Background
Well it certainly has been a while hasn’t it? Let me
start off by apologizing to my multitudes of reader (once again, nope, not a
typo) for the lack of posts in the past 3+ years. I can only imagine the
turmoil you have been experiencing, but believe me, it was necessary and not
completely intended. Here I am again though, finding inspiration to continue my
art (the art of writing, you dolt) in the most unusual of places. Maybe not
that unusual, if you believe that art breeds more art, creativity breeds
further creativity, and all that crap. Seeing someone pick up their
long-ignored craft has inspired me as well, and as per the aforementioned
statement, the art I have been ignoring is writing. So let me tell you about
the past few days of my life.
If you recall in my school-related post #4 (I’m going to
take a wild guess and say that at least two of you out there have read every
post on here but for everyone else here’s a link: kwog.blogspot.com/2008/11/official-blog-assignment-4-visions.html),
it has always been my dream to travel the world and live in and experience
different cultures. After my second time in München (that would be Munich for
you uncultured swine *wink wink* *nudge nudge*) in November of last year, I
fell in love (in more ways than one). I decided that I wanted to move to
Germany eventually, specifically München, and live there for at least a year.
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So I am going to do that annoying thing where I have random pictures in the post that have nothing to do with the adjacent text in the post. They are just photos I've taken in Amsterdam. If you really want to know the meaning behind these you can ask ;)
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“WHY GERMANY?” YOU ASK? I feel like I have explained this
many times so I’ll just summarize it all right here, even if it gets a little
off topic in a tangential sense. I have always admired the German people for
several reasons; they are typically hard-working, practical, efficient, logical,
law-abiding citizens. Seriously, why do you think the holocaust happened?
Because Germans just blindly follow the law, even if it is causing massacres. I
am not saying that blindly following the law is a good thing, but the Germans
have been so scarred by their horrible past that they have put several measures
in place to ensure that shit never happens again. And ya know what, law-abiding
citizens are a good thing (though I must admit, my stereotype of the blindly
law-abiding German citizen was most definitely shaken when I met a German guy
who said he never pays for the metro because he crunched the numbers and
calculated that he saves more money by taking the chance of being caught and
paying a penalty, than by actually paying the fare each time). Germans also
love speed, as evidenced by certain speed-limitless sections of the famous
autobahn (highway), and I am a fan of that.
Other reasons include the fact that Germany is the fourth
largest economy in the world and it is the only country in the top five whose
people do not work like a bitch (as of the time of this writing, #1, 2, 3,
& 5 are USA, China, Japan, and UK respectively). How do I know this?
Because everywhere I fucking travel I always meet Germans (and Australians).
Germans love to fucking TRAVEL. It’s so ingrained in their society that I am
sure it has to be some government mandate that everyone gets a minimum of four
weeks paid leave a year (I made that up from talking to a German in Peru once,
don’t quote me on that). How can they
afford to do this while being a top five economy? Because they’re so fucking
efficient! Refer to the previous paragraph, German adjective #3 (we have come
full circle).
Okay, that was a much longer tangent than originally
intended. But it had to be said. Oh yeah, and an enormous factor in my desire
to move to München is because I want to actually live there during Oktoberfest.
Do not ask why, just accept. But I digress.
So I started looking for jobs in Germany because I ain’t
no fool to be completely uprooting my life with NOTHING. And by looking for
jobs I mean replying to every Linkedin recruiter that ever messaged me and
saying “I actually plan on moving to München in the coming year, would you
happen to know of any opportunities there?” Yeah… if you are thinking that my
novel / innovating / ground-breaking job-finding methods resulted in resounding success, I would have to refer you to my
calculations detailed below:
I was lamenting my dreams of working abroad to a South African friend of
mine (he came from South Africa to work at the firm I was working in at the
time and we bonded), and he connected me to a recruiter friend of his. This
recruiter did not know of any opportunities in München but he did have an
opportunity in the Netherlands. He asked if I wanted to apply and I said; why
not? A few intelligence assessments and two Skype interviews later, I had a job
offer. Was it München? No. But… close enough. Eh, why not?
So what did I decide? I know the suspense has been killing you, so let me put
your mind at ease right now right here. I
decided
to go.
