t going to go out without seeing her favourite bits one last time, we made sure of that.
When I moved away from Florida, she would send me Christmas cookies in the post every year. The same two kinds: no-bake cookies, a sort of peanut butter, chocolate, and oat fudge; and peanut butter sugar cookies with Hershey kisses pressed into them. They used to get pulverised in the shipment, especially once they had to cross the Atlantic, but she always sent them. And I always ate every crumb. I used to demand that the sugar cookie bases must be eaten with a kiss, even if it had fallen off and you had to dig to the bottom of the festive Ziplock bag to retrieve it, which was more times than not. It seemed disrespectful to not eat the kiss as well. I tried to make them after she passed away, but I couldn’t find kisses in Ireland so I used large Cadbury’s Buttons. Not the same. Some things will never be the same.
I’m sure of it now, it was definitely “I love you. Don’t cry.” Because she wouldn’t have used so many words. But I was crying. Probably the hardest I had ever cried. Later that week, I would be told that it’s harder on the person passing if they see the family members upset and I would question if I had somehow made it harder for her. Not that I could have stopped if I had tried. People say the worst things sometimes. Death is awful to witness and anyone who has seen it would know that. The mind doesn’t want to die. The body forces itself over the mind until the last things left are the eyes, and then nothing. It’s not like the movies. At least not this time it wasn’t. She wasn’t perfect, but she certainly didn’t deserve that.
Of course no one was more aware of her failings than she was. She didn’t have an easy life, and she struggled to contain a rage fuelled by some unknown shame. Many was the time I would cry and shout in private over the litany of offences I felt victim to even over the shortest visits. Over time, she softened a bit, as we all do, and her anger would subside, letting her hurt show more. She drank to quell the chaos in her conscience and like so many who fall for that trap, she found that the drink only added to it.
One Christmas morning, she woke up still drunk, or got drunk early. One, the other, or both? I was a teenager trying to still enjoy Christmas, but in a more mature way, as evidenced by my nonchalant emergence from my bedroom after the adults, thank you very much. Gone were the days of showing my unbridled enthusiasm and being brought down by adult annoyance. This year, I had properly bought her and my dad presents with my own money, earned in bagged groceries at the Kash-N-Karry. Her reactions to the gifts was too big. Too much, even for Christmas. She staggered and her eyes drooped. I think she even fell asleep at one point. She smiled a certain way when she drank. It was a dead giveaway. Too much smile. Grotesque. She was doing that. I searched for a way to understand what was going on in my father’s face. I saw him trying to keep it together and not lash out at her. I was grateful for that, even though I was fully aware that he himself was no jolly Saint Nick and it could have easily been him ruining Christmas. No, this year, it was her turn. He would play the protective parent this time. It fit the narrative he was constructing of their failing marriage. A way out and into the bed two doors over with his new concubine—except this pair of women couldn’t claim ignorance like before. Poor Karen.
I forgive her for that Christmas, but I don’t forget it. It’s not as easy to forget things like that as it is to forget final words. I wonder why. I wish I could actually. Because it’s her love for Christmas that I want to remember.
Like once, all she asked for were scrunch socks (peak 90s) and when she opened them, she got tears in her eyes. Sober tears, so they meant something. She could have bought herself a dozen pairs of scrunch socks on any given day. We weren’t rich, but they were socks for god’s sake. She taught me humility with those tears; beauty in the simply joys.
I miss her.
I used to think the expression “I wanted to kill her sometimes but I loved her” was a sign of a dysfunction rather than an expression of love. I still do, but I think I understand it a little bit more having known Karen. I sometimes wanted to walk away from her for good, like I did with my father, but I couldn’t ever bring myself to. I tried to once, after the divorce, when she showed up at my college apartment drunk. I told her I didn’t have it in me to watch another parent fall into alcoholism. I had lost my whole family that year, moved out, and had started college. I was living on my own for the first time, my father’s parting words of encouragement being “you move out you stay out: you won’t be coming back here.” I said if she wanted to be in my life she would have to get sober. And she did. Ish. Mostly though, she just kept it from me better and/or I chose not to mention it. Of course, the hypocrisy of my ultimatum was that I also drank to cope with all the loss of the time.
