I never wanted Dublin, and arguably now Dublin doesn’t want me, but despite it all, the pull to emigrate to Australia has never been strong.
It’s almost a blasphemous statement to make from someone in my position, with my IG feed full of people standing on beaches, location tagged as Melbourne, or Sydney, or Perth. Talking about how amazing it is to go surfing at 6am, Home and Away style, how much nicer the apartments are that they live in, the better quality of life.
The stats are there – I doubt anyone was shocked in January when it was revealed that over 21,000 work visas were issued to Irish citizens heading to Australia in 2023, double on the previous year, with Irish people making up 9.8% of all Working Holiday Maker visa grants. I’ve seen more of the Australian flag emoji on Instagram than the engagement ring, or wedding bells, certainly more than the house, because lord knows, it’s near impossible for anyone my age to purchase. With a housing crisis that looks like it’s here to stay, and a recession that could send a ton of our jobs packing, mine likely included, why would anyone my age want to stay in Dublin?
As droves of twenty-somethings say slán to Ireland, swapping one rental crisis for another, I’ve had a lot of time to think about emigration, and often wondered what’s wrong with me that I don’t want to leave a city that about 20 years ago I could firmly say I despised.
Yes, my years of hating Dublin started in the early noughties, well before the 2008 recession, and no, the irony is not lost on me that I now write for a website called Lovin Dublin. No doubt my younger self would not believe it if she heard it, and would likely see it as a betrayal, so strong was my desire to leave Dublin behind. It wasn’t really the city’s fault that I hated it, and my reasons for hating it are complex, and deeply personal, so you’ll excuse me for not going into it, at least not today. The bottom line is that between the ages of 6 and 16, I would have given anything to not live in Dublin anymore.
I moved to Dublin under difficult circumstances, and only that I so desperately wanted to return to my life up north, in County Armagh, did the hatred for Dublin occur (cue any jokes about six counties, being a Brit, etc, I’ve heard it all). Despite being brought to the place in Ireland where I’d have most opportunity, something I didn’t appreciate from my dad for many years, I resisted the pull, even as I made primary school friends, many of which I have to this day, and spent classes daydreaming about the life I should still have been having up north.
But as my sweet Nordie accent deserted me, in exchange for a somewhat painful South Dublin one (apologies to any and all who have listened to my voiceovers) and I got older, the urge to go back to Portadown slowly began to leak away. I made friends, developed relationships, and a path called my career started to appear before me like an apparition. In fact, the only time I’ve considered going back up north in the last ten years was when I was applying for MA programmes, and contemplated going to Queens in Belfast. That I was accepted into the Creative Writing MA at UCD solidified my decision to stay put.
As far as young people go, I’ve been pretty lucky when it comes to friends emigrating. I’ve only lost a handful to the UK and European cities a short flight away, and just one to Oz, with another planning to go this summer. I’ve even had pals return to Ireland in the time that others have decided to leave, so I’m doing fairly well. My brother and sister both live in Dublin still, my six month old niece a mere ten minute walk down the road from me, so I guess the crux of me not wanting to jet off is the people, and I should acknowledge the privilege I have that I am able to remain here when tons of people who emigrate see no other option but to do so.
I am not blind to Dublin’s faults – how could I be? Circling dangerously close to 30, I’m still living at home because it’s too expensive to rent, holding onto the dream of home ownership by the tip of my fingers (full acrylics, because if I can’t afford a home, why not enjoy little treats every now and again?). Everyone I know living out of home are struggling to get by and live a fulfilling life, choosing between travelling and making the most of their 20s, and being able to live in Ireland, frugally and with all their money going on rent or a mortgage that is frankly too expensive for the space they have. One bed apartments in Ranelagh are kicking off from €495,000 currently, and we all know they’re going to sell for more – it’s lunacy, but it’s the price of living in Dublin.
In light of this, I’m actually quite furious that Dublin wriggled its way into my heart – in my early teens I probably would have relished the idea of starting over somewhere new, where people pronounce “no” as “naur”, living my best Summer Bay life. But Irish people, the people I love most, have made it impossible for me to leave. While most people wonder about the life they’re missing out on in Australia, and that acts largely as a catalyst for their choosing to go, I know the life I’d be missing if I made the trip across the world myself, and there is no FOMO in this world like it. I have found, in moving away at a young age, that home is where there are people who love you, and currently Dublin and Ireland beat Australia out by a landslide.
Instead, I cling to bad news about living Down Under. I click the heart on any TikTok or reel that starts off with something along the lines of “Things people don’t tell you about moving to Australia” and proceed to parrot it off to anyone who will listen, and blatantly deny anything that might poke holes in my theories.
Rental crisis in Sydney – you bet I’m talking about it at any given moment, even as people pay upwards of €2,000 for a one bed in Dublin that has mould crawling at every crevice like something out of The Last Of Us. At a time when it has likely never been worse to be a young person in Ireland – the first generation worse off than their parents, the widening wealth gap, the delay in our careers given the impact of COVID even four years on, the rental and housing crisis, a government who cares infinitely more about the older generations – I am clinging to the love I’ve found in this city.
In many ways, it makes total sense why I work for somewhere called Lovin Dublin. I’ve felt and embraced every emotion under the sun about this city, and for better or worse, I get what James Joyce was saying when he said Dublin would be written on his heart after death. I didn’t love it because I was born here, I had to work at it, with the same level of frustration and anguish at times that was learning to drive (if learning to drive took five times as long). I am committed to it, flaws and all, and I maintain a crippling, and probably foolish hope that things will get better for my generation.
My adamance to wait it out is no doubt connected to the feeling of being a child and told we were uprooting our lives in the midst of nothing short of total grief, and having no say in the matter. While I have long accepted the wisdom in the decision, there is a stubborn six-year-old in me who is firmly digging her heels in now that I’m an adult, and do have say on where I end up. I never wanted Dublin, and now Dublin arguably doesn’t want me, but I’ll be damned if I make it that easy.
There are few things nicer than walking down Grafton Street early enough that it’s not full of people yet, or having an uninhibited dance in Devitts when the live music starts. Summers in this city are some of the most beautiful I’ve experienced and I wouldn’t swap them for the oppressive heat in Oz for anything. The habitual joy of ripping open a packet of Irish tapas on a sticky table packed with friends, watching a rugby game I frankly don’t understand or care much about, but surrounded by people I do.
I love the stretch on the train between Dublin Connolly and Belfast Lanyon Place, passing the beaches at Skerries, I even love walking around poxy Stephen’s Green Shopping Centre, even though they’re threatening to take that away too. A gig at Malahide Castle and Gardens, swims at Seapoint, iced coffees once the weather starts improving – they are experiences that could be replicated and enjoyed anywhere, but they serve as a reminder to me of what I love about this city.
I don’t believe the option of Australia can ever be ignored – it is a constant argument for people my age, a conversation I believe all of my friends are having with partners and roommates on an increasingly regular basis, but even as things progressively get worse in Dublin, I think I can be certain I’m not swapping our over-aggressive seagulls for spiders and snakes anytime soon.
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