Expat Woes

Okay, I’ve been really terrible at updating these days, and well–it’s partially due to my busy schedule, and partially due to a fever.

But some exciting news: I’ll be celebrating a romantic 21st in Budapest! We don’t have class next Friday, so we’ve taken advantage of this opportunity to travel. Also, I’ll be seeing my friend Balázs, who I haven’t seen in a year and a half. (We were AFS Norge students together.) I’m excited to experience Budapest from an insider’s point of view.

Also, I’ve booked tickets to see Maroon 5 and Sara Bareilles in March! It’s bizarre to think that I’ll be seeing them in Zürich: for me they were the epitome of good Californian pop when I was in junior high and high school. Talk about a blast from the past! I think they even played “She Will Be Loved” at one of our school dances…

So that’s the good news: and the bad news? Well, I’ve been thinking (for some reason thinking always seems to lead to worrying) about my slow adjustment to life here in Europe. I feel that as time go on, I become more and more certain that here is where I want to live: I want to live in Europe. I used to dream about traveling around, speaking different languages, enjoying the calmness that life offers here. And now that I do, I feel no regrets about leaving California whatsoever. What used to be a pipe dream is slowing becoming a reality: with the exception of one slight problem–working.

You see, as a student here, I’m living on borrowed time. And it won’t be long until I graduate…and then what will be the chances of finding a job here? There’s just so many restrictions against non-EU job-seekers that it’s disheartening. I know it’s a naïve thought, but I wonder, “How can a place that I love so much…not love me back?” René keeps telling me to be patient, and that it will come in time. I really want to believe him: perhaps the silver lining will come only once I obtain my diploma…but for now, there seems to be no end to this unsettledness of my stomach.

My father came from China to the US…I wonder if he felt this feeling.

 

Hos Francesco

Life has me at an emotional and moral wreck. This week has been perhaps the most difficult so far. So to reward myself…or rather, to save myself from completely imploding: I’m departing tomorrow for a weekend in Venice. I’ll be staying at Francesco’s place; it will be so nice to see him again! It’s so strange how I run to him for comfort even after my year in Norway has wrapped up. I remember being afraid of losing contact with all the AFSers I had met and befriended while in Norway, and at the time, his answer to me was: “Maybe we will [keep in touch], maybe we won’t.” While it wasn’t the reassuring response I was hoping for, it was, au moins, the truthful answer. And well, now I have my answer.

I guess I should elaborate a bit. Francesco and I met through AFS. And despite my terrible memory, I remember precisely how I met him. It was August 2nd, 2008, and it was our first day there. After the airport, the AFS organizers shipped us all to a gathering location somewhere outside of Oslo. Exchange students from all over the world, tasting our first smørbrød, sipping our first saft (and not knowing that it was supposed to be mixed with water). I remember the Italians came, filling almost an entire bus–a swarm of yellow shirts: cambiare il mondo…they read.

I remember going down to a lake and wading in the water, and approaching two Italians: one with a braid, and one that reminded me of a younger version of Bob Saget. Little did I know how often I would be conversing with Francesco and Yuri.

After they split us into our regional groups and sent us on the bus to Torpo, I found out that Francesco was my roommate for the week-long orientation camp. (Camp–it brings back so many fun memories, it’s so easy to get lost marveling about camp. It was most definitely one of the most exciting weeks of my life: meeting people from all over the world, learning Norwegian language and culture, that tinge of nervousness at meeting our host families.) And every night, we would spent an hour or two just discussing random things: life, music, “medieval” Italy and xenophobia in America. I guess it never really hit me how easily we got along with each other: so different, yet compatible. I felt at ease around him. And on the fourth day of knowing him, I came out to him. (Which, at the time, was something I had never done before. I never felt secure enough to tell a person that until I felt like I knew them. Whether it was because I wanted a change…or just the fact that I already knew I trusted him…I don’t really know. But it was a good feeling.)
And there is one thing he said to me that I will never forget as long as I live. We were discussing the difficulty of being an immigrant and visibly different, even in an area as diverse as the Bay Area, or perhaps it was because of that diversity which never truly made me feel American. Anyway, he said to me, “I think you are a real American. You are the new American.” Hearing that immediately made my eyes water; there is something inexplicable about those words. Because he said so easily what I’ve always secretly wanted to believe in my head.

And through the rest of our year there, Siljan was the place I would take a train to whenever I need to feel comforted, whenever the coldness of Horten Videregående became unbearable. And here I am again. September, 2009, in another country, taking another train, but still going to the same place. Still going to “hos Francesco.”–

–For a much needed vacation. The energy here at Panera lately has been sluggish and depressing. (I’ve been sleeping down the hill at Girasole three nights out of four this week.) And I find myself too entangled in something I shouldn’t be. Too attached to someone I shouldn’t be. So needless to say, I need this getaway. I need a break from college. And I need someone removed to focus on, to enjoy life with, to open my eyes and pull me out of my myopic vision.

I’ll conclude my post with something lighthearted and unreflective: So apparently, searching for these terms will take you to my blog: fucking in asgardstrand,  kom hit nu flossy,  la voglia che vorrei translation. (I know, right? I didn’t even fuck in Åsgårdstrand…)

Thoughts

Hell, school was long today. Jogged to the beach during gymtime. Being in Norway has taught me to be in awe of Mother Nature’s awesomeness. I never had a favorite season in California. I do today. Primavera has come. The tide was low and the water was almost still, with the waves lapping languidly back and forth along the shore. There was no wind, and the sun was bright and shining. There was a bench. There was me, tired. It was the best one and a half hours of Athletic P.E. ever.

Spent most of norsktimen and lunch with 가영. I was surprised that she’s only been here for three years. It got me wistfully remenescing my own past. I always thought of my first three years in America as a living hell: the crying, the loneliness, the bullying, the helplessness. I guess it’s because of that experience which carved out a soft spot in my heart for the newly-immigrated, or from my perspective, the newly-emigrated. I asked her if she missed Korea and if she’s been back to visit since. She said she does and that she hasn’t, and in that moment I was overwhelmed by the urge to give her a really big hug. Adapting to this second culture, it’s our perpetual struggle, and nobody else knows what it’s like.

The rest of the day snailed by eventlessly, leaving me with plenty of time to think, reflect, and ponder. Mostly about love. Nagging little thoughts such as, “God! Don’t these people feel?!” Sometimes it seems like they have no interior emotions. I see them laugh, but their laughter is superficial. I see them wrap their arms around each other, but their touch lacks true affection. Whatever happened to genuine desires, romance, courting, hmm? Where did the passion, depth, and intellectual attraction go? And when did Romeo & Juliet become a cliché? (Or has it always been?) I’m not pricing my feelings above everyone else’s, but it just feels like nobody takes Love seriously anymore. Or am I just being an unrealistic ideal romantic again?