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I miss Amsterdam like one misses a good friend they haven't seen in ages. Sometimes, on Friday evenings I long to jump on my bike and pedal in the chilly dark to the train station. I long to find a seat by a window and listen to good music as the train speeds and stops, speeds and stops. I long to stand on the platform in Zandaam for just a few more minutes until the connecting train to Amsterdam arrives. I long to feel that thick excitement in my stomach as Amsterdam grows and grows as the train pulls closer and closer. I long for that moment when I step outside the station and begin my march through the city. I long for an adventure in Amsterdam like those weekends passed because the sense of freedom and fun were the best company I have ever had. I miss Amsterdam, my best friend.
Nearly every single time I rode that bike from the last house in the village to the train station in Purmerend, I timed the journey. I did it so often that I am having a hard time even believing that I cannot doubtlessly recall how long it would take to go from the house to the station. 18 minutes on a good day? Or 21? Or did the train leave the station on the hour and then at 21 minutes past the hour? What was the train schedule? I don't even have the stops memorized anymore. Zandaam, of course, was where I would have to switch lines. Purmerend Overwhere was my stop coming back to the village.
But I can recall with certainty the feeling of walking out of Centraal into the open air with the buzz of the city funneling down the main thoroughfares. No matter what the weather and if it was day or night, that feeling was always there. Almost immediately I said that it was akin to meeting a best friend for a weekend get-away. A best friend that is reliable - always there for you to support you. To make you smile when you need it most. To comfort you with chance encounters. To charm you with little moments that seem immeasurable in the span of your entire life but little moments that make you feel infinite nonetheless.
I remember that feeling so well. I didn't really know myself so well then. I was an adventurist. I did not just want to go paces, I wanted to be somewhere. And I still don't know myself all that well right now but that feeling and those excursions and that best friend was all I ever needed, could ever need, if I weren't an adventurist.
The first time I wore this sweatshirt was on a white night in Amsterdam. I had stopped wearing my heart on my sleeve years before but that snow-filled night in a city that was once foreign to me, I was so full of heart. Now I'm living vicariously through that piece of clothing and the memories.
"Oh, hello, old friend," I'll say tonight, even if it is in my sleep. India is my first love. Italy is my greatest love. And Amsterdam is my new-old best friend.
Despite the fact that it has something like 9 or 10 months since I last updated here and I feel somewhat removed from this blog, I'd rather spit out the last few posts or so this place deserves even if no one is still reading. Regardless of how long it has been since I was in Holland. This post I've been sitting on the longest and I'm really glad to finally finish it up.
I've kept this down to five tips because everyone is different. Every family is different. Every au pair experience is different. I didn't want to get too specific with the dos and don'ts, but I did want to at least provide specific or thorough exposition for each point.
It's been awhile. Let's just skip the excuses, though I will admit I've been putting this post off. It seems procrastination is a habit that has stuck with me even after college. I just knew how much energy and effort would have to go in to writing this post the right way. I'm still not satisfied with it but here it is.
The last time I blogged here it had been a year since I first arrived in Holland. Now, to this very day it has been a year since I left Holland for the US. Last year, these past two weeks were probably the most difficult of my entire stay there because I was torn between wanting to leave and wanting to stay for reasons that almost directly opposed each other.
If you have not yet read the previous post please do so before continuing to read this post. To make sure, I'm putting the rest of this behind a jump...
It has been a year since I arrived in Holland. I finally feel like I am at a place where I can start being entirely honest about my experiences as an au pair. It is not that I have been lying this entire time but I have been selective in what I share and how I share it. Whenever I posted in the past I always edited it on the chance that my host parents would somehow discover my blog. But this is my story.
I was always pretty candid about one of my struggles (homesickness) but I never explained or even alluded to the main struggle. The root of the homesickness issue. What made life there so difficult that I wanted to leave by September. I was desperate but somehow I stayed and survived. Even though it has taken me all this time to not be resentful. Even though it taken me all this time to feel comfortable about talking about it at length with people other than close friends and family.
First, I'm no longer feeling reverse culture shock. Though, as you'll soon see, it was more of a reverse lifestyle shock than culture. Second, I encountered other au pair stories where the experience was less than positive for the au pair. I'm not alone! One of my favorite professors told me about his wife being an au pair in Sweden when she was about my age. Her experience was similar to my own on such basic levels that I figure what happened with her and what happened with me is more common than I ever thought. It was not until he shared that with me that I started to let go of the guilt I felt. I felt like I was the one who failed. I was embarrassed at how things turned out and avoided telling people the truth unless I knew they would understand. Seriously, I was crippled by guilt and insecurity for months after getting back from Holland. I felt guilty for every feeling I had in Holland and every feeling I had afterwards. I felt guilty because I felt like I had somehow let those around me down. That I had let myself down. Then I realized that life is always a two way street. In terms of experiences - any experience abroad (au pair or not) is what you make of it. But in the case of an au pair the equally responsible party is the host family.
By nature I am a positive person so you can imagine how it was an endless cycle of guilt when I was not being positive and felt like I had failed. I felt guilty for failing. I felt guilty for feeling guilty. I felt guilty for not being positive. And it would go on and on that way. Especially so since I firmly believe in choices and character and free love. As Dumbledore says, "It is our choices Harry, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities." I didn't make the choices I know now I should have made then. But I also don't believe in regret. It is a waste of time. I can't change the past. I only have control over the present moment. I have a choice in every present moment that can change everything. Just before I left for Holland I lived my life based on that principle and wonderful things were happening. I still believe in that philosophy so I'm going to start living in the moment again. Because lately I've spent too much time thinking either about the past or about the future.
To be more specific, this blog entry "Not a Cinderella Story: My Misadventures Au Pairing in Switzerland" is what pushed me to making a decision about sharing my full story. That is probably why I haven't been posting here anymore. I was avoiding it because deep down I knew I'd have to confess. It may have taken me this long to let go of all my resentment and feel grateful for the entire experience as a whole regardless of the negatives but I am grateful. And I'm ready. I still need to fall back in love with myself, which I think has already started happening in this beautiful Dixie summer. And part of the process is being honest. Being open.
That is what I have to say now and soon I'll tell the rest.
I am on the back of a bike. The metal bars meant to hold a package, purse or bag of groceries, is painfully digging into my rear end. I'm in a delicate state of balance. The tips of my toes are on the short bar that runs horizontally to connect to the axel of the back wheel. One slip and my toes will jam into the spokes. Even though I can't see what direction we're heading I anticipate the turns and stops by memory. In about half a minute we'll reach the end of the bridge and have to stop. The light at the intersection is rarely green whenever we pass through. I know we look completely absurd and when I'm not terrified about falling off, getting my toes stuck in the wheel, or loosing my balance, I'm giggling uncontrollably. Because I'm also balancing between two states of hysteria. I have a song stuck in my head and Annina explains to me, over her shoulder and she pedals us forward, the expression Germans use for such occurrences: earworm.
