I sit here at my desk in London this morning crying. I'm one of 180,000 nationals who have left Ireland as an emigrant in the last four years and I've kept relatively quiet about this - all until now.
My heart is beating so fast while typing this. I don't know how to feel. I feel powerless, sad, happy, nervous, excited, scared. I've never felt all of these emotions at once.
You know when people get married, they speak of their big day. Well, today is my big day. If the yes vote passes in Ireland for the marriage referendum my big day will happen. In the country I adore. I cherish. I was raised in.
I've studied for an undergraduate degree. Got a masters. Passed my driving test at 18. But none of this is, even combined, matters more to me than what could be achieved in Ireland in the next 24 hours.
I moved to Ireland when I was 5. I knew I was different. Didn't fit in. I always put my ways down to the fact I was born in England. That's what I would tell people, anyway.
I didn't want to play Gaelic football but my dad would shout at me, "Just kick the fucking ball, Paudie."
My brother would always call me gay when we would argue and I would burst into tears fearing he knew what I was hiding, thinking, how does he know?
As I got older, in my primary school of just 38 pupils, I was left alone to eat lunch and cry by myself in the toilets. Bullied and taunted by my peers, I never felt so alone. Something I've never told anyone until now.
I've held secrets. My first gay kiss was when I was 17 in my second night of uni. I finally felt accepted. I didn't come out for two more years until I was 19 after spending a summer working in London.
It was here I met another Irish guy, older than me, who I held hands with, kissed at the tube station, chasing eachother along the Thames.
No one cared in London. That's the Ireland I want. Right there. For someone like that 17-year-old me to kiss the one they love without the stares, the queer bashing, bigoted looks and to have the courage to shout back, 'what are you looking at?'
I know my mum, dad, brother and friends back home are voting to make a change but I feel excluded from something I should be a part of.
I couldn't vote because I've been living in the UK for more than 18 months.
And the reason I was away from Ireland for that time is exactly because I felt more comfortable being a gay man in London than I did back home. I won't be the only one.
So when the country has a vote on exactly the issue that resulted in me leaving, I'm again exiled by not being allowed to vote for my future.
Think about it. The vote is asking the majority, heterosexual people, to decide on an issue only affecting a minority - some of whom aren't even allowed to vote because they've been driven away.
This is the scene on the 9:10 London to Holyhead train as Irish abroad return #hometovote #marref pic.twitter.com/spVfkb5sIT
— Naomi O'Leary (@NaomiOhReally) May 22, 2015
Anyway.
A load of us Irish got together for a friend's 30th two weeks ago. We all got drunk and the referendum came up. We exchanged stories and sat there in silence at 4am weeping about how we felt growing up, fearful of the polls after they got the UK general election result so wrong.
I don't want that for the next generation. I never want anyone to feel how I felt. I wouldn't wish it on my own worst enemy.
Everyone thinks of the Irish as the most hospitable people on this planet.
No matter where you go in the world the Irish as a nation are welcomed with open arms. From living in England, I can tell you that the English don't get treated that way.
Cead Mile Failte in Irish translates to one hundred thousand welcomes. That's the Ireland I hope for today: for the rest of the world to see what an extraordinary place it is.
The first country in the whole world to vote to change its constitution and recognise all citizens are equal, as one approving same-sex marriage in a national vote. No discrimination.
Imagine how many countries will follow suit if such a predominantly Catholic country changes its future this way.
Some of us London Irish gathered in Trafalgar Square two weeks ago to ask those at home who could use their vote to vote yes, as we couldn't use ours.
Ireland will vote in #MarRef on May 22. Us Irish in London please urge you to #UseYourVote and be a part of history. pic.twitter.com/WGXxejHcxU
— Padraig Prendergast (@paudieaudi) May 9, 2015
Next time I fly home and touch down in Ireland, it will be a different place.
Either a place where I go home and for the first time in my life I am fully accepted, or a place where my future husband and children will visit on holidays, because until Ireland has total equality, I don't think it's a place where I can live truly happily.
I flew into San Francisco back on June 26th, 2013 on the day that the Prop 8 ruling meant same sex couples could get married in California.
It was euphoric. I didn't realise at the time how big it was. I celebrated with the Americans for a week as people from all over the world flew in to be a part of history.
And other Irish people have hopefully booked out all of these flights for that same reason and making the right choice:
Every single @Ryanair seat is sold out from London Stansted & Luton to Dublin. Proud day to be Irish #MarRef #VoteYes pic.twitter.com/6afmrPmhiu
— Padraig Prendergast (@paudieaudi) May 20, 2015
At the risk of sounding nonsensical I didn't realise how much today would mean to me. I am so overwhelmed and so proud to be Irish.
Throughout my life, there's always been one Samuel Beckett quote that's got me by if things didn't work out the way I wanted.
"Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better."
But this time, Ireland and I will not take no for an answer.
There's a monstrous queue to get into Ireland this evening. Guess what they're all back for? #MarRef pic.twitter.com/IP811asPV1
— District Magazine (@DistrictDublin) May 21, 2015
Nonetheless, no matter what the result, the hard work of the campaigners, those who canvassed day and night, those who vote yes, those who flew home from as far as New Zealand, I thank you for doing what I couldn't today.
You will never know how much it means to me.
Make grá the law.
This article was originally published in V Point News.
