Mourning for the loss of a dream

Sometimes I wonder if I mourn for something/someone I lost or for the dream or fantasy I had about it. To explain myself better I’ll give an example. What if you fall in love with someone. And afterwards you break up for whatever reason. Are you mourning then because of the loss of your lover or are you mourning for the loss of a dream you had. For the fantasy you had about you and that person together. Which in time you found out wasn’t true. Because he/she was not actually the person you thought he/she was. You maybe imagined he/she was. Or maybe hoped he/she was. Aren’t some people fooling themself by getting all upset for believing it was the love of their life they’ve lost? I have this friend who broke up with her boyfriend. And her whole world stopped. For months. She had lost the love of her life. As she claims he was. But actually he was a jerk. He mistreated her, cheated and wasn’t nice at all. So what was she mourning about? Him or the dream she had of the person he was? Of the picture perfect she had in her mind about them together. I believe it was the dream, but she still insist it’s him who she is missing. It’s hér feeling, so I’m ok with that.

And it’s not only about love, it’s also about friends. I’ve lost friends and because of the good memories I remember, I mourned for their loss. And I tended to forget about the bad things. I mean, they obviously weren’t the friends they’re supposed to be otherwise we would still be friends. So am I mourning for their loss or for the loss of a fantasy friend I had? And the same goes with family. Ofcourse I’m not talking about people who died.

After writing this I come to the conclusion I’m mourning mostly for the loss of a dream. But without any doubt I still keep on dreaming. Is it hope or naivety? Or do I just simply refuse to give up my dreams? Even if most of the time I’m mourning afterwards. But what am I without my dreams? 

Multicultural society a failure?

In the beginning of this year our vice Prime Minister said that the multicultural society has failed. I wonder where he has been living his whole life. But let me tell you, it is not a failure in my town. Wé are not a failure vice Prime Minister.

I’m living in Rotterdam. The second biggest city in my country. Or maybe I’m wrong, but we like to think that we are. Half of the youth is non-western ‘ethnic’.  And you know what, we dont care. I heard this youngster screaming to his friend last week “Ewa sahbi, pass me een kip roti kardashhhhh!” (translation: “Hey my friend, give me a chicken roti, Surinamese dish, my frienddddd!”) I mean, that’s like Moroccan, English, Surinamese, Dutch and Turkish in 1 sentence. And the funny part is, all his mixed friends understood him. And so did I. Because besides the English, German and French we are obligated to learn in highschool, we also pick up words from people around us. We mix it all up. Like we are all mixed up. ‘Rotterdammers’ (residents of Rotterdam) are raw, they say what is on there mind and they do that very direct. And it doesn’t matter where you come from. If you act stupid, you are a stupid Rotterdammer. We like to complain about our city, but when we are outside it we will defend it with our lifes.  And it doesn’t matter if you’re from Morocco, Turkey, Suriname, Somalia or whatever, if you are a Rotterdammer, you are a Rotterdammer.

I must give credit to our education system, cause I can talk to my Thai neighbour in (sort of) English, German to my neighbour from Poland and some French to another neighbour from Congo . I don’t care if they don’t speak Dutch, I can talk to them in other languages. And I like to talk and learn from different cultures.  So I usely do that a lot.  And we talk Dutch too. Cause they want to talk Dutch with me so they can practize it. They are sweet and warm people. They also care for their street, their neighbourhood, their city, their country. They also care for their children, for safety, for their neighbours.  Who let’s us think they are second-class citizens?

The problem in The Netherlands in general is that for some adults ‘ethnics’ will always be ‘ethnic’ and it doesn’t matter if you were born and raised here. If you lived here for 40 years. If your children are born and raised here. If you speak the language fluently and you pay your taxes every month. If you participate in Dutch celibrations (like Queensday) and obey the rules of this country. They will still be seen as ‘ethnics’.  And as long as we all don’t accept ‘ethnics’ as Dutch civilians, this will never change. I’m proud of my city and I think it is a good rolemodel for the cities who are not that far. Who maybe never have been multicultural because their are not much ‘ethnics’ living there. In Rotterdam their are daily a lot of people from outside the city. I notice cause they are the ones who threat me different. I’m not ‘ethnic’, but anyone with a veil is ‘ethnic’ in most Dutch eyes.  So I know how some can act. But yet, I still think we didn’t fail (yes, we fall sometimes) and a vice Prime Minister telling us we failed is not very helpful.  What kind of message are you sending to our youth then? Our youth who mostly don’t care where someone is born or where their parents are born. Our youth who is used having their group of friends mixed. Our youth who cares about the character of a person instead of their ethnicity. I think vice Prime Minister, that you’ve failed in realising that this generation of youth doesn’t care if someone is ‘ethnic’. And you have failed in giving them credit for that.

Note: This is only based on my personal opinion. You may disagree. But this is how I see it.

My superhero grandma

My best childhood memories are in your house, grandma. I used to play in your garden, cuddled with the rabbits and made thousand of chains and bracelets with daisies . And when it was raining we went inside and baked cookies, played boardgames or read the hundreds of comics you saved for me and my brothers. And their was always this smell. The smell of cooking porridge. Cause that was your favorite. You loved eating it and it was always cooking on the stove when we arrived. I can’t smell it without thinking of you. I remember you also took me to the cinema or the zoo sometimes. What a party was that! I was too little to realise then you didn’t have much money and saved every little dime so you could bring me there.   But when I grew older I learnt more about you. About your tough life. You were a young adult in second world war and althought you rarely talked about it, it had a big impact in your life. And when you found out grandpa was tasting candy somewhere else, you kicked him out.  Fifty years ago that was not an easy thing to do. All of a sudden you were a single divorced mother of 4 young children. You worked day and night to provide for them and never thought about yourself.  And they grew up wonderful. You wanted to set a rolemodel for your children, but you also set a rolemodel for your grandchildren.

You were always so strong grannie. I have only seen you cry once. When one of your children died. You always said ‘I should have gone first, no one should survive their own children’. I saw the pain in your eyes for many years. But as usual you stayed strong. You kept the family together.  You were the centre and we would all gather at your house.  I will never forget your tolerance too. I remember you were the one who found out one of our relatives was gay. You laught and said, “well, who cares, I still love him.” And when your only granddaughter converted to Islam you said exactly the same. You were the only one who accepted it.  Accepted me. We talked a lot about religion with a cup a tea in our hands and playing scrabble at the same time.  You were Christian and believed. I was Muslim and believed. And we both believed in the love for eachother.

And then 6 months ago the whole family went to Italy. You couldn’t go, you needed 24/7 medical care. I couldn’t go. I couldn’t bear the feeling of leaving you all alone the whole week with no familiar face around you. So I stayed.  I stayed here and after work I drove to you. You knew I was coming, I was only 10 minutes away, but then you left. Death took you away from me. I was so angry, cause I was so close and didn’t had the change to say goodbye.  I was so angry, cause you were alone when you left. But maybe this was also you. Quiet going away while everyone was gone. I know you were very ill and I know you didn’t mind leaving. You were sick before many times, but you always crawled back up because you saw the pain in our eyes. It was your time to go and maybe if we were there, you would have tried to fight it again. But it’s ok grannie, you’ve fought your whole life, you may rest now. Your pain is over.

I miss you grannie. You are my rolemodel, you are my superhero. And you will always be. May you rest in peace.