I am feeling homesick
This doesn't happen to me a lot. I don't get homesick. Never have. I miss my family, my friends, but I generally don't miss my country, the smell of my city, the sound of my language. But lately I have. Perhaps it is because I have never lived abroad for this long before. And perhaps it is because I am seriously contemplating the likelihood of me returning indefinitely. But whatever the reason, I am feeling homesick.
It's an interesting feeling. It's a sadness that doesn't have a specific reference point, no real source. Like waking up and knowing that something awful has happened, but you can't quite remember what it was. Like the first awake moments after a forgotten nightmare, except it lasts all day long, and you never remember the nightmare, so you don't get the relief you feel when you realize that it was just a nightmare.
What gets me the most is the language thing. I just really, really miss speaking my language. I'm aware that Dutch isn't exactly a beautiful language, but I miss the comfort of my mother tongue, the way telling jokes comes naturally when you can distinguish the finesses of association and double entendres. Which is funny, because I think my English is probably much better at the moment than my Dutch. But still. I miss the feeling of the guttural ggggggg in the back of my throat, and I miss feeling my mouth moving to shape the diphthongs that are so common in Dutch. Paralinguistic nostalgia, I guess. I made that word up, although I'm sure someone else will have used it before me.
I am trying to not self-medicate with ample amounts of beer. So I went shopping instead. It didn't help, but I did get a jacket I've been lusting after for months with a 75% discount, and two button down shirts at €10 each. I also ate a burek, and it was a delicious treat that I don't allow myself to indulge in often, due to the fact that it is deep-fried cheese, wrapped in layers and layers of phyllo pastry that seem to serve the single purpose of encapsulating the pure, unadulterated flavor of frying oil.
I also helped Zori out at the bar today, lugging around crates of beer and kilos of coffee, in high heels. I insist that this be counted as a workout, as i am trying to get into shape. And I might go to a movie with my friend Luka tonight, but if he insists on seeing something sad (which he does generally insist on) I might pass. I kind of hope that he forgets to call (that happens a lot, too), or that he calls and suggests that we go walk his dog instead. Luka's dog is as fluent in Dutch as she is in Slovenian, meaning that she refuses to understand or listen to commands in either language. She's a rebel girl, she is the queen of my world.
I have also been listening to this song on YouTube (subtitled) over and over again. It represents everything I love about my country and my culture and my language. It's weep-fodder, but in the best possible way. I hope you all enjoy it, too.
Man, I never thought I would say this, but I kind of want to go...home. No matter how strange that word tastes on my tongue.
It's an interesting feeling. It's a sadness that doesn't have a specific reference point, no real source. Like waking up and knowing that something awful has happened, but you can't quite remember what it was. Like the first awake moments after a forgotten nightmare, except it lasts all day long, and you never remember the nightmare, so you don't get the relief you feel when you realize that it was just a nightmare.
What gets me the most is the language thing. I just really, really miss speaking my language. I'm aware that Dutch isn't exactly a beautiful language, but I miss the comfort of my mother tongue, the way telling jokes comes naturally when you can distinguish the finesses of association and double entendres. Which is funny, because I think my English is probably much better at the moment than my Dutch. But still. I miss the feeling of the guttural ggggggg in the back of my throat, and I miss feeling my mouth moving to shape the diphthongs that are so common in Dutch. Paralinguistic nostalgia, I guess. I made that word up, although I'm sure someone else will have used it before me.
I am trying to not self-medicate with ample amounts of beer. So I went shopping instead. It didn't help, but I did get a jacket I've been lusting after for months with a 75% discount, and two button down shirts at €10 each. I also ate a burek, and it was a delicious treat that I don't allow myself to indulge in often, due to the fact that it is deep-fried cheese, wrapped in layers and layers of phyllo pastry that seem to serve the single purpose of encapsulating the pure, unadulterated flavor of frying oil.
I also helped Zori out at the bar today, lugging around crates of beer and kilos of coffee, in high heels. I insist that this be counted as a workout, as i am trying to get into shape. And I might go to a movie with my friend Luka tonight, but if he insists on seeing something sad (which he does generally insist on) I might pass. I kind of hope that he forgets to call (that happens a lot, too), or that he calls and suggests that we go walk his dog instead. Luka's dog is as fluent in Dutch as she is in Slovenian, meaning that she refuses to understand or listen to commands in either language. She's a rebel girl, she is the queen of my world.
I have also been listening to this song on YouTube (subtitled) over and over again. It represents everything I love about my country and my culture and my language. It's weep-fodder, but in the best possible way. I hope you all enjoy it, too.
Man, I never thought I would say this, but I kind of want to go...home. No matter how strange that word tastes on my tongue.