Taken August 2010, my adventure in Brussels. I took pictures of this couple being cute together on their bikes before walking past them later being street musicians near Manneken Pis. See that little rack on which the pack of water bottles sit? That is where I would perch when riding on Annina's bike.
That was last year. Sometime in the fall. In Amsterdam. With my dearest au pair friend. Only recently has a certain nostalgia for aspects of my life in the Netherlands begun to make an appearance. It usually materializes in my thoughts when I'm not really thinking. When I feel mindless. Going through the motions of something I could probably do with my eyes shut if I could. (But I wouldn't because most of those occasions are when I'm driving home from somewhere.)
My list-making self should probably start making a list of the things I realize I miss. But I probably won't and instead I have a trick that works much better than that. I save playlists. If I don't blog about something, take a picture, or make allusions in my journal, there isn't really a place for certain moments, experiences, or emotions to exist except in my memory. And memories fade, change, and sometimes disappear all together. I still remember learning about an earworm and in that memory lies the exposition of this post.
I make and save playlists for nearly everything. I have a playlist from when I read Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows for the first time. One song per chapter. If I run out of ideas for titles I'll just date it. So, the one titled "4-20" really refers to the fact that I happened to compile it on the 20th day of April and, despite what you might think, has no other association to the number arrangement. I have a playlist of songs I like listening to from back in the day when I was obsessed with playing The Sims. I have one that would be the soundtrack if I was a character in Skins. But mostly it goes by seasons, or months, and years. Here is collection of songs from the playlists I created in Holland. These are not all the songs that hold memories or were frequently blaring from my Macbook speakers or iPod headphones. These are just the ones that when I listen to now still have a overpowering orange flavor. Or an orange after taste. Or an orange spice, if even for just an instant. Orange for Holland, of course.
"Black River" by Amos Lee
When I visited Västerås I made it a point not to listen to music while I was there. (The train ride to/from Stockholm being the exception) so that the memories would seep into me and my soul in a different (and hopefully deeper) way. But when the week was over I found songs that somehow corresponded to my trips. The river that runs through Västerås, which I walked by a few times on Kulturnatt and after yoga in the castle, is called the Black River.
"Where Do My Bluebirds Fly" by The Tallest Man on Earth
The Tallest Man on Earth, aka: Kristian Matsson, is from Dalarna, Sweden. (Which is where the branches from my mother's side of the family and my father's side of the family originated at some point.) I downloaded all of his albums and EPs literally as soon as I got back to Holland from Sweden. And I listened to him every chance I got for something like two weeks straight. I don't want to say I was obsessed because that makes it seem like I'm crazy but maybe I am. I'm still pretty crazy about him. Have you ever discovered a musician and just felt so deeply connected to them and what they were singing that it was like you've known them and been listening to them your entire life? Yeah, that is how I feel about him in a nutshell. Like we were meant to be. Him, my headphones, and my heart. I listened to this particular song on repeat for hours one night while journaling about the transformation I felt happening in my soul.
"Cocaine Lights" by Phosphorescent
I listened to this song as the train back to Purmerend pulled away from Centraal Station at 12:09am on October 17th. The first two stanzas seemed perfectly timed for how I felt then. I was thinking of how much I missed BFF Brandy. The line "to be less of meat and stone / And more of feather" especially because I will never forget the time she asked me when we were probably only 14 what it would be like if we had feathers instead of skin. And Pablo Neruda's (a poet we both fell in love with on the same day in a book store in Kansas when we were again probably about 14) "Love, We're Going Home Now" is one of our favorites because we often feel like two blind birds about two blind birds searching for our homes. That October night one of the fellow au pairs I had become friends with was going home to Spain and I realized then that I would eventually being saying good bye to all the girls I spent every weekend with and almost every day Facebooking. Somehow, that night was when it finally set-in that the places in my life were not the only factors that shaped me but the people as well. It made me realize that there are so many people who you encounter and befriend. They mean something to you at some point in your life. And then life goes on. People are constantly passing through our lives. Annina walked me to the train station that night, all the way up to my platform, because that is what we do. We always walked each other to our departure points. Leaving goodbye-until-next-time for the very last moment. That was also the night I rode my bike back to the village in the dark for the first time and the cocaine lights kept me warm.
"Little Lion Man" by Mumford and Sons
I had downloaded a free Tap Tap Revenge app on my iPod and played it to pass the time away while waiting for the train. This was the only free song on there that I liked. I think I played it at least 100 times and got all the way up to the most difficult level. I can't listen to this song now and not twitch my fingers to the guitar chords.
"Big Bird in a Small Cage" by Patrick Watson
This goes a long with the bird stuff in the explanation of "Cocaine Lights." I also feel like it belongs in the soundtrack to my entire life, not just my life in Holland. The meaning is fairly easy to grasp.
My neglect of this blog is embarrassing and really has no excuse. I don't think even the most sincere apology will be sufficient. For the past few days I haven't had access to wifi at home so I'm scrounging some off at Panera. My dearest reader, there is so much I need and want to tell you but I just don't have the time right now. Until I get my wifi fixed here is a little follow up.
Hagelslag
Remember those messy but delicious sprinkles that are a staple of the Dutch lunch? I bought a box from World Market. I have a love-hate relationship with this particular delicacy. For all the times I had to spend sweeping them from the kitchen in Holland and wiping down the children vigorously only to find them scattered about regardless, I still caved in a bought some because I suppose, in a way, I have missed them. The sprinkles that is. The children I'll address in another post.
Paul
Remember Paul, my family's foreign exchange student last summer? He stayed in my room while I was in Holland and when I got back, aside from leaving some shopping bags hidden in a corner, he also forgot some French newspapers on the floor by my bed. I've kept them.
Gifts
Remember the gifts from abroad I was excited about giving people? They've all been distributed and I think everyone liked them.
Anne Frank
Remember when I visited the secret hideaway in Amsterdam with my friend Caitlyn? And how much admiration I have for Anne? I'm volunteering now at the Georgia Commissions for the Holocaust's Anne Frank Around the World Exhibit. It makes me very happy to be able to hang out with Anne a few hours every week.
Yoga
Remember that one time I used getting back into yoga as a metaphor for adjusting after time abroad? Well, I still haven't mastered the headstand yet. I'm closer every practice. But I just wanted to fix a little case of mistaken identity. The instructor who I referred to as Glenn in that post is actually Jason. Glenn teaches on Thursday evenings and he is very different from Jason.
