Paper, rock, scissors

Paper

I have been dubbed "Paperina" by my fellow students who have discovered my love (and need!) to process my thoughts wildly on paper and put it up around me.... my students back home know this is 'how I roll', but here, it is a wild concept among all these other practitioners and scientists to be the single psychologist/artist. But, I am used to standing out... I just never quite thought of my artistic background as being so radically different than the scientific one- for me, they are part of the same path.

Once two of my new friends, from India and El Salvador, caught sight of my mandala this morning, my new name was cemented in place. A process I work in sessions with older clients (that just means anyone over 15!), I explained that the freedom one can experience when 'processing' through the space allowed by art can be quite transforming. They quickly announced I would soon be working with the whole group on expressing their emotions and finding themselves in this scientific program we are in... all so far from home, and so foreign! I warned them they would have to keep my identity a secret if they don't show up prepared for class because we spent the evening processing!

In the meantime, I bought this luscious paper to diagram out all my thoughts and ideas, and I have yet to draw a thing!

That is because paperwork, in Holland, is its own process, requiring one's entire faculties. to do anything that would possibly be a 15 minute process means that you need to multiply that time by 5- and add walking, tram riding, locating, and waiting time in as well. Besides the fact that every function of every building is completely different, and located in different areas. AND, if you are missing a SINGLE piece of paper, identity document, or are even 10 cents short of the money it takes to use the loo, you are in for a journey of back/forth-back/forth, that won't make sense until a few hours later when you sit over a cup of coffee and notice how well you handled THAT one! Luckily, I have been in the Dutch system before- we arrived 2 hours early for my appointment, brought 10 extra papers than I needed, and found all three offices before having to walk into the first one to find out: I would just have to return next week. Hmnph.

But it's ok- I'm Dutch. This should be normal for me. Funny how being away 12 years can put confusion into things.

Rock

Then comes the wall- the hard rock of resistance. Hell, how many times do I need to go through reverse culture shock in my life? So strange to be part of two cultures, and yet be part of neither at the same time. It is a bit disorienting to always be learning the rules of 'home', no matter where one is!

When in the United States, I can get by with my accent and looks for people to think I blend in... then I open my mouth and either a foreign language, or a radical idea comes out and then I know- the cat is out of the bag, now! And 'the cat is out of the bag' is an expression I just learned in the last few years- American slang has always been weird to me!!

Here, I open my mouth and they hear my soft accent speaking Dutch. They read my last name and watch the way I handle daily events, current situations, my undefined yet refined style, and assume- I am here from Finland! Of course- why not? A country I have yet to visit, though the roots run apparently strong... strong enough that I am not seen as an American in Holland, but a Finnish person abroad. Well, we'll just have to see what happens when I finally make it there, and I don't speak a word of my familial language.

Culture shock is a strange thing. My overwhelm comes more from the relentless sounds, the bustling of people, the jostling of bikes, foot traffic, and people not liking it when you stop to pet someone's dog because it holds up the entire street. Cars, buses, brommers (small, noisy motorbikes), fietsers (bikers), and voetgangers (walkers), clamor for space, fighting over even the right to pass down a street lane. Everyone is calm, but pushy like you wouldn't believe. People step in front of cars, bikes take detours around the people ringing their bells like crazy, cars take detours onto tram tracks, busses stop mid-road or run into the middle of it, and trams are the only thing that controls the jostle- because they are the biggest, and if they hit you, you just might be dead. Meanwhile the bike is king. Don't get in front of the bikes, they wil hit you to make a point. And then, you won't be dead, you'll be bruised. And confused.

I have to get the pulse that is Amsterdam. It is a frantic blend of colors, languages, styles, and movement. The Hague, where I lived 8 years, was peace embodied. This is a whole new world, and though I speak the language, I don't speak the language. Not YET.

Scissors

I remember why I used to have a love affair with chopping my hair off now... it is impossible to control one's coif when the weather cycles through ongoing waves of wind and water. My hair has become a mane of unruliness that adds to the overall chaos of the day. I remember why I shaved it now- twice! It is the one thing I can control in the battle of the elements.

But the rock has won the round of Paper/Rock/Scissors for my day. Sleep is a great escape from the wildness of acclimatization. I embrace my bed like a rock hit me on the head... no need for dinner or conversation in our crazy kitchen. Ilo and I head for a pillow and the music of traffic out my window.

Tomorrow is the start of my program.. I need peace and rest to set in.