I came to London with one 25kg bag and a screenshot of the road my friend lived on printed out and tucked neatly in my back pocket. It had been an emotional goodbye at Cork airport, with Mom pleading with me not to take the tube after 10pm, and Dad encouraging me to go to as many concerts as possible.

When I finally made it to security I had two €50 notes and Cork’s finest brown bread pressed into my hands. Behind my eyes I could feel the heat swell. In truth, I wanted to drop my bags, run home and not come out until the world moved into my bedroom. Of course I didn’t say this, I had wanted to move abroad for a long time, but now that push became shove I admit, I was scared.

London wasn't always my first choice. I had dreams of cruising around Manhattan in a yellow taxi and eating cupcakes at Magnolia Bakery. But my career needed me to be in the UK.

It was the fact London was so vast that scared me. How would I, a 24-year-old Cork woman, ever be able to navigate my way around this exotic jungle of red buses and black cabs? Would I find friends? Would I find somewhere to live? But most importantly, I asked myself, would I have the courage to be the person I wanted to be?

The first three months were challenging. The tube took some getting used to, as did my new corporate environment. But as days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months, I found my footing and began to excel.

The more organisations I joined the more people I met. People who had done extraordinary things with their lives, people who were willing to help me, and people who I could sit with in a nice bar on a sunny day. I never found my Irishness to make much of a difference here. As long as you are a good person who works hard you are admired and I enjoy that.

‘Back from London’

Then Christmas came and like a character returning home in a Tom Murphy play, I was the one "back from London". Suddenly, all the confidence I had built over the past few months began to dissipate. I sat in bars listening to uninformed people pass remarks about the city I had grown to love.

“I heard that London is an awful place to live,” they joked. “My friend’s, sister’s, husband’s, first cousin takes 45 minutes to get into work!” they shrieked. To these comments I smiled politely and said I found London quite pleasant.

What I really wanted to say was, “It’s exhilarating; challenging and relentless, but life-changing!” But I couldn’t. The status quo wouldn’t allow it. So I sat there realising that maybe now there are two distinct kinds of Irish people: Those who stayed and those who left.

I believe neither one is better than the other. They are both life choices which in my opinion hold equal value. I love meeting new people, taking on more challenges and opening myself up to more adventure, but yes, sometimes I do just want to sit into a car and drive home. Sometimes it is difficult putting yourself out there and you don’t always want to travel for an hour to meet someone for a cup of tea.

Home comforts

When I pop on Facebook, I often see my home friends off on another adventure around Ireland, smiling joyously into the camera, while I zoom under London's busy streets squeezed into a sardine can. Many people at home share the same values as me, but I don't think anyone can deny it's more comfortable there (and there are warm Avoca brownies and sizzling Clonakilty sausages dipped in Ballymaloe relish).

What I resent, and yes I do resent it, is that sometimes I feel like home is closed to me now. I cannot go back and be the same self there as I am here. I could not walk into a job in Ireland and utter the sacrilegious words, “Well they do it like this abroad. Maybe we should try that?” I think that if I go home, I would have to behave as if my time here never happened.

With so many of us gone, where does that leave us and what does it mean for Ireland? I believe many who left home will come back and unlike the tortured souls of Murphy’s plays they won’t stand ashamed. They will apply for jobs and live their lives as they did when they were away. With their “high notions” they will push and crawl their way back in, and no “I was here during the down times” is going to stop them. They are the elves riding over the mountain at the end of the battle.

Right now, I enjoy the anonymity of this sprawling city. I don’t walk desperately up and down streets trying to find supermarkets selling Irish foods. I don’t long for that plane home, and I don’t only engage with other Irish people. I am proud of my Irishness, it’s a fundamental part of who I am but I don’t let it hinder me. I am not plagued with guilt for leaving, I am not sad and I am not lonely. I am just me.

What I will no longer allow is being made feel like an outsider when I touch down in Ireland. As I see it, I have two homes now and I am in no rush to define which one is better, or which one will win out in the end.