Sweden
Remember that one time I stayed with my wonderful relatives in Sweden? Well, I still carry that with me every day and it is a part of who I am. There is a wonderful blog, The Modern Viking Vixen: A Foreigner's Guide to American Survival, written by a Norwegian living in L.A. She is by far one of my favorite bloggers. And if you're reading this blog then you should be reading hers. I'm still flattered and honored to have been featured in one of her Motivational Monday posts. Check it out!
There is a commercial circulating the TV networks right now that makes me cringe. It is an advertisement for birth control and it implies that having children means you have less choices in life. Or not have a life of your own at all. But that isn't the point I want to make. Put it on mute. The women are walking through a store hand-picking the most major decisions most young adults face. They just reach out, pluck a house, significant other, graduate school diploma,and what not off the shelf and put it in their basket. As if it were all really that easy. I used to cringe whenever it came on but now I've graduated into some entry-level curses instead. I can't be the only person that is bothered by it but I think the fact that I now completely despise it holds a strong link to my re-entry experience.
I've provided an overview of my previous drama with re-entry and shared my first "ah-ha" moment this time around. Now, let's to get down to it. Here are the main components of reverse culture shock:
Feeling alienated. Any experience abroad, any encounter with the world no matter if it is just a glimpse, has an effect on a person's psyche. What one experiences abroad can never be fully relayed to others beyond the surface level. The returner can tell stories and the audience will listen politely, but no matter how genuinely interested they are there will be some sort of barrier. An invisible line separating the returner's experiences from their audience's understanding. It is no one's fault that this happens and of course sometimes it doesn't really matter. But it can also cause some angst. The returner can become easily wrapped up in thinking that no one understands. It is a little bit like being a teenager again. However, on the other side of the coin, this is why I will always have a special relationship with the people I met/befriended abroad. There is an unspoken understanding and connection between us that grew from our encounters and experiences abroad. I think it is human nature to want to connect with people and in terms of re-entry there is only a certain level of connection that can be achieved no matter the medium: picture slideshows, lectures, first-hand accounts, ect.
Frustration. The inability to relate to others upon return can lead to frustration. It can manifest itself in such a way that the returner might not realize it's true cause. It can take any length of time for the realization to occur or it could, in my case, only take a challenging yoga session. Just as I became frustrated at times because I couldn't understand the Dutch culture in certain instances, I now become similarly flustered and confused about things I am re-encountering in my home country. I question myself, second guess myself, and try to understand everything, which could really just be a personality trait but it certainly becomes a heightened issue during my period of adjustment.
Indecisiveness. This is another side effect of the frustration and/or the alienation. If you're confused then making decisions can be very difficult. For me, even the simple choice of which pair of shoes to wear can become overwhelming. If you lack definition then nothing really feels right. So far, what has really helped me in this area has been my close friends and family members. They force me to refocus. Brandy in particular because she knows me so well that in some strange way she has the ability to shift me into the right perspective on life. For others undergoing reverse culture shock I think it is important, despite the alienation that displaces them from those around them, to force oneself to spend time with significant people: a parent or spouse or sibling or best friend or mentor. People change and relationships change so those who have been through thick and thin with you or those who possess life-wisdom provide the ideal context for reorientation. They'll accept the returner and be open to what he/she is going through while providing support at the same time.
“It is paradoxical but true that something that takes you out of yourself also restores you to yourself with a greater freedom.”
—Every Day in Tuscany: Seasons of an Italian Life by Frances Mayes
Additional side effects include: withdrawal, a feeling of rootlessness, negativity, insecurity, and a need for excessive sleep. I had no idea that last one can be attributed to the re-entry experience until I did some reading online but in a way it makes perfect sense. I've been having multiple dreams a night nearly every night for almost a month now. I don't feel well-rested when I wake up even if I've gotten my full quota of sleeping hours. My subconscious is incredibly active, which is a good sign, but when I'm awake I'm still feeling that blankness. That neutral emptiness. It can only disappear with time so patience is one quality that returners need to foster within themselves during their period of adjustment.
Also while reading online, I've come across many suggestions on how to help make the transition easier. Get active in your community. Keep in contact with friends from abroad. Keep yourself busy with projects of varying importance. Some things might work better for certain people. I know what works for me. Journaling. Reading. Meditation. Jogging. I have myself on an easy-to-digest diet of all those things. The tricky part is determining how often and how hard to push myself. I think the returner should be aware of their resistance from the beginning. Embrace the "symptoms" at first so that they're not avoiding the heart of the matter later on.
Now can you see why I feel the way I do about that damn commercial? I know it is not a big deal. It is just a commercial. One minute. Just change the channel. Turn off the TV. I know, I know. The first time I saw it I wished that life really were like that but then I thought about it. The process of making a decision can have just as much (or more) of an effect on one's life than the actual outcome of the decision. Nothing in life is ever easy and that is for a good reason. The more you have to endure and experience, the more you learn. I did my research about becoming an au pair but nothing could have sufficiently prepared me for those six months. I went over there wanting to discover myself. There are probably easier, less costly, ways for me to have done that but it was a one-of-a-kind experience. As cheesy as it sounds, I'm a changed person. I wouldn't be if life was really like that commercial. Yes, it would be nice to just strap a trip to Paris to the roof of my car and be gone but it is the process, the experience, the getting-there that has weight as well. It takes time to build the life you want. It takes time to readjust. I'm still learning things about myself that I don't think I ever would have discovered in any other setting. I'll always have that wanderlust and that thirst for adventure but right now I need to settle into this new life. This new me.
On Wednesday, for the first time in my entire life, I almost walked out of a yoga class. There wasn't a flow and the instructor, Glenn, had a very odd idea of ambiance: Phil Collins and James Brown. I have nothing against Phil but I just don't find his compositions particularly conducive to yoga. And I suppose I can understand where Glenn was coming from with James because he is, after all, the King of Soul and yoga goes to those depths as well. However, it seemed too forced to have "I Feel Good" playing while we moved into our salutation series. Then, "Sex Machine" came on and the ridiculousness really got to me. My mental and physical spheres were completely disjointed. I had no sense of balance. I was in pain and that damn music was contributing to my frustration. So, I almost rolled up my mat and left. I wasn't the only one. A few people did just that but something made me stay. It got worse before it got better but I stuck it out. Yoga is not about giving up.
