No Vote but a Voice on Equal Marriage Rights in Ireland

I did not vote in the referendum that was held in Ireland on Friday. It asked whether or not homosexuals should be allowed the same rights in marriage as heterosexuals. Why not vote? I am not an Irish resident, I have no voice in the form of a vote here.

I do have an opinion though.

I agree with the 62% of voters who ended up securing marriage rights for Irish homosexuals. And I have found the arguments that I have listened to from the people who support the “vote no” campaign weak. Too weak to provide justification for voting “no” other than an inability to see beyond an outdated definition of “normal” and a complete ignorance in the face of acceptance and change.

So:

– To the poster that tells me a child needs the love of her mother for more than nine months: two lesbian mothers would be double the love then or not?

– To the poster that tells me a child deserves a mother and a father: with an inability to conceive together, homosexual couples will not make the decision of having a child lightly or by accident. That child will be loved by his/her parents. Both of them, because they will have definitely wanted him/her.

– And on that note, to the posters that mention surrogacy: this is not even the question of the referendum. Surrogacy is another issue. Because if you oppose surrogacy you also oppose heterosexual couples who may undertake it. Homosexual marriage is not a synonym to surrogacy.

– To the poster that claims “let us not redefine marriage”. If we stick to your words, marriage in Ireland, like much of Europe, would still be undertaken to secure an economic liaison and only in the rarest of cases in an act of love. Most marriages would be arranged. We could even expand our outlook a little and look back to to the Romans, were the minimum age for marriage for a girl was twelve years of age. “Let us not redefine marriage” – what exactly are you trying to say?

– And finally to those who continue to return to the idea that “it just isn’t normal”. Let me tell you this: I am left handed. I did not choose to be a lefty. In fact, I used to play tennis with both the left and the right hand, until one day I decided on the left hand. It just felt right, even though it was definitely the left. Has anyone ever questioned me on being left handed? Have I ever been told I am “just not normal” because I do not write with the hand that the great majority of the world uses? Never. Not once. Yet a little over fifty years ago I would have been ‘encouraged’ to change my ways to match right handed people with the help of a wooden stick and watchful eyes. Had I been born in 1946 and not 1996 I would have been “not normal”. But this is 2015 and we two can talk and I could write down my number for you without you even thinking that this left hand “just isn’t normal”. Because in the end, being a left handed person is only a part of who I am. Yet it is a part that I cannot change. Being gay is a part gay people cannot change about themselves. Nor should they feel the need to. Because what we label as “just not normal” one minute can be perfectly “normal” the next. So in the end, what is “normal” anyway? And to twist your brain just a little further: why would you even want “normal” in the first place?

Does the Sun Shine in Ireland?

Short answer: not really.

But when it does manage to fight its way through the grey and the rain it makes you appreciate every ever so slim ray that apprehensively reaches for the ground. These periodic sunshine encounters come as welcome hellos to brighten the day, but sporadic and short, their enjoyment is short lived.

So when I was greeted by a full day of ‘sun’ whilst visiting a friend who studies in Galway it was the temptation of a sunshine overdose that encouraged me to brace the winds and cold temperatures of Ireland’s outdoors. And so we walked to where Galway’s river meets the sea…

Galway by 'sun'

Galway by ‘sun’

Phu Quoc: the Beat of the Rain

This photograph was taken on Phu Quoc, an island just south of Vietnam on which we spent the last four days of our trip relaxing underneath the palm trees by the beach, attempting to rid ourselves of our tshirt and short tans. At night, the storm clouds would roll in across the sea and replace the heat of the day with a relentless pounding of water on the bamboo roof of our bungalow. Watching the rains pierce the surface of the ocean and the individual needle drops become one with the great mass of salty water was mesmirising. The beat of the rain is something.

Man in Sea

Man in Sea