42
This country.
Some people have expressed that this week's catastrophic referendum result is the first time they felt unwelcome in the UK in decades. Lucky them.
I've never felt welcomed in the UK, certainly not by the British state.
My first contact with the idea of moving here was a complex system of tiers through which People Like Me [*] had to qualify in order be suffered to work in the UK; and a cold form to calculate your "points", which didn't even start accumulating until after your education level surpassed a Master's Degree.
[*] First, it was "people outside the EU". Then, after Romania joined the EU, it was specifically Romanians and Bulgarians.
We were all equal in the EU, except some of us were less equal than others.
(This is also what the UK means to me: a system that can always be manipulated to make some people less equal than others.)
I only made it here in 2011 because my first UK employer had no idea how much hassle it would be for him to get me a work permit. Once he started, and because I was obviously the best candidate by far and also a giant turkey who had no clue how to negotiate for money, he felt compelled to finish the process, and here I was.
With a tin can attached by the kind British state: I was bound to the same employer for at least a year.
That year turned to four, because I'm not free of my personal web of circumstances - impostor syndrome, iffy mental health, work ethic, perceived sense of duty...
I can't stress enough how much this precariousness can make People Like Me stay in toxic environments, in toxic or just shitty situations. Many people have simply criticised me for not looking for a better job as soon as the year was over. They're not in my mental shoes, and I've wasted a lot of spoons trying to get them to understand and empathise.
So, I didn't feel welcome in 2007, I didn't feel welcome in 2011, and I didn't even feel welcome in 2014, when the "less equal than others" officially ended.
I've never felt particularly "Romanian", either. My country of birth is an accident. I didn't do anything to become it. I don't find it a source of pride, I don't find it a source of shame. It just happened.
I first built my identity from books; then I discovered rock music, and mountains and camping, and I made do with a threadbare me that was always missing something.
Then I discovered the internet. I flourished online. Fandom was My People, and suddenly People Like Me were not defined by what we couldn't be, but by what we could be.
To offline people, I used to say "I'm a European citizen, really" in the joking way that's my deadly-serious-but-I-know-I'll-be-mocked-for-it way.
In Europe I finally found some kind of citizenship that better reflected who I was and how I wanted to move through the world.
(I tried to ignore the ways in which Europe itself was kind of turning its nose up at my specific national citizenship. Always less-equal-than.)
I haven't become British by living here, but London at least has found its way under my skin. I... like it here.
This means a lot, coming from me. I don't give out my like easily.
(People always asked me, and they always bristled when I didn't enthusiastically answer "I love it!" and gave a nuanced response instead. One went as far as to immediately ask me why I wasn't going back. It tended to be the most pronounced the least someone had moved or travelled themselves.)
Truth is I didn't like it here my first two years, and I've always feared saying it afterwards, because it was too new and too fragile to be believed, like a seedling that could still wither before becoming a viable plant.
I fought to be here. My first year was tremendously difficult, and I barely remember my second. (Depression comes with loss or blurring of memory.)
I fought the constant "so where are you from?" that always followed my first Eastern European accented words.
(I know many folks think they're just showing interest in their interlocutor. It irritates me that their first interest is in one of the least important things for me - a random accident like where I was born.)
I fought the surprise at "how good" my English was, as if it was unimaginable that I'd have learnt English before I came to live here.
I fought the "oh, right" non-reaction of prospective flatmates when I told them where I was from.
I'm not a fighter, and I'm as conflict-averse as one can be. I fought by staying, and talking, discovering, exploring, learning, meeting people.
I have friends here, friends who are no less European than I am, regardless of what's going to be on their passport two years from now.
I've always feared setting down roots, because I've always known I was in search of my heart's home.
I'd like to be one of those trendy digital nomads leading an interesting life. (My model for this is the extraordinary Cate Huston of Accidentally in Code.)
I didn't travel and wander lots, either. I'm fond of having a safe nest, and I tend to like "stuff". Object by object, stuff has accumulated around me. Person by person, a web of friends and acquaintances has formed around me.
Roots have sneaked up on me, and I don't want to be uprooted.
If you prefer Dreamwidth, you can reply or read the
comment(s) there.