Just before our cool down we did a few challenges. The first was a full backbend. I hesitantly bent my knees, lined up my feet and palms, and took a few deep breaths. I was going to do it just to spite Glenn but I didn't think I would be able to hold it very long. I was stiff, tired, and annoyed but I pushed up anyways. It hurt like hell but my navel kept pulling towards the ceiling. Towards the sky. Glenn had changed the music to "The Ride of the Valkyries." What a cruel sense of humor but it actually matched perfectly as my hips, back, and shoulders rose up in an arch. Suddenly, I felt a surge of strength. So, instead of complaining to myself about how stupid the music is or how un-instructive and insensitive Glenn was being, I let myself go. I gave in to the pain and it disappeared. My overactive ego shut up and all I could feel were my hands and feet grounded into the floor. Blood rushing into my head. And that mysterious strength keeping my navel steady. When it was time (but with no idea how much time had passed), I came out of the pose and Glenn told us to move into a headstand if we were comfortable doing so. I knew for sure that I wasn't going to be able to do a full one but I set myself the goal of building up my strength and balance over the next few weeks so that I would be able to do one. I set myself a goal.
Image from the movie Forgetting Sarah Marshall. If you don't mind profanity watch the full scene here otherwise enjoy the censored version above.
A few more stretches later, as we all relaxed into corpse pose, Glenn finally got something right when he put on Bob Marley. (Even though it made me feel a short pang of memory because Bob reminds me of my au pair friends back in Holland.) Before we were dismissed Glenn reminded us that the word of the day was "playful." I was a few minutes late to class so I missed that, which would have probably made me open up earlier on. I was taking everything too seriously when my only task was to be playful and light.
In the introduction post I outlined some of the aspects of reverse culture shock: alienation, frustration, negativity, restlessness, uncertainty, and so on. I'm going through all of that right now but unlike last time, when I came back from Italy, my realization moments are happening sooner rather than later. I realized during yoga class (instead of after) that I had been projecting all my frustration with myself onto Glenn. I couldn't balance or concentrate because I was being stubborn. In fact, I wasn't even trying. I was just expecting to blend back into yoga even though it had been months since I last did a full session. When Glenn told us to hop or step from forward fold into plank I stepped back every time. I know I can't just jump right back into life again after so many months away. It is okay that I'm not ready to do a handstand right now. I need to build myself up to it. I need to reconnect. I need to be patient. Besides, most of the time the only person holding me back is myself. I did my best back bend after I told myself to just let go. My life may seem upside down right now, but I have a goal and once I rise up into that headstand I think everything will start turning right side up again. With my feet in the air and head on the ground I might gain some clarity. It is reverse culture shock after all. Also, unlike last time when I came back from Italy, I'm not going to let myself be stubborn. I'm not going to be so hard on myself and those around me. I'm going to be a bit more playful.
I made it back to the US. For the first two weeks I was still living out of a suitcase and going on adventures but I'm home now in Georgia. There's been some snow and ice in these parts so everyone has been cooped up inside these past few days. What better time for me to finally sit down and blog?
I've written about some fairly personal things on here already but I think that this topic really digs deep. This is something that I've really only been open about with just a few people.
When I returned to Gustavus the fall semester of my senior year, after having studied abroad in Italy for four months, I had a very difficult time getting back into the academic and social atmosphere of college. I felt very distant from my peers. I even felt like I no longer connected with my closest friends. I couldn't verbalize what I was going through. I didn't understand why the things and people that once made me so happy could barely get me out of bed in the mornings. I don't think I was depressed - I just felt blank. I didn't feel happy or sad. I didn't feel anything. I attributed this to the fact that I fell in love with Florence and that my ultimate joy in life meant I had to go back there. That everything else paled in comparison. That I no longer belonged at Gustavus. But no one can ever go back. The life I had and the person I was at Gustavus before I went to Italy no longer existed. And when I return to Florence some day I'll be a different person than I was when I studied there.
That semester at Gustavus I was enrolled in a creative non-fiction writing course. I've always loved writing and it has always been the one constant in my life. But, at first, I hated going to that class. I was so lost but I was purposely holding myself back. I was being incredibly stubborn and selfish by not allowing myself to contemplate the effect Italy had had on me because that would put me in the present moment. It would make the line between my time in Italy and my current situation visible and almost tangible. It would mean accepting that I had left Italy and was back at Gustavus. I didn't want to let go and assimilate into the new, post-Italy chapter of my life. In leaving Italy and returning for my final year at Gustavus, I felt like I had taken a huge step backward when all I wanted to do was move forward. I had seen just how big and beautiful the world is – I didn't want to spend the next nine months in a college campus, writing papers, eating at a cafeteria, and living in a cramped dorm room. It turns out that the root of all that was actually reverse culture shock and I had no idea until I started that writing class. It became the mechanism for coping with the reverse culture shock because it forced me to look inside myself. Fiction is my element but I signed up for that class with the intention of challenging myself. Throughout the course of the semester, all the readings and class exercises, especially those based in the memoir genre, chipped away the layers of resistance I had built. In the beginning, I wanted to avoid any and all memoir based exercises because I don't like sharing anything about myself. This blog is testament that my comfort level with that has since changed.
For the final portfolio I set myself up to write pieces that were very personal. Again, I wanted to challenge myself. By this time I was aware of how the class was subtly helping me through my adjustment issues. So, I wanted my portfolio to represent a journey. The writing pieces included in the portfolio represented a quest: personal, intellectual, and spiritual. The most important piece in the portfolio was a travel journal, “L'amore dell'Italia (For the Love of Italy.)" I used the journal structure so that it felt intimate. I don't want the reader to feel like an outsider, or be disconnected from my experiences. I wanted to bring them to feel as though they had been there with me. Writing for that class was very painful but beautiful. And to have others read and provide feedback was the best form of therapy for me. It also just so happened that the last day of that class was the same day I turned my honors thesis in to the Classics department. Since I was so lost I avoided most social functions and poured my time into writing that thesis. I even picked a topic related to what I studied in Italy. I couldn't let go of Italy so I wrote something like 35 pages and when I turned it in I felt like I could finally start moving on.
The next semester I took a senior seminar class centered on the theme of identity. It was the perfect continuation in the "healing" process. We read various books about other people's search for self and we incorporated zen philosophy/meditation. Almost a year after I returned to Italy, I was finally myself again. I felt whole. And those past few weeks of school were nothing short of amazing. I reconnected on a deeper level with all my old friends. I made amazing connections with new friends. I was living in the moment instead of dwelling on the past or letting myself become too overwhelmed by the uncertainty of my future.
Now that I am on the other side of my experience in Holland, it is time for me to begin the assimilation process all over again. I know it will be very different from the last time I had to go through this. For one, I am not clinging to the elements of my life in Holland like I did with Italy. I was already mentally preparing myself before I left Holland because I had a pretty good idea what I would face when I returned to US soil. Secondly, I don't have the same outlets like classes and assigned reading. I have to be the one to set up a curriculum. But it hasn't taken me as long to realize and accept that I have changed.
This story began as most stories do - with a journey from home. A step out into the great wide world. The heroine, seeking self-discovery, was full of dreams and eager for adventure. She wanted to experience life somewhere far from what she knew. But she realized there is a lot she doesn't know. The pursuit of knowledge has always been burning up her spirit. Read. Study. Listen. Watch. Learn. Absorb.
