The Expat Diaries: Chapter Three

How did you feel when you first reached Amsterdam?

It’s a question I’ve been asked often, to which I’m yet to find an exciting answer.

The truth is it felt surreal. When I first saw the plane descend and the outskirts came closer in view. My eyes searching for the stunning architecture I’d seen all too often on social media and as a kid, only to be greeted with lush fields and stunning, trimmed trees.

The moment of excitement came when I de boarded and saw the KLM plane through the large glass windows overlooking the runway. I smiled, my face beaming with delight as I clicked my first ever picture in the city.

I had finally arrived!

Once that moment disappeared, I strode quickly towards the baggage area, fully aware that a cab would be waiting for me outside and I simply couldn’t afford to miss it. At least not with the amount of luggage I was carrying.

While I have been in airports before, the layout of Schiphol took me by surprise. It was like navigating a huge space with stores everywhere (for shopping or in my case, distraction) and directions everywhere for everything.

This would have been wonderful except I had time constraint, and a hefty trolley to drag that was double my weight.

I made a mental note of a few stores to check the next time I’d be there, blissfully forgetting that I was here to actually live and not just visit.

After what seemed like a lot of messages back and forth with the cab company, half walking and running in hopefully the right direction, trying to charge my low-battery phone via power bank (yes, an iPhone), and figuring out the right lane for cars, I finally found the cab and sat inside.

A sigh of relief washed over me, as if I’d managed in the nick of time to not miss a flight rather than a cab.

Settling in the plush seats, I called my mother to tell her I’d arrived. A video call, of course, to see her smiling just as much as me. Maybe more. I knew she was proud of me. And that made me happy within.

It’s priceless. The feeling you get when you manage to make parents proud.

As we drove past bridges and buildings with colourful graffiti, I looked at life passing by outside the window and puffy clouds through the moonroof.

The car was gaining speed but it felt surprisingly normal. One of the many differences between my home country and the new city, as I’d soon realise.

After what seemed like a long time, the car pulled up outside the apartment building. It was close to a residential area, a block of housing apartments.

The person kindly helped me get the bags out of the trunk and wished me a good day. Well, it certainly was sunny and slightly warm so the greeting did seem fitting.

As the car moved out of sight, I stood on the pathway and glanced around.

Not a soul in sight. Just me. And my life packed in suitcases.

I turned to see if there was an elevated slope to drag my luggage to the entrance. There was. Just not for this building.

With a gentle reminder to self that I had to now handle everything on my own, I proceeded to take a deep breath and lift the gigantic pieces of luggage up the stairs.

I didn’t even make it to the first step.

Oh well, time to try again. And then some more with no luck.

Exasperated, I took out my bottle and gulped water. Hoping that some renewed energy would help even though my natural stamina didn’t.

That didn’t work either. Fortunately, a few people had come to smoke nearby and decided to help me after watching me struggle.

I thanked them profusely in English, hoping that the gratitude in my voice will be felt even by a person speaking another language.

It took me two trips filled with bags to make it to the reception. And when I finally did, I looked around and fell in love with the minimalist yet stylish decor.

The formalities were over soon. I got the key and made two more trips to the elevator. My eyes lit up at the sight of the vending machine next to it, filled with M&Ms and other interesting snacks.

The apartment was on the first floor. I didn’t know what to expect, and the minute I opened the door I knew this was the perfect place to start my new life.

Wooden floors, a cute kitchenette with a fridge and dishwasher, tea bags (my heart leaped with joy), comfy high stools at the kitchen counter (a saving grace for short people like me), a stylish sofa and an armchair, artwork on the wall, and a cosy bedroom with floor to ceiling windows and freshly ironed sheets.

Welcoming, warm, inviting.

I removed my shoes and walked on the cool wooden floors, barefoot and tired.

The place exuded the comfort of home, even though I’d just left mine a few hours ago.

I sat cross legged on the sofa and smiled. It would be evening back home soon. They’d soon have their usual cups of tea, thinking about what to make, checking the fridge to see what vegetables are there and what was already made in the last day or two.

So close, yet so far.

The thoughts took me along different memory lanes for a while, and then faded slowly.

Silence.

I relaxed, soaking in the warmth of the afternoon sun, and watched the slanting rays cast a shadow on the floor.

Maybe this wouldn’t feel so different in the coming days. Maybe this will become my safe space in the unknown.

A place to return to as life unfolds and shows me something new every day.

A place I could, once again, call home.

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Photo credit: Rachita Verma (that’s me)