And then you wonder...

Is someone trying to tell you something? Like maybe you should have just stayed home? What are you doing, just flying off to different countries, as if you don't have a care in the world? Don't you know your place in this universe? What are you thinking? People can't just go wherever they want, do whatever they want to do. Go back to Boston and go to school there like the college student you're supposed to be. Nice try, but let's be serious.

Back when I made the choice to come here, it was an easy one. And a happy one. I was thrilled to think of what I was accomplishing - spending nearly as much time towards my degree out of the country as I've spent in it. Experiencing my classes as opposed to just listening to them. How cool was that?

Then, as time went on, after the decision was already made, it became more difficult to stick to the convictions that were once so effortless. There are two sides to every story, and suddenly the sad side was facing up, the side where I was going to be leaving everyone behind me in Boston, possibly to be gone from the city forever by the time I got back, where all of a sudden it's clear that I'm leaving a city and people that I really do love more than anything, only to fly off to a country where I know nothing and no one. Some know better than others how difficult it really was to stick with my choice, to go from excitement, to telling myself that despite whatever misgivings I might have in the moment I had made the right decision, and then eventually to telling myself that whether or not I made the right decision it was too late to do anything about it one way or the other, when despite how I felt I knew I had reached the point of no return.

But I got through it. I survived the emotionally harrowing last couple weeks and with quite a bit of support from the bests of friends, I managed to force myself through that gate and onto that plane, and I immediately buckled myself in so that I would stay there. Then, 8 or 9 or however many hours later, I arrived, and guess what? It was pretty great.

So what's brought all of this on? Flying high in the first day or so, and then what? Bank of America, is what. Before leaving the States, literally minutes before hopping in the cab to the airport, I had called the number that some lovely teller in the Copley branch had supplied so that I could alert them of my journey. They asked me a billion questions, asking for details of deposits and credit lines and dates and times, and apparently, in the midst of all of the stress and such, I answered one of these questions wrong. I didn't become aware of this until Friday, rather late in the evening. Bank of America had not attempted to notify me in anyway that my accounts had been frozen, but instead I only discovered this when I tried to alert them via their online chat tool of further travel plans. I was told that the process to get them reactivated couldn't be taken care of online, so I would have to call in.

What followed was the single most ridiculous, most frustrating, and most disheartening encounter I hold in recent memory.

A few of you already know the details. In summary, once, after some arguing, I managed to convince them that it would be impossible for me to come into the bank to clear it up, it took multiple international faxes, a ton of international call time, and considerable bitchiness and general harassment of them on my part to get anything accomplished at all. The process took two full days, and cost me a considerable amount of money (that I didn't have). The bank was unable to consider that faxing documents overseas and making international phone calls - not to mention other important things like eating - all cost money, a commodity that is difficult to come by when you're alone in a foreign country with no access to your bank accounts. Possibly most frustrating was their failure to recognize any urgency in the case - not once did I receive a follow up of any kind - any communication came from my hunting them down to move things along.

Saturday night brought the low point of my time here so far. I was up late in a hostel that was alternately oppressively empty and silent or horribly loud as the other residents came and went in groups to the pubs or wherever else. After making 2 trips to an internet cafe that day already to send faxes which continued to be either unreadable or unreceived, I was once again using up calling credit and having nothing to show for it, and I was more exhausted than I've been since I've arrived. After being told again that I needed to re-fax, I did so, and once again despite assurance that I would be contacted as soon as the fax was received, I had to wait an hour and then call again on my dime. Thanks to a sympathetic soul on the other line (at long last) the issue was finally resolved at 2 am Irish time.

It's easy to feel alone when instead of out in the city that you're supposed to be enjoying, you're stuck in a hostel. You're trying desperately to communicate a problem to bank employees over a often too-faint connection, isolating yourself from the people out there that you should be meeting. Attempting to resolve a problem as quickly as possible, but feeling an absence of any effort or concern from the other side. I remember it being painful to be on the computer in the middle of the night, waiting for a call and trying to figure out another, more efficient means of communicating what had to be done, and seeing friends in the States sign off so that they could enjoy their Saturday nights with the friends that I had left behind.

Thank Christ for the Irish, though. After understanding my situation, the staff at the internet cafe I'd been using to copy and fax my passport, driver's license, bank card, etc refused to accept any money from me. "No, not til you get this figured out," they said.

Maybe it was the stress, or the exhaustion, but that kind of sympathy from a complete stranger touched me pretty intensely. I felt a mixture of deep gratitude and a touch of anger - how could it be that someone that didn't know me at all, that had a business to run, and had no stake whatsoever in whether or not my problem was resolved, had my back more than my own bank, back in my own country?

Now, a day later, I might be even more grateful for that kindness. Dealing with the doubts that I had before any of this occurred, I really do think that it would be possible for that kind of ordeal to break whatever spirit I'd managed to muster in my first couple days. Having that moment and that sympathy to reflect on, it made it clear that problem didn't come about because I came to Ireland. It had nothing to do with where I had come to, or that I had come at all. The problem was somewhere else. Those thoughts brought me clear through the part where I might have been bitter about being here, thinking that if I had never come I wouldn't be dealing with any of it and would have money to go buy a sandwich down the street if I was hungry.

Instead, I get to look at that Irish sympathy, kindness and goodwill as a reason to be glad I came :)