I don't want to say that I found myself. I don't want to say that I was ever really lost. But now that I am going home I feel like I'm returning to more than just a place. I don't know everything but I learned a lot these past six months. I know myself much better than before which is to say I know myself significantly better than before because I always thought I knew myself pretty well. Does that make sense? I also have a better idea about what I want.
“Heroes take journeys, confront dragons, and discover the treasure of their true selves.”-Carol Lynn Pearson
So, I am standing on the verge of another journey. The return journey. My skin is a little thicker. I have some battle scars. Some amazing tales never made it onto this blog. But isn't that how it usually goes? Most of the time I feel like my words are inadequate in relaying my experiences. My thoughts. My joy. My sadness. My desires. It would be impossible for me to share everything with you. But there are scenes from movies or passages in books that precisely convey what is rumbling about in my heart. Or head. Or a combination thereof. If you've been reading you'd understand me when I say that I have an affinity for The Wizard of Oz. I watched it a lot as a kid. So much that when I watched it yesterday it felt like déjà vu. I loved it before I ever lived in Kansas.
I leave the Netheralnds tomorrow, if all goes as planned. Like I said, my adventures are far from over. I'll continue to update here about the reverse culture shock and what not. Since I can't really put into words what I am feeling at this very moment about this very moment and concerning the culmination of the past six months, I'm including a few quotes I've collected:
•"Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn't do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream." -Mark twain
•“The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes but in having new eyes.”
-Marcel Proust
•“What is that feeling when you’re driving away from people and they recede on the plain till you see their specks dispersing? – It’s the too-huge world vaulting us, and it’s good-by. But we lean forward to the next crazy venture beneath the skies.” - Jack Kerouac
•“Being in a foreign country means walking a tightrope high above the ground without the net afforded a person by the country where he has family, colleagues, and friends, and where he can say what he has to say in a language he has known from childhood.” -Milan Kundera
•"So the tree rustles in the evening, when we stand uneasy before our own childish thoughts: Trees have long thoughts, long-breathing and restful, just as they have longer lives than ours. They are wiser than we are, as long as we do not listen to them. But when we have learned how to listen to trees, then the brevity and the quickness and the childlike hastiness of our thoughts achieve an incomparable joy. Whoever has learned how to listen to trees no longer wants to be a tree. He wants to be nothing except what he is. That is home. That is happiness."
-Hermann Hesse
•"Though we travel the world over to find the beautiful, we must carry it with us or we find it not." -Ralph Waldo Emerson
•"No creature is fully itself till it is, like the dandelion, opened in the bloom of pure relationship to the sun, the entire living cosmos." -D.H. Lawrence
•"And above all, watch with glittering eyes the whole world around you because the greatest secrets are always hidden in the most unlikely places. Those who don’t believe in magic will never find it." -Roald Dahl
The children don't have school this week which means I get three whole days of quality time with Roeland and Rosa before I leave. It has been awhile since I watched both of them together for a full day. Today was crazy. Instead of au pairing two Dutch children I felt like I was responsible for Thing 1 and Thing 2. They were all over the place and most of the time on the upper levels of the volume scale.
When my mom sent some gift packages for the children she included little toys, t-shirts from the Coca Cola factory in Atlanta, and these socks from Universal Studios.
Christmas spirit has infected the three of us. Roeland kept singing the same line over and over: "Simply having a wonderful Christmas time." Except the first few words come out as "sinty ebby..." He wore his Santa hat all day. There is a little bell on it so his first request this morning was that Rosa and I put our hats on as well and we can all sing "Jingle Bells." In the afternoon we went outside to play in the snow. Did you hear about how much snow hit Europe?
Snipped from The Atlanta Journal-Constitution and scanned by my dad.
It seems one last coffee in Amsterdam is unlikely before Thursday but Europe rarely gets snow of like this. I like that I am here to witness it, even if it cancelled all the plans I had for my last weekend in Holland. I'm praying that current or future conditions won't hinder any of the three flights I am booked to take before the end of the week. Hoping, wishing, and praying.
P.S. My friend Caitlyn has a blog. She's an au pair in Brescia, Italy. She's fantastic so you should check it out! Right this way, if you please.
Last night I got down to business and started packing. Right now I have designated areas for each suitcase, which means my room is messier than usual. I found a pile of used train tickets and some cash in three different currencies. That made me laugh. I also went through all the letters, cards, and postcards people have sent me. That made me smile.
I'm making lists again. I have two sets: an inventory of gifts for people and things to-do/pack. They're hanging from one of the desk shelves, right below the National Geographic picture-a-day calender. Botswana, Bermuda, Sicily, and other places around the world. It has been on July 1st this whole time because it is a picture of Minnesota.
My original plan for today was to go to Den Haag but Holland was hit with some major snow yesterday. So, not all the trains are running today. Plan B - continue packing, fill out applications online, update Shutterfly, clean out iTunes, and make a music playlist for the plane ride home. In the meantime, here are a few videos from my two most recent adventures in Amsterdam.
Although I was tempted to take the tram because of the cold I decided to spend my day walking instead. It ended up being a good decision because it was the best day I've spent in Amsterdam. Lately, I've been very conscious, once again, about memory. All these new memories I've made seem to bring old memories with them. "I saw this and it reminded me of you..." is a phrase I've used often here. I've also started going back and reading my previous blog entries. This part astounded me: "It is funny sometimes how things tend to come full circle....Now you can see how all these memories of mine are connected in their own strange way. Or in my mind, at least. I'm going to keep making lists and I'm going to keep remembering. In less than a week, after I step onto that plane destined for Amsterdam, I'll have new memories to share with you. I hope you're ready." So, I've been sharing all sorts of experiences with you but everyone has baggage. I try my best to live in the present moment and not dwell on the past or think too much about the future. But every place I've been and every person I've met is part of me. I carry it all with me. So, I hope you don't mind the times I have (and will) share old memories alongside new ones. Everything is connected, you know.
Walking towards Amstel and Waterlooplein
I knew it was one of my last times in the city, so I made it a point to notice all sorts of charming details. That made it hard for me to get through the flea market at Waterloo without buying a few things. I made away with some excellent purchases but I can't tell you about them because they're Christmas-sensitive items.
Alexander the Great at The Hermitage
I'd seen posters for this exhibit at the train station in Purmerend a few weeks ago and since then I'd been aching to go. Partly because I hadn't been to the Hermitage yet but mostly because I love Alexander. It was the best Classics centered exhibit I have ever seen. It was very well organized and provided a portrait of Alexander from his lifetime and beyond. Cameras were not allowed inside and I forgot to bring in my little notebook to record facts, realizations, and favorites. At first, without my usual pen and paper, I felt so naked but I enjoyed moving from artifact to artifact without stopping. Everything in the exhibit belongs to The Hermitage's permanent collection in St. Petersburg. It was structured thus: introduction/cultural context, areas conquered, legacy, portrait, and influence on European monarchies (specifically Russia's Catherine the Great.)
