It's official.
The appeals to get a work permit have failed. I went to the Maison Communal once they had summoned me with their decision. I waited in line. Once called, the guy took awhile running around the office before finally finding my papers. In true Belgian style he began by giving the decision from the Ministry of the Interior, before looking at the documents and saying that they were all screwed up and that they would need to be redone, and that they would call me when they were ready. I said OK, and walked away and never heard back from them again. Touché, Belgique.
I have purchased a one-way ticket for Washington D.C. for September 13th. I have asked my cousin Brendon if I can stay at his house, and he has graciously gave the green light. So, more excitement to come, but I have a couple weeks left in Brussels.
Leaving Belgium will be strange. Last week, someone asked me how it felt to be living in a foreign country, and I told them honestly that Belgium really isn't a foreign country to me anymore. It certainly was foreign when I arrived. It was foreign for a long time, but it got me thinking about when this country stopped feeling foreign and felt normal, or even like 'home.' I traced this feeling to last September, right after I broke my knee and got my wallet stolen within 24 hours of each other. Maybe it was the shift in focus that a substantial injury brings, and maybe it was the outpouring of support that my friends gave to me in my time of need. Or maybe it was the fact that I was now mooching off of the socialized health care. Whatever it was, Belgium became home.
Not having a job for the past few months has given me a lot of time to think. Maybe too much time to think. They say that time alone give you time to get to know yourself, but I already know myself very well, and me and myself get tired of each other. Myself tells the same boring stories over and over and sometimes I wish he would just shut up. But the other day I was talking with a friend about D.C., and she was asking about friends there, and she said that it didn't seem like it was very difficult for me to make friends, and that got me thinking.
For whatever reason, I have found it much easier to make friends in Europe than in the U.S. I think back to my time in the States, and realize that while I made several lifelong friendships, I didn't have a lot of friends in the states. I look back, and notice that I spent a lot of time by myself in Denver and Portland.
And all of that changed when I got to Brussels. I don't know if it was me and my approach that changed, or that the world around me was more interested in me than Americans had been. But it was nice, whatever it was. I got used to it, and it will be hard to let that go.
The night before I broke my knee I was at a friend's house, and we were talking and I told him "I can't go back to the States." At the time I was genuinely afraid that it would be crushing to leave this lifestyle behind me. And now, while I would honestly like to stay a bit longer, I'm not afraid of the U.S. At some point I stopped thinking of this as a year off, or a fluke in my life. I look at it as my lifestyle, even if I need to return to the States from time to time I don't think this will be the last stretch of time that I live in Europe. I will double-down on the French lessons, keep my head in foreign affairs circles, and check the costs of overseas flights.
And now, I have to go because a friend of mine wants to go for a walk, and I need to enjoy this time while it lasts.
