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
- Thuy
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