"This episode from the history of Alexander the Great comes from Plutarch. During a siege of a fortress in Bactria, the eastern part of the Persian state of Darius III, Roxane - daughter of a Bactrian satrap or nobleman - was captured. In an effort to gain the support of the Persian aristocracy, Alexander married her. Rotari here shows Alexander's meeting with Roxane, who is surrounded by weeping slaves and stands modestly before the amazed military commander."Image and Caption Source
It opened with this painting by Pietro Rotari (Italy, 1756). From this moment onward I was full of passion. It may sound silly but tears began to pull behind my eyes because I suddenly felt so much. I always tend to become rather tender in the face of art and history, but even more so when it comes to certain eras or figures. Alexander, of course is one. I felt the sweet weight of memory. I remembered learning about him for the first time in elementary school and proposing that when Owen was born his middle name be that of the great Macedonian. Then I remembered the Greek History class at Gustavus in the fall of my sophomore year. Reading about him. Writing about him. Discussing his cultural influence and his legacy. Study sessions with some of my favorite friends. Honestly, it was one of the best classes I ever took. Mostly because of the ladies in it with me but also because of it being about Ancient Greece.
Study guide timeline - Democracy (?)
It was like I was visiting an old friend for the afternoon. If you don't know much about Alexander and are interested in learning more or exploring the exhibit digitally, the exhibit's website is very informative. Read an introduction here and check out the highlights here. For me, the highlights included: engraving's of Charles Le Brun's paintings of Alexander's life for King Louis XIV's palace, a wood relief based on Le Brun for Catherine the Great's lover, Italian armor from the 16th century depicting the Greek heroes Alexander admired, Scythian burial artifacts, Indian busts of Buddha depicting the influence of the Greek "wet look," Russian cameos of the Trojan heroes commissioned by Catherine the Great. I was very pleased that the cameo collection also included woman such as Iphigenia and Cassandra.
Many European monarchs tried to emulate Alexander. Catherine the Great had an instruction book created for her grandsons, Constantine and Alexander, based on events from Alexander the Great's life. I found it most interesting that even in Venice, a staunch republic, Alexander was revered not for his kingly greatness but for his humanity and good deeds. No matter how history represents him there is no denying that he should be counted as one of the most important figures of the Western world. Perhaps even the greatest.
Music in Dam Square
One of my favorite aspects of my European travels is the street music. Every city I've been to has musicians playing in public, guitar cases open for coins. Dam Square almost always has someone playing on the weekends. One night, while passing through with friends, I heard James O'Reilly singing. The weekend Caitlynn was here we listened to Giovanni Bassano and his guitar for a bit. I was impressed both times and then on this particular adventure into Amsterdam I was lucky enough to catch them together. Giovanni on guitar and James singing. You can easily guess what their home countries are and that I'm more than a little bit in love with them both. Both countries and both musicians, that is. They played in the afternoon and again later in the evening. I stood in the crowd both times taking pictures and video. A little boy was in complete awe and refused to be part of the audience. He wanted to stand close and no matter how many times his mom called him over or his father tried to guide him back to his buggy, he wouldn't budge. I bought James' CD and have been swooning every time I've listened to it this week.
When I woke up this morning I did not feel like P. Diddy. I had Bruno Mars' "Just the Way You Are" stuck in my head, which is a wonderful way to start one's day. On the way to pick the children up for lunch the flawless Dutch radio played Cyndi Lauper blended into "I Just Died in Your Arms Tonight." Its been a great day so far and, with eight days left until I leave, I'm trying to savor all these moments. I'm already starting to sense how much I'm going to miss the children. I spent Saturday in Amsterdam (adventure post pending) and felt the first wave of what it will be like to say good-bye. But, if you read on, you'll see that my adventures will not end when I leave Holland.
Less than 24 hours after I land in Atlanta my dad and I are flying up to Minnesota to join my mom and brothers, who fly up on the 21st, for Christmas. My time will be split between our hotel suite and both grandma's houses. Guess who else is coming up?
Brandy is taking a Greyhound bus up from Kansas City to join me for New Year's in the "Land of 10,000 Lakes." (Thanks, Mom!) As you can see, we're incredibly excited. To celebrate the fact that we'll see each other for the first time in person since New Year's 2008, we danced around to "Total Eclipse of the Heart" and quoted a good portion of Ferris Bueller's Day Off.
But that isn't all. I'm roadtripping back to Atlanta with Erica when she drives down to Florida to start her internship in January. The big open road, excellent company, and more great music? Yes, please.
I'll have a lot on my plate when I get back to the States. School loan payments and unemployment. I'll have a lot to figure out. And there are some other special people I want to see and spend some quality time with. So much to do and think about. But Holland has definitely helped me transition from being a "thinker" to a "doer." I'm sniffing out opportunities, savoring my last week here, and looking forward to the next chapter in my life. Now, instead of Bruno Mars, I have Ferris stuck in my head.
Last weekend when I returned from Amsterdam I found that the Christmas tree was up in the living room and remnants of Sinterklaas' and Zwarte Piet's surprises stored in my room.
I've been doing some research about how the Dutch celebrate Christmas and I really like what I discovered. I hope you're ready for a little history lesson because this particular holiday is a wonderful blend of Holland and the United States...
Sinterklaas. Saint Nicholas. Nicolas of Myra. Patron saint of children, sailors, and Amsterdam.
He was born in Patara (part of modern Turkey) during the third century. He came from a wealthy family but he gave his time and money to helping the poor. He died on December 6th, 347 A.D. He is commemorated on that date. He lives in Spain and comes to the Netherlands by boat in mid-November. Between then and December 6th he makes appearances throughout the country with his helper(s), Zwarte Piet(en). He keeps a very clean schedule so as not to appear in two places at once. Then, on the eve of his death, children put out their shoes with a carrot for his white horse. Sinterklaas leaves treats and gifts behind for the children. However, he kidnaps those who have had bad behavior.
Although the Dutch adapted the saint and created a tradition based on the legend, Sinterklaas isn't entirely a Dutch invention. Many elements of the story and celebration can be traced to pagan aspects. The Germanic pagan god, Wolden/Odin, rode a white horse and was honored during the Winter Solstice. Children originally left carrots for his steed near the chimney. Odin rewarded their kindness by leaving fruit or treats.