Sometimes, I would be able to tell she was drunk during one of our frequent phone calls and I’d pointedly say “I was just talking to so-and-so about you having gone sober, how long has it been again?” After a pause she would say and I would reply “amazing. I’m so proud of you.” We were both lying and we both knew it. Cruel. But I never walked away for good. Maybe her hurt was too obvious. Maybe we were trauma-bonded. Maybe she was literally my only chance at having a parent figure worth two shits. Probably some of all of the above. And love. She looked in when others looked away and I loved her for that. Her Christmas cookies were one of the only constants in my life for a long, long time. They always found me no matter how far from her I was.
She never gave birth to any children of her own, part of a constellation of traits that I believe point to an intersex biology. She also didn’t have her first period until eighteen, when they finally had to medically induce it. I found that out just before she died, but before the hospice. By then, I was very used to knowing things I shouldn’t.
She handled my transition better than she had handled me coming out as gay. Well, I say “coming out”: I was dragged out by my drunk father one night before dinner. Earlier that week, Tori Amos had sung to me “skating around the truth of who I am, but I know that the ice is getting thin” and I had wept. I had made my mind up to stop hiding the fact that I liked boys and I was determined to tell Karen that week. However, the look on her face when my father told her my shameful truth made my blood run cold. I was happy that I hadn’t gone to her. I had been fooled into thinking that she was my safe space. I didn’t have many of those growing up, but I had thought she was one. She came around quickly though. I wonder if her initial reaction was a fawn response to my father’s intensity.
By the time of my transition, I was an adult. She asked her fair share of rough-cut questions, the type that leave you with splinters that you never fully get out: you just hope your body’s immune system is strong enough to break them down and consume them. But eventually, she watched a documentary on television and she reached an understanding with it. In the hospital, before the hospice, in a moment of peace nestled between doctors with more bad news, she turned to me and told me I was beautiful. I knew then that she saw me as her daughter.
Somewhere in my early twenties, I had made up my mind to like Christmas. I was sick of crying every year and I felt I deserved some of the joy that appeared to be flooding the streets. So like it I did. I loved it even, still do. Plus, it was something we could share. Every year, we would send pictures of decorations and recipes. I made her a tofurkey feast one year, just the two of us. All the family we needed. Now, she’s gone and I have a family that I never thought I’d have back then. I look at myself in the one photo of that day, rail thin with an overpriced haircut and far too much time in the tanning bed. I wanted to be not-me. I wasn’t good enough so I had to create a thing that showed worth. I had to be beyond reproach, try as hard as I could, spare no expense. So we had our strange little Christmas dinner, like a pair of misfit toys. Afterwards, she went home and I undoubtedly found an Internet hookup so I could prove my worth through sex. I was convinced I would be alone for the rest of my life.
I wish she could see me now, still with Vic after all these years. She adored Vic.
Families are so complicated. There really is no good way to end this journey down memory lane. I’m sad she’s not here, but I’m happy we had the time we did have. I’m grateful that I have a parent that I can miss like this, even if it hurts. And her legacy lives on in my in so many ways. She taught me how to cross-stitch and the joys of making things with your hands. She was the biggest fan of my writing ever. I could write a grocery list and she’d think it was genius. She was a good person.
Merry Christmas, Mom. Vic says hi. I miss you so much.
- Veronica Victor
BI DATING OR IS IT MORE BYE BYE?
DORN SIMON
Someone recently mentioned how they were going to attempt to dive into the LGBTQ+ dating pool.
This got me questioning myself, is it something I was ready for any time soon?
This quickly led to the general query regarding dating - how to choose an interested party as a Bi presenting individual, ie. Seeking a Guy, a Gal or Another?
I am not too familiar with ‘dating’ as a whole, let alone Bi Dating, and from my brief view of apps it appears on average these dating sites or apps tend to be pretty restrictive in giving a choice when it comes to sexuality.
So, okay there is Grindr which sells itself as a Gay Dating or Hook-up app, and I know Gay does not translate as all-inclusive LGBTQ+ therefore very few Gay Non-Binary, Bi, Trans or Lesbians seem to be listed, it strictly appears to be for Gay Men/Sex only.
The general go-to’s such as Plenty of Fish, give only the choice of Men or Women, not even a Both option to weed out the Bi from the rest.… although ‘everyone’ can be found on Tinder, OKCupid et al - with the former making changes to include more options.
I know there can be more LGBTQ+ friendly dating websites, versus apps, but they again have their difficulties, as they are not designed for the LGBTQ+ novice, or those in the closet, or the ‘not part of the scene’ types.
Regardless, what if you are not into online meetings or these dating apps?