Let’s
go, maybe, or not. Ah fuck it.
Of course, there were several things holding me back. I
have lived my entire life in New York City. How could I leave NEW Amsterdam for
OLD Amsterdam? (Actually, I am pretty sure they just call it Amsterdam. Shut up
Helpful-Paperclip!) It is not easy to leave your entire life behind. Friends.
Family. Lovers. (Yeah you probably think I am a player but I only said that
because my marketing department set a goal to triple my viewership to two and you
know fucking what? Sex sells).
But how could I pass up this opportunity to follow my
dreams? It was not the greatest offer monetarily, but I was already comfortable
financially (by my standards). I was still young and I knew I could always make
money later. Unfortunately though, I was not getting any younger and the ideal
time to uproot your life is when you are young. So yeah, I did it. But it
wasn’t without its trials and tribulations.
One of the things that surprised me throughout all of
this was the outpouring of love. Here I was thinking I was an unimportant
easily disposable readily-passed-over always-ignored speck in everyone’s lives,
but so many people made the effort to say their goodbyes. My ex-roommate *Raynoid*
drove me to the airport (I am sure he did this out of sheer overwhelming guilt
for abandoning me as a roommate), and several people tagged along, including
*Rattatatat*, *Platypuss*, and *Warmachine*.
*Platypuss* as always, was late. So typical of her: “Hey,
I want to see you off at the airport! But I’m going to be late.”
Anyway, we made it though, and I cannot thank *Raynoid*
enough for driving. JG Melon’s on me when I get back.
Me being the dumbass that I was, booked an Icelandair
flight (which means a layover in Iceland). It had the ideal time (leaving late
Sunday and getting to Amsterdam relatively early Monday). Unfortunately though,
the flight to Iceland was delayed. No worries! The kind Icelandair employees
reassure us “All connecting flights are guaranteed.”
Well whoopdeefucking doo!
So yeah, I land in Iceland. “If you have a connecting flight to
Frankfurt, Stockholm, ……………………………… or Amsterdam, please see the service desk.
All other connecting flights, please proceed to your gate.”
I go to the service desk and talk to a rather stone-faced
Icelandic lady. She confirms that my luggage will arrive in Amsterdam with me
on my new route. I get re-routed to Copenhagen… on a flight that is leaving
RIGHT THAT SECOND. I run to the gate and get on the plane, and manage to get to
Copenhagen safely. I go to the Copenhagen transfer service center to inquire
about the fate of my checked baggage (let’s just call it luggage for
simplicity’s sake). I am told that my luggage will arrive with me in Amsterdam.
Cool beans!
I am dead tired at this point, so I head to the gate for
my flight from Copenhagen to Amsterdam (which isn’t for a few hours) and take a
nap. I plop down on an empty row of chairs in an entirely empty section. Slowly
but surely, the chairs start filling up. As I am an expert eavesdropper when I
am asleep (and ONLY when I am asleep), I am awoken by murmurs of a cancelled
flight. “Huh, what?” I stand up from my slumber and walk to the screen detail
of flights; indeed it is cancelled. A sprightly young woman asks me if the
flight is cancelled and I respond:
“Well, I just looked the flight up on my phone and it
says the flight is cancelled, and the people sitting here said it was
cancelled, and this screen here that we’re staring at says it is cancelled, so….
I think the flight is cancelled.”
“What should we do?”
“Well, _I_ am going to the transfer service center and
talking to them.”
“Okay, I’ll come with you.”
As we head over to the transfer service center, I learn
that she has been living in Holland for twenty seven years and she moved there
when she was ten years old. Well then, she definitely looked a little bit older
but she did NOT look… whatever twenty seven plus ten is. Anyway, we get put on
a flight three hours later. I confirm that my luggage will be arriving with me
in Amsterdam. We each get a 50KR voucher for our troubles and proceed to get
coffees and get to know each other. I was actually quite surprised with this
woman’s behavior, women do not usually stick around me for a long time, but she
seemed quite keen on it.
I learn a little bit more about her; she has “three”
kids, one of which isn’t “her” kid (DAMN she looks GOOD for whatever twenty
seven + ten is and two kids). She shows me pictures and I ask her about Dutch
life. Some key exchanges in our many-hour conversation:
On daylight savings:
Me: Does the Netherlands have daylight savings?