Sinterklaas was brought to America before it was officially the United States. Dutch settlers established a town called New Amsterdam in 1626. Although the city was founded by Protestants it awarded its inhabitants the freedom of religion. Catholics and Protestants alike adopted Saint Nicholas as the city's patron. In 1664, when it was captured by the English, the celebration of Nicholas was mentioned in the Articles of Capitulation. New Amsterdam became New York and for awhile the religious rights were only celebrated in the Dutch communities. In order to promote New York as a unique city with a unique identity, Washington Irving presented Sinterklaas as the patron saint of the city in his 1809 publication, The History of New York. The influence of Dutch culture in New York set it apart from other American cities.
While the United States continued to establish it's own identity, Clement Clarke Moore wrote the poem "'Twas the Night Before Christmas" in 1823. Sinterklaas became Saint Nick. He traveled by a reindeer drawn sleigh (not on a white horse), carried a bag of toys (not full of sweets), and slid down chimneys. He resembled an elf but forty years later his "Old World" appearance was shed for the figure we know today. In 1863 the political cartoonist Thomas Nast presented him as Santa Claus, a large and bearded old man from the North Pole who wears a fur-trimmed hat and red suit. At first Santa made the toys himself in his workshop with the help of his elves but as the U.S. became industrialized so did he. And as the U.S. became more capitalized, Santa was brought along for the ride. During the Great Depression, Coca Cola created an advertising campaign based on Santa. He continued to transform with American popular culture. Gene Autry released the song "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" in 1948 and so a niche in the music industry was created for songs revolving around Santa. At some point after WWII, with the baby boom and rise of the nuclear family, someone invented Mrs. Claus - a pleasant housewife - to take care of Santa and keep him from being lonely. It certainly helped promote him as a grandfather-like icon. A hardworking man who thoroughly enjoyed his leisure time by smoking his pipe and eating. But Santa never takes life too seriously. He is young at heart and loves all the little children. Instead of kidnapping misbehaved boys and girls like his Dutch ancestor, Santa Claus leaves lumps of coal which could actually be somewhat useful. Instead of leaving treats in shoes, his gifts go in stockings pinned to the fireplace.
In November, when Sinterklaas arrived here in the village on his boat from Spain my first impression was mixed. He looks very dignified in his bishop's robes and he carries himself in a very noble manner, but I couldn't get the image of the fat and funny Santa Claus out of my mind. Zwarte Piet, though much more approachable and happy, put me off a little too because the costume consists of black face paint, an afro wig, and red lips. And he, not Sinerklaas, is the one who does all the work. Like a slave. I instantly thought of American "blackface" theater, the Jim Crow era, and terrible slurs such as "darky" and "coon." I tried not to be offended, remembering that cultural offenses are often rooted in misunderstanding, so I waited to pass judgement based on my American outlook. It turns out I'm not the only one to have this sort of reaction.
Most American tourists feel the exact same culture shock. I mean, I don't think I've used the phrase "culture shock" once when talking about my experiences in Holland. And I was in no way surprised to discover that Santa Claus comes from Sinterklaas. In the past ten years or so the character of Zwarte Piet has received criticism from the Dutch and in 2006 the Dutch Programme Foundation proposed that Zwarte Piet (which literally means "black Pete") be changed to rainbow-colored Pieten. The experiment only lasted one year. I also read that his skin-color was due to the fact that he spent most of his time going up and down chimneys so he was covered in soot. But I don't buy it.
When my friend Caitlynn visited, she had the same reaction when I explained the story of the Dutch Sinterklaas and Zwarte Piet. The last day I was able to stay with her in Amsterdam was December 5th so there were Zwarte Pieten all over. She was eager to take pictures, only to bring it back as proof that the Dutch really do paint themselves black and dance around passing out candy for Christmas. But at this record store near Dam Square they were handing out coffee, which I much prefer.
Also, I must admit that I prefer the American Santa Claus to the Dutch Sinterklaas. But, I truly have enjoyed celebrating and learning about this particular Dutch tradition. Who doesn't like getting free chocolate? All of this is not to say that Santa Claus is perfect. He can be weird and somewhat unsettling. I know it is friendly to sit on his lap and tell him what you want for Christmas when you're a kid but that is a bit strange. Just see this collection of pictures as proof.
Today I was going to post about Christmas (again) because Sinterklass came this weekend and left gifts for the children. I still plan on putting that entry up on the blog but for today I have something completely different to share with you.
Music. It would be an understatement to say that it is one of my most favorite things. I could go on and on about how music is a powerful force in my life and my travels. I could tell you about all the songs that have made it onto my "Life in Holland" playlist and which will forever remind me of my time here. I could, I probably will, but let's go in a slightly different direction...
During my senior year of high school I had to read Wuthering Heights for AP Literature. I think it was the only book that I didn't read. (Sorry, Mr. Roper!) After maybe 50 pages or so I just couldn't go any further. The way I remember it, I made it pretty clear to everyone in my class that I was not a fan. At all. Still, it was a required part of the curriculum so I tried to find a way to like it. That is when I found the following:
Wuthering Heights is a classic. Kate Bush is a classic. Both points can be argued but this video is epic and hilarious at the same time. I convinced our teacher to pull it up on his computer one day so we could all watch it on the projector. It became a running joke among me and my classmates/friends. It still is. If that is how people from high school remember me I think I am okay with that.
How many times have I watched this video? Too many. Does it ever get old? Nope. How is this relevant? Today it came on the radio while I was picking the children up from school. It made my day. I love the variety of music Dutch radio stations provide. Katy Perry, Elvis, Seal, Queen, Bob Dylan, Lil' Wayne, Prince, Nina Simone, and those are just the ones I remember. They play everything you can imagine. But to hear this song was the deal maker. Dutch radio is the best. And this song never gets old. I know every word and if you ask me (read: bribe me) I'll break out some of the dance moves too.
One of my favorite friends from high school, Caitlyn, visited Amsterdam this weekend. We hadn't seen each other since the Christmas of 2008, just before my family moved from Kansas to Georgia. Just before my time in India and about a year before Italy. Well, she arrived on Thursday and left Monday afternoon. I joined her Friday evening and left Sunday night. We stayed together at a hostel near Central Station, in a 20 bed mixed dorm full of boys. It smelled like dirty socks but we didn't mind too much. We were reunited in Amsterdam, of all places. She is currently an au pair in Italy. She also studied abroad in Florence but the semester before I was there. Deep down I think I always knew we'd meet up somewhere in Europe. And we did. And it was grand.
Thanksgiving Break 2008 - Back in the day when I dyed my hair dark. Going back to my natural blonde took a whole year after Italy.
Random Moments for those too lazy to read the full account
-Almost falling on our arses behind Westerkerk when we turned around to head back after seeing a long line at the Anne Frank House. It turns out that instead of a sidewalk beneath the snow it was all granite. Who in the world does that?