Yes, in 2023 there are still folks who are queasy or wary when investing in online communication regarding matters of the heart or intimacy - yet that is not all...
What if you are Neurodiverse? Introverted? Inexperienced yet wishing to venture out to broaden your horizons? What do these individuals do?
For someone straight starting dating, it must be daunting, but if one is Bi or Pan? Who also finds themselves in one of these categories? (a word I use purely for ease, as feel ‘categorising’ segregates), it is twice as confusing and overwhelming.
With the dating pool seemingly being ‘more’ when seeking to date as a Bisexual, in that it may appear there is more to choose from, it does not necessarily pan out that way (pun intended!)
Not many Bi, even on said sites are listing themselves or creating profiles, nor are many seeking long-term/relationships, or newbies starting out - some are there for fun, no strings and others are in heteronormative relationships looking to supplement their diet; so how does one traverse this vast expanse with their own values intact? Where does one even begin to look if all of the above factors were part of the decision-making/seeking the choice?
Welcome to the division, rather than diversity.
One is potentially forced to remain out of the dating pools, or to physically go out to join the scene - again both perhaps not ideal for many individuals for many reasons. So does this present a percentage I wonder? Who feel they cannot even find the starting point, least of all have the choices or discover the potential matches.
Society puts this banner over Bisexuals, in that we have so many more options, and a wider number to choose from, being that we can look at both male or female for dating purposes, however, this is not the case at all, unless again, one signs on to a Bi specific website, or socialises at venues/events that are part of the LGBTQ+ scene, of which looking at it from a certain perspective, the latter could further divide, whereby there is the community social scene, yet dating, intimacy or sex is another scene, most notedly a Club style scene.
Being Bi in any other fashion seeking to date is like playing Pot Luck every time you meet someone new or go out, it is random, unknown entirely, and can be confusing, even scary for some as even today, not everyone is accepting of Bisexuality, particularly when it comes to partnering up, unless of course they too are Bi, or it is a Bi-product of a chance to embrace it for a one-time ‘give it a go’ or to abuse the situation...
...Maybe I am creating problems where others feel they don’t exist, perhaps it is too kaleidoscopic a lens to view through - but much of what I write is written from experience or objective observation, so who knows!
I swear sometimes I sit typing this column out and hear Carrie Bradshaw from Sex & The City narrating in my head! (I was not even too partial to the show tbh LOL).
From a solution-finding innovative view, could this not be a gap in the market as it were, to aid these individuals with a solution?
I know in the past a person I knew was looking into developing an app (again there’s that word) specifically providing to the Bi community, however, it never came to pass, and I believe Bi+ Ireland was also setting out to do this.
A great project for someone and maybe an aid for those individuals who are happy to use apps for such intent and purposes.
This still leaves many out in the cold in terms of seeking a mate, or even a date. Date, a word that had such a specific meaning with a visual idea of the act...once! What does a date mean to you?
Call me old-fashioned (as colourful as I am!) but it is a meeting of two individuals, no expectations, over a drink or dinner, whereby they chat and get to know some pointers of interest or what each is seeking in terms of a union of sorts.
Those less traditional, see a date as a Hook-up or a romantic precursor to a sexual encounter, which may or may not be repeated.
So, additionally, this too plays a part in the overall decision-making when one finds themselves wishing to date initially, how complicated it must be, and therefore why I am not too familiar with ‘dating’ - also, quite possibly how I have made some poor life choices in partners, as I do not surf, allowing the universe to tempt me with those I encounter in some ad hoc way.
Where do we stop overthinking and be The Fool of the Tarot and simply take a Leap of Faith?
Is it a pre-requisite to be more ‘go with the flow’ to widen your chances of finding a mate?
How do we deconstruct those ingrained psychological constructs of attachment that lead our advances, rule our desires, and draw that perfect match in our minds?
At what age do we realise that expectation or control (even of one’s environment or needs) does not necessarily compute in inter-relational dynamics, least of all interpersonal dynamics?
How can we be everything we need for ourselves, before venturing into a union or even to embark on simple dating?
Where does head meet heart meet body meet soul in the dating game?
All these questions compound the issue yet they all make more sense after a failed union, a disappointing relationship or worse a complete heartbreak.
Ergo Bi Dating or Bye Bye?
