For the past two weeks, I have called University College Dublin home. It has been a comfortable place—one of learning, making new friends, and resting from long days around Dublin and the surrounding areas. We all had our own rooms, but we shared a kitchen and living space. Often, I would find someone in one of the chair eating porridge or by the counter making a much-needed cup of coffee. Other times, I might would find someone reading or getting ready to teach a lesson to the rest of the class. It became a comfortable place for me. My room became a place for me to escape to recharge from the expense of social activity. More specifically, over the past few days, my room has become a place where I can rest to try to get over an Irish cold (not really sure how that descriptor might change the meaning).

The common area became a place where we could share about our day. Sara and Kristen told us all about their travels to Sandcove and their remapping of Bloomsday. I would tell others about events that happened when they weren’t around. Whether secluded in my private room or in the common area, our flat at UCD became a safe space. UCD has a beautiful campus. Much of our time was spent traveling to Dublin or meeting in our classroom, but one day we had a chance to spend the whole day on campus. We had lunch on the lawn, served by a handful of food trucks. Then we headed to see a couple of dramatic performances—“Strolling Through Ulysses” and “The Lime Tree Bower.” Both were professional and moving for me.

After leaving a coffee shop, we wait at a crosswalk. I notice a flag at half-mass. It’s a rainbow flag. Being away from Atlanta for so long has been bizarre. I haven’t been away this long in about ten years. I miss my family. I miss normal life. I missed being able to be around after the hateful tragedy in Orlando last week. The separation of hours between Ireland and Atlanta creates a break in communication—or at least a break in when events normally happen. By the time my wife wakes up in Atlanta, I’ve already finished lunch. When the shooting happened in Orlando, Ireland was mostly asleep. I woke up to news reports and social media, stories of hateful events that seem to horrific to be true.

I love that a place all the way across the ocean would have the respect to stand with those hurting in Orlando. These acts of respect and remembrance connect humanity as we are supposed to be connected. No sort of gesture of respect could ever mend the hurt that those affected by the Orlando shooting feel, but I hope that it offers a feeling of togetherness. So many people lost their lives that night for reasons soaked in hate and bigotry. Seeing the flag at half-mast by the Liffey does work to restore the separateness that often comes with connecting global communities. It also shows that people at home and abroad can stand with those hurting in solidarity and support.

On Bloomsday, the day that honors James Joyce’s fictional character Leopold Bloom, a few of us decided to take the day slow. So, we rested up, washed some clothes, and headed out around lunchtime. We had little plans—some miscellaneous gift-buying and partaking in something that at least vaguely relates to Ulysses. Joyce wrote his Ulysses as a story that comprises one day—a long account of what could otherwise be a much shorter story. Others in our group spent the day trying to remap the steps of Harold Bloom’s epic journey. Call me under-ambitious, but my only goal for the day was to find a nice hard-copy edition of Ulysses, purchase it, and commemorate the moment by writing “Purchased on Bloomsday in Dublin, Ireland, 16 June 2016.” Then I, of course, would signed my name. Lorcan Collins, from the 1916 walking tour, implanted this idea in my head earlier in the week. I couldn’t shake the sentiment. I found the exact edition he recommended and did just as planned.

Later, we had lunch then made our way to the square at temple bar, hoping to see people dressed up in period clothing and acting out moments from the novel. Instead, we stumbled upon a band—four-piece, set up with a minimal sound system, playing a free show in the middle of the street. It all might sound gimmicky, except they were really talented. Based out of Dublin, they played all originals. Between songs, the singer would tell parts of the band’s story—how they pursued record labels, how they were consistently rejected, and how they eventually decided to take control of their music. During the last song, someone dressed up for Bloomsday joins the show, dancing along the front of the band in the empty space separating the crowd.