February 15, 2017

When I last wrote, I was on a flight on my way back to Amsterdam for my last  course before my master's thesis. Today, I am on a train, zooming past the banks of the Rhone and suburban backyards of Lyon towards Geneva, where I will take a flight to Manchester. From there, one more train and I will be at my new home for the next four and a half months, in Lancaster, Lancashire, United Kingdom.

            In short, amidst four weeks of statistics in Amsterdam, I meticulously packed my life up into four boxes, three suitcases, and one large backpack. The boxes were my books, decorations and kitchen items, including the prized coffee machine. Matthieu and I found a helfpul Spanish man driving from a chess tournament in The Netherlands through Lyon to some other destination in the south, and we paid him 50 euros to move my boxes. It was a fantastic trust exercise to see if he would choose to keep Statistics in R with Andy Fields for his own book collection, or if he would deliver it safely to Matthieu.

            The suitcases held my clothes, my shoes, and what was the rest of my life. Knowing this is where I would end up after I finished my thesis, I had booked a one way ticket with my three suitcases months earlier to Lyon, France.  On February 2nd, Thursday, I said a sad goodbye to the kids I worked with at the elementary school. I received such a big group hug (all from one direction) that I almost fell over. Who knew a group of 8 year olds could grow on you to this extent? On Friday, I took my last exams for my masters and ate dinner with my cohort, and on Saturday, I packed my things and had drinks with some friends. The weather was typically Dutch- windy and raining- but I had secretly wished for it, so that I would not be sad to leave.

            Sunday morning, Timothé and Hope, a friend from last year and a friend from this year, met me at my door. We rolled my suitcases to the train station, took the short ten minute ride to Schiphol Airport (which still holds the prize for the best international airport I have been to), and checked my bags. Then, there was nothing left but a goodbye and a security line. On the other end of a plane ride was ten days in Lyon, where I would try and relax, go skiing, organize my life, store most of my things with Matthieu, and leave again just as I had gotten comfortable.

            To give a short recap of those ten days, they were lovely, despite a few speed bumps. I spent a lot of time unpacking, repacking, unorganizing, reorganizing. We had a long weekend skiing in the Alps with our friends Seth and CrysAne, which was cut one day short by a fall and a concussion (on my part) on Sunday. I also managed to lose my phone. My advice is the following: always close your pockets. As of today, a new phone has been purchased and is travelling with me, and the concussion is in day four of healing.  At least I know how to ski parallel now, and only after approximately a week of skiing total in my life. After our return to Lyon, I repacked my bags and it was a rather quick turnaround to today's departure.

            Part of me hesitated in writing this blog post- I'm not sure how well I have, or if I have processed changing locations as many times as I have. A few thoughts come to mind. First of all, the aspect of multiple homes is a fascet of life I have known from very early on. As an immigrant, I grew up with parents who had a foot on both continents, in both countries. This means that this was passed on to me in our mealtimes, in our everyday rituals, in the vacations that were actually precious chances to visit family members and not vacations. I was neither Hungarian enough to be Hungarian, nor American enough to be American: an immigrant in whichever country I chose to make my future in. Once I recognized the inevitable nature of this, I decided to fragment my life even further. Now, I can add The Netherlands to this list.

            When we started our stay at the University, the students who were on the same scholarship as myself were invited for drinks one evening. During this evening, they gave us some sentimental words, typical of these kinds of events - that we would forever have a piece of Amsterdam, of The Netherlands, in our lives and on our CVs. Regardless of whether it was cliche or not, it is true. Knowing it would be no more than two years, I made sure to give Amsterdam the status of a "temporary" home in my mind. In doing so, I somehow made it into a "forever" home. I did not feel like I was saying goodbye when I left, because I know that I will be back someday, whether to visit or to live. What I say goodbye to is my life there as a student- something that would have come to an end all the same. It is hard to erase the year and a half that I spent there, but I don't really have to.  Oddly enough, I keep imagining that one day, if I were to have children, it would be so nice to bring them back to The Netherlands and to show them the streets I had traversed these past months. But for now, I simply look forward to going back this summer (as I will be) to eat oud Gouda, drink Texel beer and cold ginger ale on sunny terraces, dangle my legs over the edges of the canals, bike through the winding streets, lounge in the Amsterdamse Bos and appreciate my forever-home for what it is.

            Of course, it is devastating to always be moving- the Avett Brothers said it best "one foot in and one foot back- but it don't pay to live like that".  I am sick and tired of saying goodbyes and having to steady myself for new hellos. But I do live like "that," and I think I always will. A person with many homes, like myself, cannot be any other way. It is especially tough on relationships. Matthieu knows that more than anything I just want to be still- in one place. I want to call something home and have it stay that way and I want to stop saying goodbye. I look forward to living in Lyon, closer to him, but what I really want is to build an island where I put all of my friends, family, and places I love.

            But it isn't quite so simple; there are always two sides to these stories. I think to myself, am I not incredibly lucky that I have such such a group of people that I can say goodbye to? I have a boyfriend who supports me enough in all of my pursuits that he would rather say 26 tearful goodbyes in train stations, airports, and apartments all over the world over a period of two years than stop me. I have parents and family who would rather get their news through sporadic phone calls and this blog, and let me travel halfway across the world than that I stay nearby and hold myself back from my ambitions.  And of course, the more homes I have, the more homes I can get to return to. If all of these people and things were in one location, would I know what a fortune I have?

            My next thought comes from the famous song "Closing Time" - "every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end". Here I am with blue skies and the ridges of the French mountains opening up all around me as I make my way to the airport. What a world I live in, where I can travel this freely, hop from country to country in such a way. This next adventure promises to be as good as the last, and I would like to think I am going to get better and better at integrating myself (which makes the process less arduous). I look forward to hard work on the thesis, traveling, a green countryside and hearing English all around me for a few months. Then, I'll be off to Lyon.  When I think of all the places I have lived, I can only consider myself lucky: Budapest, Cincinatti, Raleigh, Chapel Hill, Amsterdam, and now Lancaster and soon-to-be Lyon; who knows what's coming next?