-Witnessing a guy pass out in the middle of a pizzeria. He was just standing there, on his way out, and suddenly fell. Completely unconscious with no apparent cause (though it isn't hard to guess why.) I don't think we moved an inch or took one breath from the moment he hit the floor to the moment his friend finally slapped him back to reality. Does that count as a near death experience?
-Listening to Giovanni Bassano sing and play guitar in Dam Square Sunday night. Some random guy came up and hugged Caitlyn. All weekend she had the hardest time finding her wallet in her purse when she reached the check-out but this time, to make sure he hadn't pick-pocketed her, it was the first thing she grabbed.
-Eavesdropping on a phone conversation a guy was having on the tram. "It is Filipe from Brazil! How are you, man!? It is so good to hear from you!" He really couldn't believe that Filipe was calling him from Brazil.
-Having a deep discussion in the hostel about the characters on True Blood and how the tv show differs from the books, which I haven't read yet but Caitlyn has.
-Swapping stories about everything and everyone imaginable. While walking in the cold or waiting in line or snuggled in the hostel or eating at Wok To Go. That is where we went Friday night and that is when the real talking and catching-up started.
-Movie quotes. Caitlyn is the only person I know who can rattle off any line from almost any movie at any given moment. I think the most quoted movie this weekend was 500 Days of Summer. "We're young. We live in one of the most beautiful cities in the world. Might as well have fun while we can and save the serious stuff for later."
When I was a kid I viewed holidays, specifically Christmas, very differently than I do now. Back then it was all about believing in Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny. It was about holidays being the special time of the year where magic was real. Now it is all about believing in love. It is about the real things in life that feel magical, like the time spent with family and friends.
I never realized how blessed I am to have such supportive parents and such unique little brothers until I moved away to college. In my teenage years I can't remember how many times I told my mom that as soon as I turned 18 I was going to move out. I couldn't wait to get away from her and have my own life. It was my hormones that made me say those things then but now when I tell her that I can't wait to come home again it is my heart speaking. At the beginning of my freshman year of college I told my family not to buy me anything for Christmas. They were paying for my school, that was enough. I told them that all I wanted was to just be with them for Christmas. Every year since I've had the same request. They always disobey and buy me the most thoughtful and meaningful gifts. I thought I knew the true meaning of Christmas.
Christmas in Georgia 2009
This year I was distraught over the possibility that I would return from Holland in a Christmas-time-crunch. My late arrival would mean that my parents would have to reschedule their plans of driving from Georgia to Minnesota to spend my brothers' school break with our extended family. Since my family moved to Georgia three years ago they haven't spent one Christmas with either side of their own families. I felt so guilty and sobbed on the phone to my dad telling him I was so sorry I was messing everything up. "I'll tell Grandma not to take down the Christmas tree until you get there. We don't have to celebrate Christmas on the 25th of December. We will celebrate it whenever we are together," he told me on the phone a few weeks back when I gushed about how awful I felt about not being able to come home even a day earlier. That was the reassurance I needed but it made me cry even harder.
I don't consider myself to be a humble person but I think I have some sort of complex where I don't feel like I deserve all the wonderful things I have. I tried to explain it to Brandy a few weeks ago. I know I can be very selfish sometimes but I never like asking for help. I always feel guilty when someone has to do something for me. Give me a ride somewhere. Wait for me. Even little things like hold the door for me if my hands are full. I don't know why but I just feel bad when people have to take time out of their day for me or have to change their plans for me. I hate being dependent on anyone, even the slightest bit. But I have learned now that depending on others doesn't make you weak. It gives you strength. Even on good days here I am homesick. I have stayed strong enough to this point because I have the support of others. Depending on their love doesn't mean I'm not strong and independent. It just means that I am wise enough to know that love is the most important thing you can ever give and ever receive.
So, I've learned a lot since I was a teenager. I've learned a lot since the days before I ever spent time abroad, immersed in a different culture. I think my experiences overseas have solidified my beliefs and have strengthened the most important relationships in my life. The perfect example happened about a month ago: I received a surprise package from a very good friend of mine that contained a framed picture of me and my friends on Halloween two years ago, before I left for my semester in Italy. The changes that have taken place for all of us since that crazy night are pretty momentous. However, when I look at that picture I still feel that one thing is the same - our bond. We still love spending time together. We still have the same sense of humor. We still have dreams and hopes and each other. I can't wait to see them again. I can't wait to go home. I can't wait to be able to properly reflect on my experiences here. I know that this is going to be the best Christmas of my entire life.
With only a few weeks left here, I'm on the home stretch. It seems like it will go quickly when I count just the weekends. I will take Rosa to preschool only six more times. Roland has school every weekday but some afternoons (Wednesday and Friday) he doesn't go back after lunch so that is usually when we do crafting. I've looked up some little Christmas projects we can do together and I'm excited because I love that stuff. Seven crafts for seven afternoons. Only three more Saturdays for adventures. Only three more Sundays to be lazy.
I'm going to try and post every other day until I leave. I'm never really sure what to post about but at the same time there is so much to tell you and show you about my time in Holland. We'll see what I can come up with. For now, this is all I've got...
I've been Skyping much more frequently than usual. I appreciate the magic of technology but I can't wait until I get to see these people face-to-face.
A surprise call from my cousin, Joe. I still can't believe that this kid, my little cousin, is in college. When did we all get so big?
Watching my parents read my blog.
Erica's camera often has technical difficulties. This is just one of the many silly screencaptures Erica and I have collected.
My personal favorite. Owen and I watching the season 5 finale of Doctor Who. Priceless because all three of us have the same facial expression. I'd tell you what we're reacting to but SPOILERS!
This was a very brief adventure to Amsterdam. It started snowing in the morning but I hopped on my bike, determined to brave the cold and get into the city. I had plans to meet with a friend and go shopping. I scouted some souvenirs to bring back for friends and family. I wanted to get an idea what to get each person and see the prices. A new H&M store opened in Dam Square so I popped in and bought myself a scarf. At the check-out I also received a booklet of coupons and a little OV-chipkaart holder that I'm using for my ID and debit card. When I stepped out of the store I heard music blaring, which isn't unusual in Dam Square. Then I noticed a big crowd so I pushed my way to the front and saw people dancing. I witnessed my first ever flashmob in person.
So, I missed the beginning which is the fun part. Everyone is just standing around and then out of nowhere comes music. The passersby are confused at first. A few people come together and start dancing. The dancers grow and grow until it is a mass of synchronized bodies. A crowd gathers. People take out their phones and cameras. At the end of the song the dancers disperse, back into the crowd and life carries on. I wondered when I'd see one in Amsterdam. I mentioned the Stockholm flash mob once before in this post. Here are some other great flash mobs:
Taken August 2010, 
