A wise man once told me that when I take over this role as assignments editor I’d start to see the MS side of everything. Any topic could be viewed through MS blurry-tinged glasses. I don’t usually like to admit when a man is right, but in this instance he really was.
Inspiration for MS blogs can come from the most unlikely of sources. Case in point: a derelict ice rink.
I’m a proud northsider and not ashamed to admit it. It might be rough and ready in parts, but it’s its home. The northside of Dublin has a certain unpolished and unassuming charm hiding beneath its street-wise exterior. It evokes memories of Italia 90, The Snapper and Moore Street, all while Aslan plays in the background directed by a legion of inner city nans.
Like a diamond in the rough, its working-class charm is often overshadowed by the glitz and glamour of its overbearing and more affluent sibling located south of the Liffey.
A recent trip through town brought me back to my roots - Phibsboro, or if you speak Dublinese it’s pronounced Fizzboro.
This Dublin 7 borough is the first place I can remember calling home. It was modest but viewed through the lens of my formative years it was like a manor. I have such fond memories burned onto a dusty cerebral CD-ROM that I hope remains untouched by the myelin thief that is MS.
I might have only been four years old, but I have such golden-tinged memories of being a happy child who enjoyed playschool, feeding the ducks at the canal and trips to see the fire trucks at Phibsboro fire station.
Smack bang in the middle of Phibsboro there was also an ice rink that I visited when I was a little bit older. A bus trip on the 40 from Nan’s house in Finglas, money for ice skating and a promise of a Texas fried chicken dinner afterwards was the stuff of 90s childhood dreams.
However, gentrification has arrived like a bulldozer on demolition day, with hipsters, man buns and iced lattes in tow. The gentrification juggernaut seems to be hell bent on wiping out every bit of character and individuality from the northside of Dublin. As I stood in front of the former ice rink in Dublin 7, I felt a pang of sadness triggered by the evolving landscape of this city that I call home. Our city is changing and not necessarily for the better. If we’re not careful, the rugged edges of the northside experience will be eventually sanded off and smoothed out by the Government, vulture funds and wealthy landlords.
Those one-of-a-kind local gems and unsung heroes of the local community will be replaced by yet another franchise coffee chain that looks the exact same whether you’re in Phibsboro or the Philippines.
The homogenising of the place we call home is more of a hindrance than a help if we lose our identity in the process. It feels like the northside of Dublin has sold its soul in the pursuit of pedicured perfection.
Standing there looking at the demolished ruins of my ’90s childhood made me feel quite emotional. The fond memories of a young life free from MS lay scattered in the rubble.
In amongst it were all of the things I had hoped to eventually become/do/achieve. A life including a long-term (potentially disabling) illness certainly wasn’t a piece of that foundation.
A few weeks later, as I left my monthly MS clinic appointment, I passed by said ice rink-turned-demolition derby. The hoarding and health and safety instructions blocked off the steps that once led to many a carefree Saturday afternoon of my childhood. I paused for a moment and reflected on how the ice rink mirrors life with MS. The rink, much like my life without MS, may be gone but the memories and the heart of the people and places that raised me live on. The only constant in life is change. It’s up to me to hold on to the determination, humour and grit from my northside upbringing and use it to ground me regardless of what challenge arises from the rubble.
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