A Bad Weekend

6 September, 2011

I had my wallet stolen on Saturday night. I was walking home from a friends house, and was pickpocketed by a young man. I chased him but was unable to catch him. Left without an ID or cash cards (I luckily have a backup credit card that was not stolen) I was fuming. I went to play basketball on Sunday. The game was uncharacteristicly physical and I badly injured my knee again as I landed from attempting to block a shot. It was worse then that time I injured it playing soccer a few months ago.

So last night I was lying crippled on my couch, alone. The internet was in my roommate’s name and was shut off when he left, so I didn’t have the ability to contact anyone via Skype or make long distance calls, or even kill time on Facebook. I almost never watch movies, but I found a random DVD that had been left by someone, and wanting to distract myself began to watch it. The movie turned out to be about people whose parents get cancer and whose friends die in car accidents, and it depressed me so much that I had to shut it off.  I felt the urge to call home, but could not.

Last night, without money, ID or the ability to walk I felt homesick for the first time in a long time. And it was a terrible feeling. I hobbled to bed early, and thought of how miserable I was. And I thought about how much worse things could be. I was not injured when my wallet was taken. Much worse happens to people in Brussels, and had I been stabbed the lost wallet would have been the least of my concerns. I was safe, warm, and dry. There was cheese and grapes in the fridge. My parents and friends weren’t dying like in that horrid movie. But there was an unmistakable sadness, probably the bitter combination of the anger and frustration of being victimized and the helplessness of being injured.

I woke up today and called in sick to work. It was too bad. I had a meeting scheduled at NATO for my current internship. It was a big opportunity, but hobbling interns are not very useful.  Then things began to turn around. My German coworker Andy brought over some anti-inflamitories. My friend Fahim brought his guitar over and we played for awhile, and he offered to drive me to the doctor and to the bank, which we will do tomorrow. My Romanian friend Alexandra came over for awhile, and offered to make me dinner tomorrow. Amerian-via-Belarus Yulia explained how the medical insurance works over here (herself having similar misfortune). Fahim’s Greek girlfiend Naya drove me home from basketball last night.

And maybe that’s the Brussels experience. Expats taking care of expats. Fellow wanderers and lone wolves, none of us having family here,  becoming family. And maybe that’s what hurts so much as I watch them go, one by one, back to their country of origin or on to the next big challenge. And it’s maybe a little frustrating having this love and kindness bestowed on me with little chance that I will be able to pay it back. But I am beyond grateful that I have the love and support that I feel from my real family manifest itself in their kindness.