“Sheffield? Is that near London?”, a question I’d received numerous times on results day. Sheffield was a city unbeknownst to many of my Northern Irish friends who were all set to stay in Belfast or go in their hordes to Liverpool, Glasgow and Newcastle.
Many of them could not quite understand why I had decided – on results day – to go to university in a city I had never visited and could just about point out on a map.
I don’t know whether it was fate or the egoist inside me hell-bent on doing something different from my peers; either way, I had wound up in Sheffield.
As I drove through the peaks for the first time, the panic started to kick in. Knowing sod all about Sheffield, I remember remarking to my dad that it seemed a bit hilly – how naive I was then.
The warm attitude of the South Yorkshire people and the industrial feel of the city put me at ease and reminded me of Belfast. The first few weeks were a whirlwind of inductions, new faces and self-discovery. Nothing forces you to grow up quite like being 18 and alone in a new city.
It didn’t take long for this place to charm me, from the quirky Division Street to the peaceful Botanical Gardens, which was my refuge when I felt homesick or questioned my decision to come here alone.
As weeks and months went in, I started referring to Sheffield as ‘home’, much to my mother’s concern.
Maybe this was due to the parallels I had drawn between Belfast and Sheffield: the thriving independent food scenes, the music venues that called for a uniform of baggy jeans and a pair of Adidas Gazelles, the sticky pubs made for working men and broke students alike.
A dander down Sharrowvale Road was like a slice of home; the community feel and independent bakeries, fishmongers and florists were reminiscent of my small Irish village. I quickly decided this was where I would live in Sheffield.
So while much about this city reminded me of the Emerald Isle, the differences also grew on me. I may have missed the sea air, but the rolling reservoirs of the Peak District were a welcome substitute.
Venues such as The Harley and Hopeworks became spots I’d frequent on the weekends, where friendships were forged and where my love for dance music evolved.
Drives to lookout points across the city became my favourite activity. The way the buildings seemed to stack on top of each other was a view I could never get bored of; looking down at this city from above made me feel a part of it.
Four years later, my strong Irish accent has (slightly) toned down, and I’ve adopted phrases such as ‘reyt’ and ‘eh up’. In true Sheffield style, I even find myself leaving words out of my sentences altogether.
I now laugh at those who have negative things to say about Sheffield – those who take this city at face value and fail to see that the magic goes far beyond the lack of fuss and grandeur, which became what I love about the place.
When I think of the day I will leave this city, I find my eyes welling up, so maybe I won’t leave, or maybe if I do, I’ll find myself back here someday. No matter what happens, Sheffield has become a part of my identity, and I will carry a part of it with me wherever I go.
