Portarlington: 6000 people and too many pubs

The sign at Dublin Airport says: “Welcome home Jessica”.

I am exhausted.

After over 24 hours of flying (including a mad dash to connect to my final flight), I have finally arrived. I'm in Ireland - well, Portarlington to be exact. Portarlington is a charmingly small Irish country town of 6,000 people and far too many pubs, perhaps like any other small Irish town.

But this town is special.

This is the town where my dad grew up and ran a muck climbing trees and building rafts out of branches and rope.

I am greeted at the airport by my aunty, uncle and little cousins who warmly welcome me to Ireland. It's my first time here in over in over a decade.

The day after I arrive, my grandpa gives me a walking tour of the town.

It’s the middle of winter, so along with my runners, I quickly tug on stockings, jeans, an undershirt, a long sleeved shirt, a sweater and coat before heading out.

My grandpa pulls out an extra pair of gloves for me, warmly covers my ears with a beanie and shows me the town at a fast paced walk. We're walking so fast that we are almost running. I'm 21 and out of breath, and my grandpa is in his late 60s and flying.

As we speed through the narrow streets and houses packed tightly alongside each other, I get a glimpse of old buildings falling apart contrasted against the renovated swimming pool and new recreation center.

The walking tour ends at the local pub with my very first taste of Baileys. It tastes sweet and makes me warm inside on the cold winter day.

Weeks later, it's 4am and I find myself at a pub playing cards with bartenders and chatting away happily. The pub is officially closed and the front door is locked. I help them clean and we talk about all the places that we have traveled to and the places that we dream of going.

During those few months that I spent in Ireland, I experienced a few special firsts.

It was the first time I experienced the addicting heart-pounding feeling of running through an airport.

It was the first time that I drank Baileys.

It was the first time that I experienced the famous lock-in in an Irish pub.

And most importantly, it was the first time that I realized that Ireland had become a second home to me - with its too many pubs and its narrow streets.