Days of Firsts

After half a year of absence, I'm back in the Netherlands again. And yet, not really. There is, I feel, a legacy I should be honouring, part of which comprises the continuation of this blog. This is then a nod towards Ellie and Klinta, our quasi-ancestors, not in blood but in mind. So: hi girls. Your presence still lingers here - the paintings, a tin can of pens and brushes, the half-consumed bottles marmalade in the fridge. 

We are steadily establishing ourselves in the flat, Ildi and I. It is a wonderful partnership, this process, documented by the state of the living room, which is lived-in at its best, and chaotic neutral otherwise. And look: a map of India. A new painting. And the living room table which is always always always covered in tobacco, regardless of our cleaning sprees. We're definitely getting there. Ildi told me to make a note about how cool she is. “Cool” doesn’t do justice here, but there you go. Thou shall see. Let’s just say, and allow me an understatement, that the fun potential of this place would significantly drop without her.

It’s quiet here – that takes time to get used to on some days. But, it’s not the unsettling silence of sensory deprivation, merely the isolation from the whirlwind of noises of the city. Neither do the nights bear any resemblance to those that I’ve grown accustomed to in the capital. This is the blanket that Radnóti was praying for, the darkness that corresponds with Conrad’s descriptions of hearts of men. Well, minus the insanity. It soothes, it disquiets, depending.

Visits to the city come as a relief. Our first trip to the refugee centre in Alkmaar was a catharsis we’ve never been building up to. It was the first time that I felt: yes, this is what I had signed up for – social work with emphasis on the people, the community, the collective effervescence, rather than a militaristic theoretical agenda of human rights activists that I was used to. More will come, and I highly anticipate.

Not that the cloister lacks human interaction; talking with the sisters is always fun. Having been brought up by fervent non-believers, I had had only a vague idea about clergy people. My impressions are still not clearly outlined, but, for once, I know that they will never be. People are what I see: highly intelligent, gentle, and fun people, who make brilliant conversing partners. Wonderful company, really.

And then there’s the School for Peace – an institution for like-minded people, searching, finding. Last time it was the host of an international peace circle. The idea behind its conception, around 20 years ago, was to provide a framework and space for women to gather and share, in dire times and dire environments. In the end, it rhymes with the universal female narrative – of different Penelopes of different Odysseuses. The peace circle then, as I understood, was a social space for women to escape their domestic isolation and interact, not as representatives of different communities, but primarily as women – human beings. The dissolution of social tension or ethnic feuds was rather an untargeted consequence of deep personal connections. Shortly, the peace circle was intended to provide a space for re-humanisation, in dehumanising circumstances.

The question is then, what legitimacy does a peace circle hold in the Netherlands – most liberal of liberal states – in 2012 with international social science students who already have a highly open state of mind and are as strong and emancipated as women can be in the 21st century. I’m not sure. It felt more like an unconscious heritage one is used to carrying than anything else. What it really was: a gathering of some of the most amazing women I have met in my life. I did not gain new insights per se about inner peace, or about the importance of forgiveness, love, you name it. Never mind that; I got something much better – friendships of women I would have not otherwise met. I believe that the sharing of life stories and experiences would have happened regardless of the provided framework – this tends to happen when people meet and click. But I doubt I would have ever met them, had it been to chance. What a weekend it was. And there is so many more to come.

- Thuy