King’s Day / Year Two

Second King’s Day, another camera full of orange, and no part of me spent today checking whether I belonged here. #

We are home. Shoes off. Water. Hair rescued from whatever the wind and crowd turned it into. Camera on the table. Orange accessory beside it. Tiny vrijmarkt purchase already placed on a shelf because apparently I could not wait until tomorrow. My whole body has that satisfying exhaustion produced by walking for hours without noticing until stopping. King’s Day year two. What I keep thinking about is how little I thought about King’s Day as an experience of living abroad. That sounds circular, but the first years here contained a second layer under everything. I was doing the thing and noticing myself doing the thing in the Netherlands. First Dutch Christmas. First Queen’s Day. First time cycling to work. First this, first that. Even when I was happy, part of my attention was measuring. Today there was no measurement. I did not compare King’s Day to an Italian holiday. I did not ask what it said about Dutch culture every five minutes. I did not observe myself belonging. I wore sensible shoes, went outside with Yuri, ate when hungry, photographed boats, bought something stupid, laughed, got tired and came home. That is so much better. Belonging becomes real when it becomes boring enough not to need commentary. Although obviously I am now writing commentary about not needing commentary. Blog logic. Yuri is on the sofa and looks as tired as I feel. We compared photographs briefly. There is one of him I love and he dislikes, which means it will survive forever. There is one of me that I dislike and he likes. Negotiations ongoing. I sent Mom a couple. Dad got one of the canal chaos because I thought he would appreciate the scale. My family gets edited Amsterdam through my camera, just as I get pieces of Milano and Genova through them. Sometimes I wonder what version of my life exists in their minds. Probably cleaner than reality. Photographs omit laundry. Blogs omit more laundry than I admit. The little object from the vrijmarkt is on the shelf, and somehow it already looks less ridiculous there. The city is still loud outside, though the tone is changing from daytime celebration to evening aftermath. Tomorrow the streets will look exhausted. So will I. Tonight I am exactly the right kind of tired. Happy, feet slightly offended, camera full, makeup mostly removed, home while Amsterdam continues outside. Year two done.

Remember me, Eclipse.