Some people have expressed that this week's catastrophic referendum result is the first time they felt unwelcome in the UK in decades. Lucky them.
I've never felt welcomed in the UK, certainly not by the British state.
My first contact with the idea of moving here was a complex system of tiers through which People Like Me [*] had to qualify in order be suffered to work in the UK; and a cold form to calculate your "points", which didn't even start accumulating until after your education level surpassed a Master's Degree.
[*] First, it was "people outside the EU". Then, after Romania joined the EU, it was specifically Romanians and Bulgarians.
We were all equal in the EU, except some of us were less equal than others.
(This is also what the UK means to me: a system that can always be manipulated to make some people less equal than others.)
I only made it here in 2011 because my first UK employer had no idea how much hassle it would be for him to get me a work permit. Once he started, and because I was obviously the best candidate by far and also a giant turkey who had no clue how to negotiate for money, he felt compelled to finish the process, and here I was.
With a tin can attached by the kind British state: I was bound to the same employer for at least a year.
That year turned to four, because I'm not free of my personal web of circumstances - impostor syndrome, iffy mental health, work ethic, perceived sense of duty...
I can't stress enough how much this precariousness can make People Like Me stay in toxic environments, in toxic or just shitty situations. Many people have simply criticised me for not looking for a better job as soon as the year was over. They're not in my mental shoes, and I've wasted a lot of spoons trying to get them to understand and empathise.
So, I didn't feel welcome in 2007, I didn't feel welcome in 2011, and I didn't even feel welcome in 2014, when the "less equal than others" officially ended.
I've never felt particularly "Romanian", either. My country of birth is an accident. I didn't do anything to become it. I don't find it a source of pride, I don't find it a source of shame. It just happened.
I first built my identity from books; then I discovered rock music, and mountains and camping, and I made do with a threadbare me that was always missing something.
Then I discovered the internet. I flourished online. Fandom was My People, and suddenly People Like Me were not defined by what we couldn't be, but by what we could be.
To offline people, I used to say "I'm a European citizen, really" in the joking way that's my deadly-serious-but-I-know-I'll-be-mocked-for-it way.
In Europe I finally found some kind of citizenship that better reflected who I was and how I wanted to move through the world.
(I tried to ignore the ways in which Europe itself was kind of turning its nose up at my specific national citizenship. Always less-equal-than.)
I haven't become British by living here, but London at least has found its way under my skin. I... like it here.
This means a lot, coming from me. I don't give out my like easily.
(People always asked me, and they always bristled when I didn't enthusiastically answer "I love it!" and gave a nuanced response instead. One went as far as to immediately ask me why I wasn't going back. It tended to be the most pronounced the least someone had moved or travelled themselves.)
Truth is I didn't like it here my first two years, and I've always feared saying it afterwards, because it was too new and too fragile to be believed, like a seedling that could still wither before becoming a viable plant.
I fought to be here. My first year was tremendously difficult, and I barely remember my second. (Depression comes with loss or blurring of memory.)
I fought the constant "so where are you from?" that always followed my first Eastern European accented words.
(I know many folks think they're just showing interest in their interlocutor. It irritates me that their first interest is in one of the least important things for me - a random accident like where I was born.)
I fought the surprise at "how good" my English was, as if it was unimaginable that I'd have learnt English before I came to live here.
I fought the "oh, right" non-reaction of prospective flatmates when I told them where I was from.
I'm not a fighter, and I'm as conflict-averse as one can be. I fought by staying, and talking, discovering, exploring, learning, meeting people.
I have friends here, friends who are no less European than I am, regardless of what's going to be on their passport two years from now.
I've always feared setting down roots, because I've always known I was in search of my heart's home.
I'd like to be one of those trendy digital nomads leading an interesting life. (My model for this is the extraordinary Cate Huston of Accidentally in Code.)
I didn't travel and wander lots, either. I'm fond of having a safe nest, and I tend to like "stuff". Object by object, stuff has accumulated around me. Person by person, a web of friends and acquaintances has formed around me.
Roots have sneaked up on me, and I don't want to be uprooted.
If you prefer Dreamwidth, you can reply or read the
comment(s) there.