In February, my Irish passport finally arrived. I opened it, read my name and beneath it, my nationality, or rather náisiúntacht. I was an Irish citizen now. I sat down on the stairs and cried.
I became a mother when I was eighteen years old, and now I am twenty-one. I still feel like a child, one trapped in a strange and contradictory existence. I who can barely take care of myself – how could I have given birth to another life?
I don’t want anyone to think that I’m an artist one day and an activist the next. When I get politically involved, I do so as an artist. That is important to me.
It has become the motto of our age to say, ‘Oh I hate politics’ – without realising that that is the most political statement you can come up with.
As the UK makes its way through the interminable Brexit process, it’s time for an issue on the radical political and personal changes that we see going on around us, and within us.
I think fiction starts with something really unusual. We keep trying to be normal, day after day, but normality is a fiction. It is a space between you and me, but there is nobody who occupies that space.