Her: What is that?
Me: It’s when you set the clocks one hour forward or one
hour back.
Her: Oh yes, we do that every summer and winter.
Me: Oh really?
Her: Yes, we do it the first day of autumn and the first
day of winter.
Me: … Okay, but you JUST said you do it every summer and
winter, and now you’re saying every autumn and winter…
Her:
On Dutch coldness:
Me: Do you wish you had stayed in Iran instead of coming
to Holland?
Her: I can’t really say since I don’t know what my life
would have been like if I had stayed in Iran. I will say that there are things
about the Dutch that I do not like.
Me: Like what?
Her: They are very cold. For example, they wouldn’t
invite you to have dinner with them. If you are in their home and they are
about to have dinner, they will point to their watches, look at you, and say “so…
we’re about to have dinner… it is time for you to go.”
Me: I would appreciate that though; I want them to be
direct.
Her: Really? *Rolls eyes* I just remember as a child, I was
playing with a friend and she says to me “Okay, can you come back in an hour?
We are about to have dinner.” I was like, “oh.”
Me:
Her:
Me: That’s not how it is in Iran?
Her: The thing with the Dutch is, they get panicked. They
make dinner with a set portion for a set number of people and additional guests
ruin everything. In Iran, we make it work. We somehow add a little something,
we just make it work.
On “ratchet”:
Me: This girl is very ratchet, do you know what “ratchet”
means?
Her: No.
Me: Are you familiar with what “ghetto” means?
Her: Yes, that’s where poor people live.
Me: Well, yes, that is the technical definition… hmm… do
you listen to rap?
Her: Yes.
Me: Okay, so you know how the people are like in those
videos right? They wear basketball jerseys and caps and they call themselves
gangsters.
Her: Oh okay, I get it. So she lives in a ratchet?
On racism:
Her: In Dubai, they pay the immigrant labor practically nothing
per day. They pay so low just because they can. It is rationalized by saying it
is money they would not be getting otherwise. The Arabs are animals.
Me: Oh come on, that’s a big generalization isn’t it.
Her: Yes, but I believe it. I have several Arab friends
and I just cannot bring myself to trust them 100%.
Me: It depends on the experiences you have had with them…
Her: Yes. And there have been some negative ones.
Me: Like my dad… in his early years in America, the only
experience he had with a black person was when a black guy robbed him. The Chinese
are a very racist people.
Her: Who do they hate?
Me: Anyone that isn’t Chinese. My dad was a very racist
man, but recently he had an experience that made him very much less racist.
Her: Tell me about it.
Me: He was coming back from China and he had luggage with
him. One of the airport employees forced him to go through customs declaration.
I guess my dad thought that since the employee was Chinese that the employee
would go a little easy on him. When my dad got to customs declaration, a black employee
was working there and was like “eh, just go.” Ever since then, my dad thinks he
is the standard by which all those with moral integrity should strive to reach.
To detail all of our conversations would take a
fortnight, but we covered a wide range of topics including but not limited to;
racism in America, how the wealthy Jewish people in America can be compared to
the Chinese in southeast Asia, why southeast Asia hates the Chinese, the
official language of Persia, and why I’m fake-Chinese. We eventually board the
flight and I Beyonce-in-a-thong (ass-out).
Eventually we land in Amsterdam (it has been a twenty
hour journey for me, I land at ~22:00 when I should have landed at ~12:00), and
before my new friend rushes out of the plane to catch a train, she gives me her
card. We bid farewell; until next time.
I head to baggage claim to pick up my luggage and I wait.
For minutes. For hours. For days. Okay, maybe I am exaggerating. But I waited.
And nothing came. As it turns out, my luggage is… still in Iceland. Goddammit. So
let’s recap: My first flight gets delayed. I miss my connecting flight to
Amsterdam despite them guaranteeing it. I get re-routed to Copenhagen (and
confirm that my luggage will follow me and arrive in Amsterdam with me), get to
Copenhagen, and confirm again that my luggage will be arriving with me in
Amsterdam. My flight from Copenhagen to Amsterdam gets cancelled. I get put on
a later flight and reconfirm that my luggage will be arriving with me to
Amsterdam. This later flight gets DELAYED as well. I arrive in Amsterdam and my
luggage is still in Iceland. Also, I was peeing in JFK airport in New York and
I farted. Except it was a shart. My boxers were ruined. I threw them away. I
have going commando in the same clothes for two days now. And it will be a
third day as well. Because I have work. The next day.
