“On flights back to the US, I often find myself pretending to be foreign – a last moment of subterfuge —until I step off the plane and end up in the customs line for US citizens.
I spend most of my days in Delft speaking Dutch, whether to my housemates, sullen checkout girls at the C1000 or at the university, so I’m sometimes shocked to return to a land where no one speaks Erasmus English.
Crossing the airport terminal on the way to the car I’ll interchange English sentences with snippets of Dutch, as if my parents understand me, all the while hoping I’ll pass a Dutch family who will nod knowingly at me — ja, he’s on vacation too. Eventually, though, the futility of showing off my language skills passes and I settle back into routines of normalcy.
Being an expat complicates my feelings about being an American. On the one hand, I think there is an air of assumed superiority in the US that I didn’t even realize existed until I lived outside the country and felt it repeatedly getting punctured by my Dutch housemates, but at least it’s great not to be called an arrogant American. Coming from a country where rampant nationalism is a matter of pride, I’ve had moments of uncertainty trying to find the balance between national pride and humbleness. In Europe, a continent where the slightest hint of patriotism excites memories of war and imperialism, the last eight years definitely wasn’t a time to be boastful and proud to be American.
At home, though, everywhere I go, people ask me variations of the same simple question: ‘How’s Amsterdam/Holland/Germany/Europe?’, the country almost being irrelevant. ‘You’re somewhere abroad, right? Is it weird to be back?’ Depending on my mood and to whom I’m speaking, I answer the first question with anything from a muttered ‘great’ to a lengthy disquisition. Now that my Master’s program is almost over, the inevitable always follows: ‘So do you think you’ll come back?’ That last question is a little tougher to answer honestly.
Upon arriving back home three weeks ago, the strangest thing about being back in the States was how not strange it felt. Within a day, it seemed like I had never left, like everything had resumed from pause. But this year it feels different returning to each and every one of those locales from my pre-abroad life and the dear friends and family who populate them. While a positive and grounding experience I’ve started to feel lost in time and space. I’m not quite on vacation, but I’m definitely not home either.
I went walking through the woods behind my house in knee-deep snow, visited my old doctor and dentist, and reveled in the cheap dollar and terrible economy at otherwise expensive stores. I feasted with my family on dirt cheap Maine lobster, drank local microbrews with high school friends, and savored the ethnic foods originally brought to the US by the scores of huddled masses. I’ve endured blizzards and way-below-zero degree temperatures, bar hopped the streets of Manhattan with college mates and skied the mountains of Vermont.
This was my last Christmas break Stateside before I leave TU Delft, and this year I pine less for Starbucks and my local haunts. The sounds and sights of riding the subway under Boston bring up memories of my undergraduate years, but I only see the faces of strangers alighting at our old college stop. The bounty of fresh produce and culinary delights from around the world at the local organic mega-supermarket doesn’t seem as normal as the tasteless hydroponic tomatoes bought from Delft’s Thursday market. I’ve been in Delft for eighteen months, and although this time last year I was cursing the endless Dutch winter days of bleak, rainy and disgusting weather, it all somehow seems this year more endearing and comfortable.
I have reached the point in my life when I’ve recently spent more time living abroad than at home. Despite all the splendors of New England, I’m still not ready to leave the Old World – Obama notwithstanding. I’m still American, and maybe it’ll be easier in Europe to be so after the presidential inauguration, but my time in Europe is tempering my identity. I’m ready to go back to the canals and bikes, short days of gray and long nights of beer. The grass may always be greener on the other side, but for now, I’m ready to return home.”
David Kramer is an MSc architecture student from the United States. His next column will appear in Delta 05.
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