Bye From one Bi to all the others, Dorn
- Dorn Simon
POETRY
DORN SIMON
Rainbow Leads to Pot of Gold
The length it took to find my tribe When all my life there was a pride Both maned and animalistic Lovely, colourful, fantastic
The rainbow colours now proudly stand As many gather hand in hand
A wondrous community
Offering all-inclusive unity
Whether a gamer or Neurodiverse An ADHDer or suffer worse
A myriad of alphabet letters
The community keeps getting better
Arts, crafts, and movie buffs Animal lovers at all costs
In, Out and all about
Ready to take a stand and shout
Advocate for Mental Health Trans rights, or for fair wealth Clued in to many a field
The talents here are a minefield
All so different yet be the same
This is the nature of communities game Finding those who may feel lost Embracing diversity to bring out the best
Words are failing me to describe
The very essence of our Wexford Pride I waited decades to jump in
Could not have found a better union
My writing tends to be of dark
The Goth in me doth tend to hark
To ancient times to seek a spark Alas, Wexford Pride has hit the mark!
- Dorn Simon
CELEBRATING DIVERSITY IN CHILDREN’S BOOKS
CC DARLINGTON
My partner, Marty, and I are both true lovers of the written word. Sadly though, we grew up without much diversity represented in what we read. White, cishet families were all I ever saw in books as a child.
Someone with a disability? Not a chance!
A character in a fat body? Only if they’re the butt of the joke!
Naturally, as a literary lover, when I became pregnant, one of the first things I wanted to do was buy some kid’s book! As a non-binary parent, however, I began to recognise more than ever the importance of representation in promoting the values I wanted to share with my son.
In our quest for stories that mirror the beauty of a diverse world, it would be an injustice not to highlight how frustratingly whitewashed the norm is. How, to have a bookshelf with characters who represent the very real diversity of human existence, I really have to look very fucking hard. It shouldn’t be this way. I shouldn’t have to search for terms like ‘radical’ or ‘social justice’ to find books with black, brown, disabled, fat or queer characters in them. But I do. And that sucks.
That being said, we found some pretty great kids books that I am happy to share with you.
1. "Don't Hug Doug (He Doesn't Like It)" by Carrie Finison
Don't Hug Doug is a book about the importance of consent, respecting boundaries and understanding that expressions of affection can manifest in different ways for different people.
In the story, the main character, Doug, models saying ‘no’ in a variety of ways and the beautiful illustrations feature a cast of characters with a range of skin colours (including purple), abilities and neurodivergences. Doug’s autistic traits are sensitively portrayed in his aversion to physical contact, passion for loud harmonica bands and love of collecting rocks.
Needless to say, this book is a firm favourite in our home. It’s fun, it’s interactive and it taught Móg the very important skill of high-fiving!
2. "Bodies are Cool" by Tyler Feder
Bodies are Cool is a vibrant celebration of the myriad ways bodies come in different shapes, sizes, colours, genders, ages and abilities. With vivid, colourful illustrations and, dare I say, everyone represented in the lively, dynamic pictures, I challenge anyone to read this book and not feel truly in awe of the beauty of diversity.
If I have one criticism, it’s that maybe there could be more older represent-ation in the book. That being said, I’m really splitting hairs here. Most pages have at least one elderly person somewhere in the busy scene and there’s a beautiful section at the end where two scenes, side by side, show how the characters have grown, aged and changed over time.
In fact, I take back that criticism. The book is great!
3. "Grandad's Pride" by Harry Woodgate
Grandad's Pride beautifully explores the dynamic of a loving relationship between a grandparent and grandchild as they organise their village’s first ever Pride Parade. The story creates a real warmth in its representation of a diverse community working together. The illustrations are bright and energetic and include bodies of all colours, shapes and abilities. It also delicately but directly deals with LGBTQIA+ topics through its characters and their conversations.
The real take away from this book, for us anyway, is the beauty of a community that embraces all its members… That and Grandad’s camper van, says Móg. Brum, brum.
4. "Francis Discovers Possible" by Ashlee Latimer
Francis Discovers Possible is a beautiful story that sensitively deals with the difficult topics of bullying and anti-fat bias. Francis, a young, fat person of colour is bullied in school for the size of her body. The book gently follows Francis through the experience, including her physical sensations, her thought processes and finding support from a positive fat role model.
I also can’t talk about this book without celebrating its gorgeous pastel and watercolour artwork. The illustrations are soft, inviting and simply stunning. This book is a winner!
