Once again I offer my sincere apologies for being completely
incapable of maintaining any schedule, be it self-imposed or enforced by
others. In other words: I'm being lazy again.
Despite my talent to procrastinate, it isn't entirely my
fault this time around. You see, after the whole Holiday mess that was so
eloquently described in our previous post, we eventually had to make our way
back to our daily lives in freezing, windy Holland and snow-filled Germany.
Speaking of which, some belated congratulations are in order
for Immah, who has successfully breached yet another border and infiltrated the
German ranks for roughly 6 months while she's doing her internship there. Maybe
a post would be in order from her part, so she can share the Bavarian experience
with the rest of us mortals (which would also mean I can postpone writing a
post myself).
Back to the point, it's always weird going from home to…
well… home. Yeah, I said it. It's not a matter of cultural identity, national
pride or anything of the sorts. For most healthy beings, home is where you're
comfortable, where you're happy and where you sleep at least 4 nights a week;
therefore, it can get a bit confusing when you have a home in Romania, a
country whose beauty is overshadowed by some of its less-evolved inhabitants,
and another home in the Netherlands (or Germany, for some) where the streets
are clean and the stray dogs absent (although there is a slight possibility
that both situations are caused by the horrible wind that can probably kill
even cockroaches).
Jokes aside, I often find myself torn between my birth and
adoptive country. They've both been nice, caring, and giving to me. And they've
both had many an opportunity to screw me over. But then again, there is one incredibly
essential difference between Romania and the Netherlands that has to be pointed
out.
The people.
While I can't say I've met every person in either country
personally, I can sum up my experience with Romanians and Dutch as follows: hot
and cold.
Romanians, despite being a part of the former Soviet Union,
still track their heritage back to Ancient Romans. And we're so damn proud of
it as well. We boast with our Latin blood, using it as an excuse for mostly any
outburst. Yes, we are a passionate people. We love, we hate, we rebel, we
fight, we drink, we kill, we swear, we cry. And we do all of it with passion.
Unfortunately, we're also misguided, conceited, and sometimes ignorant. At our
best we are caring, sympathetic, and generous. At our worst we're uncivilized,
deceitful, and petty. With the clear distinction that the latter stand out a
lot more (not because of numbers, simply because pain, filth and destruction
are more easy to notice than an act of kindness).
And then, there is the Dutch people that are simply… cold. They
are extremely polite and helpful, but will never go out of their way to do
something for you. They will wave or smile back, but just because it's polite
to reciprocate. As a whole, they are very well-mannered, just overall decent
people. But you'll have a hard time actually gaining their friendship, trust or
glimpses of who they actually are. Of course, there is a high possibility that
I perceive them as such because I am, after all, a foreigner to them, but it
seems more likely that it's simply how they decided to build their society. It's
“live and let live”, with a touch of social responsibility. Don't get me wrong,
once you manage to penetrate that polite barrier of theirs, they can be pretty
amazing people (which applies to most of the Dutch people I've actually
befriended), same way I'm convinced some of them are complete scumbags. But it's
so frustrating that you never know until it's too late.
Excuse the part about the Germans, Immah has her own humouristic way of seeing the world she lives in. I'm sure she's just teasing.
You learn to love both of them (sorry, German people, I lack exposure here). The same way I'm certain I
could learn to love Spanish, Croatian or Norwegian culture. But the weird part
is trying to adapt to your new habitat, without losing track of who you are.
That's why I said it's not a matter of national identity: all that matters is
who YOU are. Just because you were born in a country, doesn't mean you belong
to that country; it is entirely up to you where you end up and what you do there,
just make sure you do it as YOURSELF.
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