Self- Contained In this Brain of Mine

By Amy O Brien

I’ve lived in the same house since I was 2 years old. A sense of the word ‘home’ is something I’d consider myself to have. I’d look out the same window when I wake up in the morning- whether frosted or dripping with dreary tears of rain. I’d sleep in the same bed each night and sit at the exact same spot at both the dining and kitchen table. I’d built my routine around my home. What I ate, when I studied, when I went to bed, where I read, when I left. I’d discard my battered Nikes at the door when I come in from a Sunday morning run. The endorphins, kicking them off and them, landing always by the welcome mat. I’d brew a coffee, grabbing one of my favourite mugs instinctively. Amidst a cluttered sea of handles and stacked cups, only one or two mugs ever seemed to be allowed to evacuate the drawer. Before school, with sleep in my eyes like remnants of a blissful night, I got ready. Clockwork. Earrings, 1, a matching pair, 2, a matching second, swivel on the claddagh, a flick of mascara, blush, squirt perfume and go.

Since leaving that house to live closer to college, I think I see it as just that. A house. While I pack up some weekend essentials from my accommodation, I think, maybe all I’m flitting between are buildings. My house, with its echoes of familiarity, warmth and comfort. Its walls remember and continuously hold the love, laughter and support of its inhabitants. That perfect amalgamation of a built structure, a house and the family. With family willing me back after my move. 

Now, I catch myself calling my room in Cork City- ‘home’. I feel a tinge of surprise when I hear it pronounced by my voice. Well then, is it home? It’s where I’m staying. It feels like my respite already. My repository, my restaurant, my bed, my study space. Yet, having been in one house so long- how can I call home a place I’ve been living in for a bare month?

Perhaps then, home is Mitchelstown. The town I grew up in, where most people I pass on the street, know me. In coffee shops where we’re actually ‘locals’, at matches and in the supermarkets- the same people ask, ‘How’s Amy getting on in college?’ who once wondered, ‘How did Amy get on in her Leaving Cert?’, ‘How is she liking TY?’, ‘How’s she settling into Secondary?’. The same few queried, ‘When’s Amy’s communion?’ and ‘So, how was her first day of big school?’ Compared to my newfound reliance on Google Maps, I know all the routes without thinking. It’s home to my grandparents. Now, it’s the common ground for me and my school friends. My best friend and I were once side by side 5 days a week, at least. Now, for 2 hours on a Sunday, we yap so fast that people within the vicinity couldn’t eavesdrop even if they wished to. Before reluctantly drifting home to pack for spins, trains, buses back to Galway or Cork. 

In that case, is UCC another home? A new community I’m wading into? The bustle and buzz of society’s activities makes it feel possible. The activity and movement on campus. Already, I shuffle into the huge lecture halls, 10 minutes before the lecture begins and can pick out faces of people I know. I have a regular shop. I have a cupboard and spot in the fridge of the shared kitchen. I’m currently trying out the different coffee docks nearby. I’m starting to remember my timetable without scanning a calendar app every hour. 

I wasn’t sure what piece I’d write, given the prompt, ‘BRAIN’. Immediately my mind lept to cognitive neuroscience or psychology. None of which I’m studying or would feel best placed to write on. So, I left the keyboard to one side and let the word ruminate for a bit as I completed my day to day. B.R.A.I.N. Slowly, I realised that I was already there. 

With this change, these fluctuations between one place and another, I’ve come to realise that the most consistent home any of us have, is within ourselves. Even at that, my body grows and changes. I dress it up distinctly with different outfits, hairstyles, and makeup. I’m not inferring my body. But my brain. Home to my memories. Memories located in UCC, my accommodation, Mitchelstown and my house. Memories of friends, family and neighbours. Home to all the insights and lessons I’ve grafted that are helping me adapt to a new stage of life. My brain is where I spent all of my time. Walking to class, in the cinema, on the treadmill, reading the next thick law book, cooking dinners. Where I think about the rule of law, morality, ethics and mens rea or just what lecture theatre I’m supposed to be in next or what coffee I might order afterwards. As I flit between college and my accommodation, my house and my town, I was thinking about and simultaneously forgetting about the prompt all at once - meanwhile, still occupying my brain. 

Our brains, our own minds are our homes no matter where we are, what we’re doing, where we’re going. Content to be lost in our own heads, where the ebb and flow of life bobs about. When life fractures into pieces and scatters itself around cities and people and towns, there’s solace in knowing I am self contained. 

Self-contained in this brain of mine.