Oh, but wait… Doesn’t this glorify ob*sity?! **eye-roll**
5. "The Belly Book" by Fran Manushkin
The Belly Book is a fantastic book all about celebrating the different shapes and sizes of our bodies, specifically our wonderful bellies! The playful text, and charming illustrations, do a great job of including a really diverse collection of belly types - smooth, hairy, round, flat, big, teeny. And, while it’s all presented in a very light, fun way, the recurring message is one of love and appreciation for the wonder of our bellies and the things they can do.
The characters that feature in the book are of a variety of skin colours and shapes, and there is plenty of mention of a varied range of foods (with no favouring, shaming or healthism in sight!)
Nonetheless, the book could probably do with a more diverse representation of abilities and gender for sure, and, on one page, it’s assumed that the reader has a ‘mummy’ and that she has birthed them. Annoying, yes! Does it make the book unreadable? No!
In our opinion, a great one for children and adults - we often find ourselves reciting lines from it over the dinner table.
The process of researching and finding inclusive kid’s books has, and continues to be, exciting, fun and, at times, incredibly frustrating. It would be far easier, quicker and less energy-consuming to stick to the white, cishet, eurocentric books that are readily available in supermarkets, book shops and libraries. However, reading these books, in which our whole community is represented, reminds me of the power of literature in fostering empathy, acceptance and a celebration of diversity. These are the values I want to instil in my child because they are the cornerstone of building a more inclusive and compassionate society.
- CC Darlington
THE JOURNEY
ANDREI BOYD
Something I’ve noticed of late in my energy is this feeling of excitement for something that I’m not consciously aware of. On the surface I’m actually quite anxious about my path and the direction I want to take but I can’t shake this tremendous anticipation for something that I feel is coming into my world. This is where I become very aware of how the spirit and the body can work on different levels. It can be very difficult to look past what we see in front of us. We focus on what we can do and forget to just ‘be’. In my experience the spirit has always steered me right. Of course, when we are in the depths of a transformation it can feel like we’ll never feel joy again. I certainly spend much of my time cursing my path and wishing I could just go back to how I was. But then one day I wake up and I feel like I’m a new person. I have a totally new perspective and I feel lighter and more grounded in my energy than ever before. I look back at what might have been a month of absolute misery and think, ‘oh my God, I get it! I see why I went through all of that’.
It’s like the spirit can see my future and knows that I’ll come to this place feeling stronger and better equipped to move through the next stage of my journey. The spirit will send us little signs to let us know we’re on the right path or that a period of struggle is leading to something wonderful. In our pursuit of achievement we often miss these signs. I like meditation because it sets time aside to receive that which we may not be open to in the daily grind.
Spirit often shows me the image of the body going through stress and struggle while the spirit dances and cheers in ecstasy. It’s a vision of infinite knowledge observing outside of time and space. It’s infinite knowledge rejoicing in the experience. It’s limitless, infinite knowledge delighting in its limitation. This is difficult for the experiencer because they are the physical expression of limitation. All of the aches, pains, emotions and barriers we face contradict an inner understanding of limitlessness and cause such confusion and despair in each of us.
On the other side of that coin, if we take a moment to look back at our experiences we would understand how who we are today has been vastly shaped by our pain. How having gone through something painful has created empathy for others who may have gone through something similar. How many of us are using our experiences of pain and trauma to assist others in their healing. Perhaps you’re using your gifts in a professional capacity or perhaps you’re fabulous at holding space for a friend or family member in need. I see, often, how my responses are of that much more value for having experienced my own lessons. Of course, who knows what we might be without our pain. No one can say for sure. But I certainly recognise who I am with it and because of it.
Pain and struggle have been major forces of change in my life. I have been moved to deepen my awareness and understanding of who I am and what I bring to the table. I would be a different and not so wonderful person without these as my teacher. I would not be so open to change and learning had I not seen how my willingness to change has shaped my world for the better.
I remind myself that without pain we could not experience pleasure. I align with the belief that contrast is the necessary evil in understanding who we are. We must be faced with that which we are not!
Healing and growth come in the most unlikely forms but I bet if you look back at your life you will see how you are YOU because you never gave up and you never let your pain defeat you. And so your spirit jumps with joy. It celebrates the experience. It rejoices in your success and it knows why you had to experience what you did even when YOU didn’t.
This is the journey!
- Andrei Boyd
JOIN OUR COMMUNITY
Email your phone number to wexfordpride@gmail.com and we will add you to our WhatsApp community.
