Liam’s Story
I’m just going to try and splurge and write everything that I can remember down. I’m 21 years old now, about to turn 22, so if I could recollect my earliest years then that’s pretty good going. Maybe if I went through photos afterwards I’d be able to cobble a half-decent story together. The reason I’m sticking this together is because recently I’ve come to the realisation that life is simply repeating one’s story, and getting to enjoy and hear other’s to any length. This stems from the first principle of the fact that I don’t like being bored, and that humans evolved to be social creatures. Plus, this idea of “what’s left when I’m gone” is solved by the fact that when I’m gone, I’ll have hopefully left an incredible story.
I was born, so I’m told, on Holles Street in Dublin at the National Maternity Hospital. Funnily enough, as of this moment, I find myself working in a building just a couple of doors down from that same place. I pass nurses outside the hospital, huffing and puffing quickly on cigarettes outside of the place, what I’d wage is a byproduct of the lengthy shifts and poor support system that all Irish workers have to endure. I really can’t remember anything, if I do remember anything, it’s really just remembering photos that I’ve come by, from the first couple of years. I remember living in 81 Wheatfield Terrace, I think it’s called, down in Bray. I remember the stairs going up to the top floor, the yellow wall paper, and the window with the sunlight firing through. I don’t really remember much else, but I remember when a contractor was renovating our house I think, in a green car. Or maybe that was my dad’s old car that I’m remembering. But I remember that contractor, hairy old fella. And I can recall giving his car’s side bumper a little kick, and him reacting slighly annoyed. That’s my earliest recount of an act of mischief. I don’t remember much else from those early years, until I was about 3 or 4.
Then we moved from that distant memory to the bowels of Avoca Hall. 34 Avoca Hall to be exact. I can remember that place as clear as day, despite having not been in that apartment since 3rd Year, or roughly when I was 15/16, around 2020. We were lucky we moved out just before COVID, we would have been suffocated alive if we were stuck in that place. As far as apartments go, it was on the larger side. I remember the living room, without the soft, micro-fluffy red couches that we loved. I remember the modern fake fireplace, the marble mantel piece. My dad’s CD/DVD collection on the left, the TV stand with shelves in the leftmost corner as you enter. I can barely make out when we got that TV for the first time, I can picture my dad on his knees trying to set it up. That TV was brilliant, it was huge for a kid, I visited so many worlds and dimensions with that thing. I can remember all the weird shows that I watched as a kid, like Diagnosis Murder, Murder She Wrote, the A-team, Sherlock. Some of those films, are slipping. I remember the dynamic trio of 3 Men and a Baby, but other odd films like that elude me. I’m assuming the wealth of my film recollection was probably collected during that time. I of course remember the more child-appropriate shows, like the Simpsons oh the Simpsons. OG Simpsons was incredible. OG Spongebob too - and those two works of art had corresponding films that were equally incredible. I remember as I grew, that that’s when I started watching the Marvel films. We had them all on DVD, I might have even gone and seen a couple at the cinema, even the earliest ones. It’s strange for an adult to think, or someone much older than me, that those films would be incredibly formative. No other films/TV shows are jumping out at me, so I’ll continue with the house tour. I remember the cabinets/shelving going down the right of the living room, a staple, that changed with the inventory of books that we had or my parents were pushing me at the time. I can remember some of those girlie books were up on the shelves, I think cos my parents wanted me to see both sides to everything. But I of course remember Diary of a Wimpy Kid, Harry Potter, the Percy Jackson series. I can remember borrowing in particular Skullduggery Pleasant and Artemis Fowl from the library. Artemis Fowl in particular, I read through until the end, with the most vivid character remaning with me is that dwarf that would unhinge it’s jaw to dig holes. I remember learning the word kleptomaniac from that character. It’s amazing what people can recall. But in the rightmost corner of the living room, it changed from time to time. I think in my earliest days, it was a treadmill that never got used, before eventually becoming a piano for my brother and I to practice on. Dividing the living room in half was the balcony windows that generously provided sunlight into the white room. One of the starkest memories I have, and credit to my mother for this, was a memory of mine where I set-up a really cosy nook for my brother when he was very young. I put a massive teddy that I had just by the fireplace, some blankets, and some other amenities, but I was stupid enough to turn the thing on. Luckily for me, it was not a real fireplace but a sort of automatic one, with grills that would heat up rather than restless flames. That poor teddy would go on to remain with the family for quite sometime, and for the duration of the rest of its life, it would have grill marks on the back of it.