Let’s
put the past behind us
Not much going on the first day of work; I get taken to
the immigration office by a lovely lady and we talk about life and food and
Holland. She is from Suriname which is the smallest country in South America.
It became a Dutch colony after it was traded by the British for New Amsterdam
(that’s New York by the way). Though the smallest country in South America, it
is one of the most diverse countries in the world due to various immigrants
settling there over the years. That’s a fun history fact for you!
I spend a vast majority of my first day looking for
apartments. My company was putting me up two weeks in a hotel but after that, I
was on my own. I go through craigslist, gumtree, funda, and eventually:
kamernet.
I looked online at dozens of places and must have inquired
with at least ten (this took up most of my day/night). It is important to note
that at first I was looking for studios and one bedroom apartments but if I
wanted to be in a decent area, it would be far too expensive. I quickly realized
that I needed roommates to bring down the cost of rent as much as possible
since I did not plan on being at the apartment much (due to work, jiujitsu, and
traveling). With all of my inquiries though, I only received one response that
night, from a certain man named Peter.
I could tell from his e-mail that he was Dutch; the
English wasn’t perfect but it was there. He seemed to be a very no-nonsense sort
of guy, very by-the-book and generous use of exclamation points. He had a lot
of patience though, as I had a lot of questions though and he answered all of
them clearly. There would be an apartment viewing the next day; I would be
there.
I leave work the next day and make my way to the
apartment. The neighborhood is beautiful. The apartment is right by the Amstel
river, and I am a sucker for water. The apartment is also a mere twenty two
minute walk to the nearest jiujitsu school; score.
I turn onto a quaint little street and end up in front of
the building. There is already a gentleman sitting on a bench and he asks me if
I am here for the apartment too. Dammit, competition. I knew as I was walking
there that the apartment would be hot commodity due to its awesome location.
But I was hoping that I would be the only one to notice that. Wishful thinking
much?
We talk and I find out that he is a systems engineer from
Portugal. He has an incredibly English accent though, which I learn he got from
studying in London. He already lives in Holland but his firm is moving to
Amsterdam’s city center. He is also contemplating quitting his job and finding
another job in Amsterdam. I ask him which room he is interested in (there are
two rooms up for grabs, one is open in December (which is the one I am gunning
for), the other opens up in January). He says he prefers the January one; score
again!
Eventually a man arrives and gestures us in. He is the Peter
I have been e-mailing with. Exactly as I had hoped would NOT happen, many other
people come by to look at the rooms. Among these include a Lithuanian woman who works
at Amsterdam University, a Russian woman who works at booking.com, a Romanian woman who is a wannabe-nurse, an English barista girl, and a chubby Dutch guy. I feel like I am
forgetting someone but fuck it.
Let me give you a little information on the apartment.
Basically it is four rooms connected by a tiny common area. Tenants in two of
the rooms were moving out (one in December, one in January) and these were the two rooms that were opening up. *Osteo* (English guy) and *Flambook* (French guy) currently
resided in the two other rooms.
As was explained in the e-mail, there would be a viewing
at 19:00, and interviews by the continuing tenants (*Osteo* and *Flambook*) at 20:00.
I was very curious as to how this would work out. I imagined that all of the
potential candidates would each individually go into a room and be formally
interviewed. Peter clarified that we would be interviewed as a group. I was
even more curious as to how this would work out. As we wait, Peter gives us a
bit of information on *Osteo*. He is English and has been living in Holland for
several years. He used to live down the road but got “divorced” and moved to
the apartment to be near his daughter, who sometimes comes by.
As it turns out, *Osteo* was late and *Flambook* was even
later. *Osteo* walks in and I can instantly tell he is half-Chinese.
“Yeayuhhhhhboiiiii Chinese connection!” I think to
myself, as I look within myself to increase my competitive advantage.
