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My name is Giulia Romano. I’m 34. I’m from Dublin, living in the Tallaght area, near Jobstown. I’ve been working as a taxi driver for five years now, and it was never my dream. Nobody dreams of spending half their life in a car, stuck in endless traffic on the M50 or crawling around Connolly Station. My car is an old Ford Focus. A simple banger, but it puts food on the table for me and my son every day. My dad bought it years ago when he could still work. Then his health started going downhill. The car was left to me, but along with it came the mechanics' bills, the debts, and the constant dread that one morning it just won't start. I live with my son, Sean. He’s seven. We rent a small room in Tallaght. Not an apartment, literally just one room. Shared kitchen, paper-thin walls, damp around the window, and a neighbour who’s always shouting. Rent — €640. Electricity, gas, bins, internet — almost another €190. Sean’s school, food, dad’s meds, petrol, insurance, motor tax, constant little repairs on the car... All together, it came to way more than I was earning. I was bringing in about €1,450 a month. My dad lives over in Ballyfermot, in a tiny room near Kylemore. He gets very little, and almost all of it goes on prescription drugs. So I help him out. The last few months were the worst. First, the car started making a knocking sound, then the check engine light came on. The mechanic at a garage off the Naas Road told me the clutch was completely shot. I was standing next to the car listening to the price, and only one thing was looping in my head: “Where on earth am I going to get this money?” The repair was nearly €1,180. Luckily, the car could still drive, so I just started working double shifts. Out the door at six in the morning. Coming back late, seeing Sean for five minutes, and collapsing into bed. I’d practically stopped sleeping. Nights were spent staring at the ceiling, thinking about overdue bills, the repair, the rent, the debt for the meds. Felt like my w
