This February 2025 marks my 5 years in Belgium. I had it celebrated over a Chinese-themed dinner with the other two friends. I’ve been wanting to write this for more than a week, but the writer’s block just went away.
It was around thirty degrees celsius in January 2019. I was slouching on my bed, waiting for my insomnia to stop haunting me from after-work fatigue. An email sent to my inbox that flipped my life forever. I won a scholarship after three years of trying. Who knows how many nights had passed until this day happened. Maybe it was not a desire to be better. It was the curiosity on the embarking journey to the west. I wanted to speak a language that I rarely spoke. I wanted to understand why Italian tomatoes are hailed by Europeans. I wanted to touch the snow for the first time. I wanted to tell my friends that Europeans don’t speak the same language. Not a single word of Europeanese was heard. Also, they eat different foods.
I started my year in Salzburg, Austria, for 5 months until the middle of February. 21 students from 19 nationalities that had been together for months had to split their study tracks. The social science background had to move to Brussels, and the rest went to Copenhagen. More than half of us moved to Belgium, including me. It is a country that I never expected to live in. Nor settling here. Growing in a former Dutch colony country, I always thought the Netherlands was the destination. Or at least English-speaking neighboring countries like Malaysia or Singapore. The universe had another plan that was not on my bingo card.
Giulia, trying to cut her Italian heritage on our dinner celebration.
Some of us were too poor (or stingy) to take the train or airplane. Those options cost us at least more that 100 euros. There was a winter sale on Flixbus, and a 5 euro one-way ticket was only as expensive as less than 10 euros. It was less than a tenth of the other two options. If that was not a steal, I don’t have another word option to articulate it. Around seven of us took this option, a journey that took almost 20 hours to Brussels. We were sitting on the second level of a double-decker green bus. We arrived at Gare du Nord (the north station) around 5AM. Only the fool could overcome their fear. That’s how I picture that, considering we had no idea on the area.
Five years later, I am still here in Brussels. Some of us also are also still here, or choose their own path outside of the country. They are my blood and tears. My song to the joy. My wail to the cry. Having people growing in and out in my life made me a different person. Whether I be a better or worse person, it is up to you to judge. We celebrated our five years over a small dinner at my friend’s flat with a few boozes and Chinese-themed cooking. Five years is not a long period, but I never expected it to vanish in a few breaths. I don’t know where the next five years will bring me over. Maybe, I’ll move. Maybe I’ll stay. Whatever the way, hopefully life shapes me into a better person.