The reason I give kudos to my mum was because, believe it or not, there was once a time where I respected my mum, and listened to her. She would repeat all the time to me, how good I was to my little brother, what a great older brother I was. She tells me I even changed his nappies when he was young, but I find that hard to believe given the fact that I was probably 5 or 6 when this was happening. If so, what an incredible boy I was. I really do think that it was just a self-fulfilling prophecy, or manifestation - my mother would literally just drill into me how great I was with my brother, so I just kept on being good and getting better at being the eldest sibling. Now that I remember, there was a period of our life when my brother and I just did not get on, which makes me sad. Thankfully, in the last 7/8 years or so, I’ve known nothing but a kind younger brother, but there was a period where we would just go looking for fights with each other, in particular me. That’s my fault, I was the older brother, I should have known better, but I was just a kid. I must’ve been a bit of a bully, the poor guy would have been so much smaller than me. Eventually, I wised up, started to suck up his transgressions and reduce mine, and eventually, balance was restored to our relationship. He knows he can get away with a lot from me, but he respects me, and I respect him. One story comes to mind when he was sat on armchair, and I fukcing chucked him off, and he split his chin wide open. I can remember the absolutely pathetic fib that I claimed to be the truth, of how an old book that we had, shaped in a hammer because it was a Bob the Builder book, was the culprit during a bit of normal tumble. I think my mum left me of the hook with that on the case of she just wanted to put my brother’s chin back together. I remember waiting in Temple Street, and Declan needing to get stictches. He’s always been a tough cookie.
Another thing that pops into mind is the old Nintendo Wii, and the board, the nunchucks, the sport extensions. We were spoilt for video games as kids, my borhter and I, in particular me. It was in those early days where my curiosity with the world of the digital immersible story really came about. I remember playing those brilliant lego games, that were amazing because they were local 2 player story mode, meaning you could jump into the world of the Avengers, or Batman, with another person. My partner in crime normally being my little brother. Great guy, when duty called, he would normally join in. Up until a few years ago, even as recently as this year, I try to make an effort around christmas time to play video games with him, chasing the highs of living a dream with him in those 2 weeks around Xmas and New Years when the world’s ground to a halt, and the far off lands of New York City and Gotham are calling. Notable mentions must go to the Nintendo DS also - I remember the first one that I can recall my dad having, a white little yoke, followed up by a larger, red version, that I recall taking advantage of the most often, going so far as to claim that it was mine.
You know, a feeling that I completely forgot about from when I lived at 34 Avoca Hall was that I didn’t feel like I belonged at all at Sandford. Like here I was, visiting my friends houses from all over the place, and I was living in a 2 bedroom apartment, sharing a bed with my brother up until when I was 9/10, before we got a bunk bed for a couple of years. I remember that feeling when we first met. It wasn’t the sole driver but it was an underlying factor to why I felt inadequate, I just thought I wasn’t like you. Not poor or anything, just truly felt different. And also, you were the prettiest girl in school, eventually the prettiest girl that I knew from college, so that also fed into those feelings of inadequacy.
When I was writing, it occured to me that I really want to write down your story Juno. Because after a certain point, your story starts to become mine, and mine, yours. Like that time we went to Kiliney, ate a French picinic while trying to learn the words to Zach Bryan’s “I Remember Everything”. Or when I told you I read All the Young Dudes during a TY PE, and you started crying. I can remember lying in my bed, reading ATYD.
my mum’s cooking.
I remember the lawn
stealing for the first time