When in the Nethelands

I like symmetry. I don’t know if lately I see it because I like it or I like it because I keep seeing it. Nonetheless, It gives me a ridiculous sense of purpose.

Last year, when I was living in Amsterdam, S- a traveling guy in his nature-called me to come visit Rotterdam with him on Sinterklaas parade day. This year, our paths crossed again on Sinterklaas and I found myself taking a day off from work to spend a prolonged weekend with him in Bruxelles. Needles to say, we didn’t see much of the city, but what we saw, I liked.

Secretly, I wanted to actually check out the city to see if I would like to move there after my internship.

The story is that I met S in Amsterdam, I liked him from the first time I payed my eyes on him, and each time our paths intersect, we have the most interesting encounters. So our meeting in Bruxelles was in a way a celebration of our twisted fates that keeps on bringing us together often and often lately.

Baby and her mothers.

I came to Amsterdam August last year. Looking back, I can easily state that I had no idea how to take care of myself. I haven’t lived alone before, I had no cooking experience whatsoever, never done serious bills before. So here I was, in a big city, changing hotels every two days. After two weeks, I found an apartment through an agency, near Dam Square. So I moved there, on the same street as the Royal Palace and I became the Queen’s neighbor.

But it was all to empty. I was living with a person that I did not like anymore and I was on my own, really. So i decided to get a companion. The landlord had no objection to getting a cat, because he knew there were little mice in the cupboard anyways. So I hopped on a train to Harderwijk to pick this adorable furry animal. And there she was, this scared cat in a box, meowing for her life. Lady Astrid hand it over to me, told me her name is Baby and asked me to take good care of her. In the train, I kept on talking to her to comfort her, the whole 1h and something trip. From time to time, some curios passenger would take over, stop and pet her, whisper kind words in Dutch. So here I was, put face to face with the responsibility of taking care of myself and of another being. I arrived home and she hid under the bed and stayed there for two whole days. Then she came out, explored the new home and she’s been reigning over the space since then. In 6 months, this tiny animal taught me to be disciplined, consistent, and showed me unconditional love. Not once she hold a grudge for taking her from her initial family, where she had stability. That or maybe cats have short memory.

Beautiful Spring. This year it came late, I felt like I waited forever for the trees to bloom. But when they did, I packed a bag and flew to visit friends and colleagues in England.

You know, sometimes I have this kind of terribly funny bad luck and this trip was not without it. Arriving in England, I had my friend Cristio picking me up from the airport. He was quite mad when I arrived because I missed my flight form Schiphol so I had to take another one, later, to an airport in the middle of exactly nowhere. But Cristio was already at the first airport, at that time. When I finally got there, he had this mixture of *so happy to see you, little girl* and *I can’t believe you put me through this!*. Of course I was giggling like a child in trouble, which I was. You don’t make him mad, you just don’t. In the end he bought me a marks and spencer box of choco, forgave me and we went on telling stories while visiting places.

Growing up I was one of the boys, forever-bruised-knees, climbing-trees, stealing-flowers gypsy kind of girl. I used to wear grandma’s flowery skirts and spit at the boys who didn’t respect me. Not much changed. I am still the gypsy at heart little girl, wearing skirts. The only thing that is different is that I now know that respect must be earned. 

You see, there are a couple of things that I strongly believe in. I annoy people with them because I’m so stubborn about it. I’m like an old lady trapped in a young body: I will nag you for throwing litter on the street or for being disrespectful towards somebody else. I’m like that. I annoy myself sometimes too. 

One of the most important things to me is that I have to become better than the averageness I keep seeing around me. So, last year, in the pursuit of overcoming my condition, I gathered my things, sold everything, and moved to Amsterdam to study Political Science at UvA for one year. I come from a poor family and a bad neighborhood in Bucharest. Oh, Bucharest, truly wonderful city that tears its children apart. I miss it, nonetheless. I miss the circus and the craziness. If the US is the land of all possibilities, Romania is the land where everything is possible. You have no idea!

I was so happy to leave my home city, to get away. I don’t recall being scared. Leaving your life behind, packing all your belongings in one big bag should be scary, shouldn’t it? Especially if you’ve never been to that city before. Well instead of that I was hopeful, optimistic, and happy. I took the plane from Bucharest to Bruxelles so I will get to see the capital of European Union, supposedly my final destination after my studies. Then after I took the Fyra train from Gare du Nord to Amsterdam Centraal. I remember when I first stepped out of the station. The bikes, thousands of them just outside the station! And the guys biking with no hands, carrying large packages, or smoking and texting while passing through the intersections, dads and moms biking with 2 or 3 kids on the same bike. Amazing. I have a fond memory of that first image. 

So here I am, 1 year and 2 months later, in the midst of my journey, at a crossroads. I will soon move to Den Haag (The Hague) for an internship. I was supposed to be already there, but due to fortuitous events, I was delayed one month. So I am waiting patiently. In fact, right now I am waiting for the final ok to seriously start looking for apartments.

I never was a fan of writing; definitely I was not one of those girls who keep a diary under key, always scribbling their thoughts. Actually, I don't think the writing itself is the problem, just the act of expressing my feelings. Some people collect coins from foreign countries, others collect stamps; well I gather anger and unspoken words. I have l'esprit d'escalier much more often than I care to admit. 

But lately I've been finding myself putting my opinions down on paper. I'm not very organized about it. Sometimes I write letters that I never send (I have a stack of them), sometimes I grab a notebook, many times I write on random pieces of papers, the envelope of the junk mail that I receive or a napkin at the Atrium cafe. The constant stream of thoughts drives me crazy sometimes. It's a war going on in my head that gets me in trouble.