FESTIVE FAGGOTS HAVE FEELINGS TOO
RIAN BROWNE
tw: brief mention of queerphobic violence, f-slur
It’s Christmas Eve, you’re relaxing in a pub with friends, at dinner with family or awkward festive work do. Energy begins to rise as the company rouses itself for a raucous chorus rendition of a decidedly contentious Christmas classic. As the early chords grace your ears, you hear the faint echo of a relative in from Christmas’ gone by ‘tis awful what happened to her, that boat, terrible accident…’. As we head into the festive tradition, a similar sorrow will grace music fans' families following the loss of the Pogues’ songwriter Shane McGowan.
It’s the festive season and as the Christmas hits are in full flow, so too are the faux clickbait debates that generate clicks and sweet sweet ad revenue from the eyes and ears that fall victim to its grasp. Each year the hot takes swell across airwaves, digital screens and water coolers. Fairytale of New York has found itself as a must-have on your traditional Christmas Christmas playlist. It too has been subject to much cultural debate over its inclusion of the term faggot in its most famous lyric. There are more interpretations and takes on its inclusion than Christmas dinners. Most common among them attempts to equate McGowan's intent on its usage in contrast to its cultural meaning and impact - that the lyric in question refers to the end (butt) of a cigarette about to be put out, rather than the derogatory slur. Faggot originated in referring to a specific form of gay bashing and has grown to justify further queerphobic violence and discrimination against LGBTQIA+ people (or those who are assumed to be). Within our own community reactions to the song differ, for some, it’s inconsequential and of its time, for others it is deeply offensive and uncomfortable to endure. It speaks volumes that for one corner of our community, having our biggest ‘fish’ to fry be the content of a song is a privilege in itself. Without question, greater attention and energy must be dedicated to the material liberation of those most marginalised within the LGBTQIA+ community.
However, if the ‘debate’ ought to rage on, the faggots in question should be entitled to their two cents. As one self-identified queer and faggot, I am partial to the enjoyment of your questionable and classic Christmas tunes, Fairytale of New York among them. I do not believe that an author's lyrical intent should ever be held privileged over the impact of their words and the cultural context they’re crafted within. While we believe we live in more progressive times, in recent years being outwardly queer has become increasingly unsafe, particularly for those who live on the intersections of race, gender and class utilised to exercise power over us. Nobody can attribute meaning or intention behind the lyric beyond the late author himself. But as a person who has been on the receiving end of slurs, I can speak to their impact and in particular the relevance of faggot amongst seasonal festivities.
The Fairytale of New York harkens back to a romanticised time in Irish emigration myth and legend. It appeals to a very specific image and memory of Irish life and culture in New York that entices both those at home and abroad that is reified each time the tune is played. This memory conveniently remains ignorant to the complicit relationship between Irish migrants and the upholding of white supremacy in the name of accumulating social capital to manoeuvre Irish folk out of indentured servitude and into realms of political classes and power, including the police force. The song's meaning is built upon its imagery and storytelling through its cultural relevance each year and the memories made against its backdrop. But I have never felt more unsafe and invisible than I have watching friends, loved ones and colleagues rise in anticipation and enthusiasm as the lyric in question arrives and the pure glee and excitement as the word is escapes from their lips in swell of festive cheer. It is an image much in the same way a toddler learns the power of their first swear, testing the boundaries of power between the comedic quality of a small human expressing terms with heavier innuendo and social stigma than they can comprehend. If only the impact of this lyric was as funny and inconsequential.
When I hear this against the backdrop of a buzzing pub, lively gig or festive ‘do’, I don’t just hear the slur, I hear the implicit acceptance from all partaking that their festive free pass to utter a word that they might otherwise take exception to is more acceptable that the legacy and weight of the term for the queers around them. I am sure that for many who sing along, little thought is given to the weight of the words being sung, or if there is, it’s dismissed or taken for granted that anybody who sings in turn with them and wouldn’t share the sentiment imbued in the term - ‘sure we’re passed that now surely? We have marriage equality! Changing the lyric ruins the integrity of the song!’ I would ask why we feel so married to a lyric, since changed by the songwriter to reflect more modern times, than to the impact of the words and the humanity of those it affects.
It is true, we do have bigger fish to fry, with many ongoing struggles for political and social equality, but at the root of these struggles is the normalisation of stereotypes and prejudice rooted within the culture we consume and perpetuate. There is a reason this tired old debate is rolled out each year, along with the tragic facts, romanticised storytelling and repeats of the tune ad infinitum. Does one song, really matter so much and if so, in who’s interest?
- Rían Browne
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