It is obvious *Osteo* is a little flustered with the
whole situation. He admits that this must be incredibly weird and he feels
sorry for all of us to be put in such a situation. He even comments that he did
not have to go through this when he first moved in. We basically go around the
circle with introductions and tell a little bit about ourselves. He seems like
a really cool down-to-earth guy and overall just genuine. We finish up and
*Osteo* asks if anybody wants to go to the pub afterwards. I say “Hell yeah!”
but I am not sure if he is kidding. Everybody else seemed to chuckle when he
asked. As we say our goodbyes I ask him “So I’ll see you at the pub right?” I have my doubts about whether he will follow through.
He says “yes, I just need to discuss with Peter and
*Flambook* first.”
As I walk out of the building, I see that everybody has already
dispersed. I had a feeling that nobody was going to the pub… was this my chance
to seal the deal? I realized that I was the only American in the room; I started
to contemplate how the cultures of the world are so different. I feel that as
an American, we are greedy and it is really hammered into us to go for what we
want and hold nothing back. In addition, my personality has been shaped by my
ugly talentless nature such that I have had to fight and scrap in everything I have
ever done and for everything I have ever had. I leave no stone unturned and
will take every opportunity to improve my chances in anything. If there was a
chance that *Osteo* was going to the pub, then there was a chance that we could
bond. And hell, maybe I would get that apartment! Was I that goddamn desperate? Maybe. I really needed an apartment soon and this place was perfect. Whether
he showed up or not, I needed a drink anyway.
It took a while since I did not have WiFi, but I
eventually find the bar after asking a few locals. I sit alone, drinking
Heinekens. I make conversation with the old fogie next to me. I learn that he
used to be in the Royal Dutch Army, which allowed him to see the world (his
favorite place being the Seychelles). Now, he acts as a financial planner in
Amsterdam, helping people of all ages get their finances in order. I tell him
that I am looking for an apartment and he mentions that he might know somebody;
he writes down some information for me.
But lo and behold, guess who shows up? *Osteo* takes a
seat next to me and we start talking.
We share our stories. I tell him about
why I am in Amsterdam; I fell in love in Germany which really gave me the
momentum to actually take the initiative to move abroad. She (die Liebe meines Lebens) quickly
made it known that she did not feel the same way, but the momentum was still
there and I rode it to make my dream of living somewhere else a reality.
He tells me his story; he is forty one years old and fell
in love in England with a Dutch girl. They moved to Amsterdam together (or more like he moved for her) and had a
daughter who is four and a half years old. His girlfriend got back with her ex-boyfriend;
Mark. *Osteo* and his girlfriend ended their relationship in March of this
year.
Him: So yeah, this year we are all going to spend
Christmas together. Me, my daughter, her mother… and Mark.
Me: Isn’t that going to be… a… weird… situation?
Him: Yeah, it will be. This will be our first Christmas
together with everybody… like this. Yeah. It’s going to be weird. I guess I’ll
see how it goes.
Me: Well, you seem like a very happy guy and you’ve been
all smiles all night, so I guess you’ve been taking it pretty well.
Him: Yeah… I don’t know about that.
His friend is outside the bar (I can only assume he is
smoking) so *Osteo* starts to head outside to check on him. Before he goes, he
says “by the way, the room is yours if you want it.”
I am ecstatic. “Hell fucking yeah I fucking want it!”
When he comes back, I ask him how he made his choice. I
did not think any of us really stood out, was it simply a choice of eeny mini
miniy moe?
Him: Well, you were standing right next to me, so that helped. Also, you
had a nice smile. What was weird was that I asked *Flambook* who he wanted and he said the
English girl and the guy standing next to you. It was uncanny that we were
thinking about the same people. Peter also agreed that it was a good choice.
Me: Well, that’s fanfuckingtastic. Cheers.
So that was my Wednesday night. Thursday night I signed
the rental contracts and it was a done deal. Peter does not waste any time nor
does he seem to fuck around. Peter seems very Russian to me, although he is
Dutch. I can definitely foresee myself drinking a bottle of scotch in the
common area, sending him a photo of the bottle, and saying “Hey Peter, saved
some for you, come and get it.”
He would then say “Kwok, you are an idiot.” but he would
be chuckling to himself. I just know it.
And so Jackie, that is why I cannot hang out with you; because I’m in the fucking Netherlands.
